Fiction Friday: [Lost Time]

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Draped in all her favorite colors, it was the book cover that drew Rada in. The fact that the main character shared her unusual name was what made her buy it. After cracking the spine, the story pulled her in with how eerily it mirrored her own life. Page after page riddled with details that even those closest to her could never have known. Private thoughts and embarrassing moments captured and preserved in black and white.

Rada grew increasingly paranoid with each chapter read. Once outgoing and vibrant, she now spent her days scouring the apartment for spyware and obsessing over the author, Peter Jacobs. Details didn't seem to exist to explain their connection. Web searches only served to frustrate as every link led only to his sole published work, Lost Time.

She read the book slowly knowing this moment would come. Her fingers drummed over the words about the dread that filled her. About the fear that coursed through her veins as she stood on the precipice of her future. She had no doubt that the pages ahead held as much truth as those that had come before.

She wasn't ready to know what the future held.

Tossing the book on the floor, it landed splayed out on the hardwood. Hints of looped red ink peeked at her from between the pages. She had never written in it and the sight of it sent her mind racing. When curiosity trumped all else, she reached for it as she struggled to steady her hands.

Rada,
You are my greatest inspiration.
PJ

She sunk into the nearest chair and tried to slow her breathing. The beat of her heart pulsed between her finger and the page as she traced the letters over and over. She'd never seen the handwriting before, but it felt oddly familiar.

There was only one way to sate the question pounding against her skull demanding an answer. She found where she'd left off and her entire body trembled as she turned the page. The room spun as she stared at the two photographs that filled it. One of a slight man hunched over a laptop tagged Peter Jacobs and the other was of her.

She frantically flipped through the pages finding more photos. Every time the same thing, one of him and one of her. She stared at the only image of Peter facing the camera. Looking into his eyes chilled Rada to the core as she realized it was her own eyes staring back.  

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Moxie Monday: Decisions, Decisions...

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Kick start your week with a lil' moxie!

Fiction Friday: [Detonation]

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It was the first time she’d seen him since he died.

Crossing Broadway and 72nd, Satomi was stopped in her tracks. Confusion numbed her to the throng of commuters knocking her to and fro around the bustling intersection like a pinball. As flashes of jackets and sweaters zigzagged past their unbroken gaze, the guilt washed over her.

She had never even shed a tear.

The angry horns of yellow cabs barely registered through the ticking. She knew it was the time bomb her family and friends spoke of when they thought she was out of ear shot. Her breathing grew shallow in anticipation of its detonation.

Heat, from deep within, rose to the surface in opposition to the crisp fall air. As her skin tingled, she had no doubt the time had come. A moment that should have happened months ago in the loving arms of her family, instead played out amongst the loud ringtones and honking horns of strangers.

Cutting through it all was his smile. It wasn’t until she tasted the salt in her tears that Satomi realized she was smiling, too.

It was the first time she’d seen her father since he died and her smile grew, knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

Pitch Slam [Writer's Digest Conference 2014]

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[This post focuses on my Pitch Slam experience at the 2014 Writer’s Digest Conference. If you want to read more about my general experience at the conference, click here.]

Pitch Slam – Literary speed dating. Where writers pitch their manuscripts to agents and editors while trying not to stumble over their words and/or pass out.

I’m proud to say that I didn’t pass out. One out of two isn’t half bad…oh wait, it literally is...but we’ll get to that.

Leading up to the conference, I made multiple, frantic Google searches in hopes of discovering what to expect. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to find and what was out there wasn’t specific enough to ease my growing anxiety. I needed details. Step by step commentary on what they went through. So, if that's the kind of information you need, you're in the right place.

One last quick note before I jump into it: Writer’s Digest provided an amazing session the day before called Pitch Perfect. It was all about what you need to do to make your pitch…well, perfect. The presenter, Chuck Sambuchino, was hilarious and full of so much information that I left the session feeling a little better about it all. A little bit. If your conference provides such an experience…GO, GO, GO!

Pitch Slam:

Unlike previous years, according to those in the know, this year sessions were broken up into three, one hour sessions instead of one giant three hour lump. Since the final session followed the lunch break, I opted for that one so I could take advantage of the extra prep time. The nerves directed me straight to the line instead of to lunch. I wasn’t the only one with the idea and by the time I got downstairs I was, at least, the twentieth person in line. It was easy to see that everyone had their own way of preparing. Some people chatted away while some stood wide eyed and stone still. Some practiced their pitches on each other while others mouthed them to themselves. In my 45 minutes in line, I did a bit of each, but mostly I paced back and forth whispering my pitch and trying my best not to look my cheat sheet:

There were three agents that I wanted to pitch to for sure and two that I would go to if I had enough time. The goal: get an agent so excited about your manuscript that they hand you their business card. This meant a request for pages and that meant an agent would read my work and potentially want to represent me. This was when I had to remind myself to breathe and that I should be proud of myself for just showing up. Even if I ended up leaving the session empty handed.

