Last week I was browsing my twitter feed, as I often do, and saw a tweet by agent Jill Corcoran about lunch, tea, and her. How could I resist clicking on the link?
There before me was an opportunity: How To Hook An Agent Hosted by: Writing Pad
For $200, 12-15 people would be attend a writing class hosted by Jill, lunch, tea, and 1-on-1 time for a ten page critique. It is to take place in Beverly Hills.
I have NEVER been to a writing conference, let alone anything like this. And I thought, "Is this worth $200?"
I have read Jill's blog several occasions and many times visited the agency website. I've learned to research agents before querying, it saves your time and theirs. Why query someone who isn't looking for what you have? I even came across a link to a YouTube interview with her a while back and thought she seemed like the friendliest person, ever. In fact, she reminded me of Nina Vardalos (My Big Fat Greek Wedding).
My current ms is fantasy. From everything I've read that genre isn't one of her interests (I pretty much felt like a stalker trying to find if she ever mentioned liking any book that was remotely fantasy). The answer I came up with was no.
"So, what did you do?" you may ask.
I spent $200 and signed up for the class.
I can imagine a few of you saying, "Why?! She doesn't rep fantasy!"
Here is why:
It's in LA. Since I live in San Diego it's only a few hours drive.
Second, although she doesn't have a strong interest in fantasy, you never know. Not that I think my book will be the excepetion to the rule, I can still hope. Besides, she may like my writing and ask to see something else, or refer me to an agent who would like this particular book. I have more wips than I can count in files on my computer/flash drive. Picture books, my illustrations, middle grade adventure, to all sorts of young adult. Not all are done, but some are.
But that is just a small part of why I decided this class was in my best interest and worth the money. The main reason: I want to become a better writer. I want the advice she's willing to give an aspiring author.
Even if Jill thinks this plot/story line isn't great, she still knows good writing from bad. More importantly, she can give me an idea as of to what I'm doing wrong, regardless of it being fantasy or contemporary. I want to stand out from the crowd, make my stories unique, and my writing flow.
Reading blogs and books about writing has helped me (2 specific blogs come to mind: Aimee Salter and Plot Whisperer-Martha Alderson-Martha also happens to be one of Jill's authors. A great book: Tarot for Writers-Corrine Kenner- I don't believe in 'fortune telling,' but it really makes you get creative, I can't speak highly enough of this book). I know I'm better than I was when I started this journey. But what blogs and books can't do is give feedback. They can't give you suggestions or brainstorm with you.
Don't get me wrong. I love and appreciate my friends reading my working and giving me feedback. It helps. They see things I don't. I already know the story and the characters, it's getting others to. My friends do tell me things they like and don't like, and their honesty is great. But it's not quite the same as someone who isn't my friend. I love constructive criticism and I want the hard honest truth. I am going to invest in me and my unwavering determination to write something amazing (and get it published the traditional way).
Wish me luck for Saturday! But in the meantime feel free to let me know: What would you, or have you paid for to further your career/dream job and was it worth it?
Showing posts with label young adult book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label young adult book. Show all posts
Monday, January 14, 2013
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Contest: Gift for you for my 30th birthday!
I still can’t believe that I’m turning 30! So in honor of that, I am giving away three books to one person. That’s right, I said three! Can you guess what amazingly awesome series I’m giving away? THE HUNGER GAMES, by Suzanne Collins.
How hungry are you for THE HUNGER GAMES, CATCHING FIRE, MOCKINGJAY?
CONTEST: Answer the following two questions.
Questions:
1. What is your favorite book turned movie/t.v. series?
2. What book do you want to see made into one?
*Feel free to add in “why,” (I'd love to know) but you don’t have to.*
RULES:
1. Must follow this blog or follow me on twitter.
2. Contest starts now. You must have your answer posted by midnight, pacific time, on November 30th (my birthday!)
Ready...set...ENTER CONTEST!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
CONTEST: A Need So Beautiful
CONTEST:
Answer the question: If you were given $200,000 what frivolous thing would you do/buy, just because you could?
I’m not looking for answers like paying bills and whatnot. Have fun with it!
Example: My answer would be…
As a kid, I loved My Little Pony. So I’d buy a horse, have it dyed pink (non-toxic of course), and have a cupcake stenciled on it!
PRIZE: Signed copy of A NEED SO BEAUTIFUL by Suzanne Young and pin.
Charlotte’s best friend thinks Charlotte might be psychic. Her boyfriend thinks she’s cheating on him. But Charlotte knows what’s really wrong: She is one of the Forgotten, a kind of angel on earth, who feels the Need—a powerful, uncontrollable draw to help someone, usually a stranger.
But Charlotte never wanted this responsibility. What she wants is to help her best friend, whose life is spiraling out of control. She wants to lie in her boyfriend's arms forever. But as the Need grows stronger, it begins to take a dangerous toll on Charlotte. And who she was, is, and will become--her mark on this earth, her very existence--is in jeopardy of disappearing completely.
Charlotte will be forced to choose: Should she embrace her fate as a Forgotten, a fate that promises to rip her from the lives of those she loves forever? Or is she willing to fight against her destiny--no matter how dark the consequences.
WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON FRIDAY, AUGUST 19.
I can't wait to ready the answers!
Rules:
1. Must follow me on twitter or this blog.
2. You can only enter once.
3. With your answer, be sure to add your email address so I can contact you!
4. Contest ends Thursday at 9 p.m. Western/Midnight Eastern.
CHECK BACK SOON FOR: Interview with Suzanne Young!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
What was I thinking?!
All I can say is, "Wow."
A few weeks ago I pulled out my print-out of the very first book I ever wrote, Angel's Grace, and went through it with a red pen.
What was I thinking?