When the doors finally opened, everyone fell quiet and headed into the Terrace Ballroom. Tables lined the walls and there were two agents/editors per table. They sat alphabetically which helped a lot.

I ended up being the first in line for...

Agent 1:

He was in a conversation with his table mate so both myself and the first woman in line for the other agent had to stand around for a couple of minutes before we were called to sit down. After Agent 1 and I made introductions,  he asked me what I was there to pitch. I was so glad that I practiced as much as I did! Making eye contact, I delivered it flawlessly, but despite that he stopped me right before the last line. The last line! Oh well. He told me that he didn’t think this was a good time for books with zombies in them. I told him that I understood and thanked him. BUT THEN…he handed me his card and asked to see the first ten pages and a synopsis. Although he wasn’t as excited about my book as I’d hoped he would be, I was thrilled to know that I wasn’t leaving the session with nothing. I thanked him again and made sure to write down what he requested as I headed over to…

Agent 2:

Even before I sat down I knew I liked her. She was smiley and bright eyed, just really welcoming. After introductions, I started my pitch and before I even finished my first line she said, “love it already!”. My heart went nuts, but I had to ignore it and push through. Not only did I get to finish my pitch this time, but she made positive comments throughout. After, she said that she “really, really want to read this” and handed me her card requesting the first 50 pages. As a hugger, it took everything in me not to jump across the table and do just that. I was on such a high as I headed over to…

Agent 3:

She already had someone in her chair, so as I stood in line I took note of how serious her face was. I should have told myself not to let that throw me since it was such a stark contrast from the last agent. But, I didn’t.  After an awkward introduction, I jumped right into my pitch. Remember the stumbling over my words thing? Yep. I completely botched the beginning and didn’t recover until about the halfway point. When I finished, she obviously had some questions. I apologized for messing up the beginning of the pitch and then answered them. After a little more back and forth, she looked at me…expressionless. Uhhhhh. Then, she handed me her card and even though I heard what she said, I still asked what she would like me to submit…because I had clearly heard her wrong. “The full,” she said. How I didn’t pass out was beyond me. I had somehow hit the holy grail of pitching despite the difficulty I had forming words and pushing them out of my mouth. I thanked her, told her I loved her necklace and got out of there before she realized what she’d done. I headed straight to…

Agent 4:

She had only listed Sci-Fi, not horror, on her wishlist. And, although I believe my story to be Sci-Fi, I know that some would also consider it horror since zombies are involved. After introductions, I told her to feel free to kick me out of her chair if my story didn’t fall into the realm of Sci-Fi she was interested in. She was super friendly and I could tell that everything people had written about her in the writing forums was true. When I finished she said she loved the idea and, if the tension was there, she’d definitely be interested. She handed me her card and requested the first 50 pages and a synopsis. I couldn’t wrap my brain around how this was happening as I walked over to…

Agent 5:

She had also only listed Sci-Fi, but stated that she wanted diverse authors and characters, so I had to try. Again, super friendly and open. After my pitch she looked at me and I don’t know what I was thinking, aside from this is awkward, but before I could stop myself I threw up jazz hands and said…TADA! Thankfully she had a sense of humor and laughed. [Disclaimer: I do not endorse ending pitches with jazz hands and/or Tada’s]. She asked some questions (is it an alternating POV? Is it adult or YA?) and seemed really happy with each answer I gave.  She handed me her card and requested the first 50 pages, a query and a synopsis.

In a daze, I wandered to the middle of the room and noted that there was still 15 minutes left in the session. I scoured the list of agents to see if there were any others specifying Sci-Fi, since I’d had such good luck with them, but there were none. With no other options, I floated out of the Terrace Ballroom.  

Undeniably, things went great for me, but I truly believe that even if I had zero requests I still wouldn't have left empty handed. I would have left knowing that, not only did I take a huge, scary leap into my writing career, but I survived.

Look, I could tell you not to be nervous, but no matter what, you will be. What I can tell you, now that I’m on the other side, is that however you anticipate the experience to be in your mind, is way worse than it will actually be. Agents aren’t scary, mythological creatures. They’re just people. Remember that and you'll be fine.

Next week I’ll post some tips from both the Pitch Perfect session and my own experience to help you to be as prepared as possible. Until then, feel free to ask questions in the comments below!

Writer's Digest Conference 2014

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Earlier this month I tore myself away from the laptop to attend the 2014 Writer’s Digest Conference here in New York City. For me, heading into the beautiful Roosevelt Hotel was equivalent to Indiana Jones stepping off the cliff in The Last Crusade. It was a huge leap of faith. In my writing and in myself.

I purposely filled the month leading up to the conference with CampNaNoWriMo, a writing challenge of 50,000 words in 31 Days. I reached my goal in the wee hours of July 29th which left me with three days to stress and panic about what I’d signed up for. I had to remind myself that my desire to learn and eagerness to meet other writerly folks outweighed the scary unknown.

Then, day one arrived. Hello nerves!

I arrived earlier than planned because the conference's hashtag on Twitter [#WDC14] was full of people already there and I felt like I was missing out. Showing up early paid off and I was let into one of the Pro sessions, Do You Really Want to be a Best Seller? Here’s How. led by Larry Kirshbaum, a Senior Literary Agent with Waxman Leavell Literary Agency. When the session ended, the Grand Ballroom filled with others like myself, that had signed up for the next day’s Pitch Slam [for a detailed post on my pitching experience, click here], where Chuck Sambuchino prepared us with his Pitch Perfect session.

All of the conference sessions fell into one of the following categories:

  • How to Get Published
  • How to Write Better
  • Platform and Promotion
  • Self-Publishing

I mostly followed the How to Write Better track, attending sessions like How to Write a Page Turner, You Have Three Pages to Win Me Over: Essential Advice for Your Opening Pages, Setting and Description: Where Are We and How Much is Too Much?, and Working the Muddle Out Of Your Middle.  Led by editors, agents, booksellers and authors, like Jacquelyn Mitchard [uh, The Deep End of the Ocean anyone?], the sessions were so chock full of information that by the end of the conference my head—and notebook—were filled nuggets upon nuggets of advice and encouragement.

As if that wasn’t enough, every day ended with a Keynote Speaker. All of them inspired me with their stories. Here are just some of the quotes that I know I'll lean on again and again:

Dani Shapiro
[Author: Slow Motion, Black & White, Family History]
"It's hard to give yourself permission to call yourself a writer."
"There is no such thing as a magical place of arrival, there is only the solitary self facing the page."

Harlan Coben
[Author: Six Years, Missing You, Tell No One]
"Only bad writers think they're good."
"Don't be a douchebag."

Kimberla Lawson Roby
[Author: The Prodigal Son, A House Divided, The Perfect Marriage]
“It doesn’t matter if you’re 18 or 80 years old. It’s never too late to live out your passion.”
"Double your determination and keep moving right along."

I was nervous going into the conference, but by the time it was over, I was sad to see it go. I felt myself grow with every session attended and every conversation had, whether it was with one of the speakers or a fellow attendee.

Speaking of, it was beyond amazing making writer friends on similar paths to my own. Friends that send you tweets like this when you feel like you're drowning in post-pitching nerves:

I can't recommend the Writer's Digest Conference enough. I walked away excited about my future in writing...whatever it may be. I learned a lot, I laughed a lot, and I worried about passing out while pitching a lot. What could be more fun than that?

Moxie Monday: Shine On

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Kick start your week with a lil' moxie!
[I took this photo at Edith Wharton's home, The Mount, which I highly recommend visiting.]

Fiction Friday: [The Kettle]

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Swallows gathered and swirled around one another near the tree line. I knew they were swallows from their double pointed tails and white chests. It was the only thing I learned yesterday. It may be the only thing I’ve learned since I’ve been here.

Camp. I didn’t know why they called it that. No one here was under the delusion that it was anything less than a prison. The counselors walked around with smiles, filled their sentences with rising tones and had a limitless list of outdoor activities to pack our days, but it was a prison nonetheless. One of them overheard me tell my bunk mate that, when you surround damaged city kids with endless miles of trees, there was no need for bars. Her eyes weren’t filled with the anger I’d expected, but even worse, it was pity. I hated when other people realized I was too smart for my circumstances, so I’ve avoided her ever since.

The cyclonic frenzy continued to grow and, at first, it made me a little nervous. Animals could sense things. Like impending doom. I scanned the trees for stumbling zombies and the sky for hovering giant silver discs that shot green lasers. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed when neither came to pass. It only took three weeks at this boring camp to make me miserable when odd bird activity wasn’t a precursor to the world ending.

In five minutes I’ll have to climb down off the bunk bed and head to a group session. If vampires or werewolves wanted to swarm the place, now would be the time. The group sessions were worse than the hikes and the canoeing. I didn’t understand why they thought talking would fix things. It wasn’t going to get my mom a job or keep the pipe out of my dad’s hand. It certainly wasn’t going to soften the war zone that was my walk to school. When one of the other kids actually spoke, the counselor’s faces would light up and I could see them banking their do-gooder points. Like they could redeem them for fancy coffees or something.

As if swept up by a gust of wind, the flurry of feathers rose above the tree tops in one cohesive, circling unit. It was so sudden I held my breath, believing this could be it. That whatever was going to go down was about to happen now. But, just as suddenly as they had gathered, they dispersed filling the sky with black and white confetti as they flew in every direction.

Watching as they grew smaller and smaller, an emptiness filled their void. And a tinge of jealousy. Of their community. Of their freedom. My chest felt like the birds had regrouped and gathered there. The flap of their wings threatening to dislodge emotions that I’d buried long ago.

Luckily, there was a rattled knock on the screen door to snap me back. It was time for group. I jumped down off the bunk and walked out under the blazing sun with the dizzying swirl still pounding in my chest.

Moxie Monday: Never Too Late

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Kick start your week with a lil' moxie!

[Quote taken from the closing keynote speech during the Writer's Digest Conference in NYC]
#WDC14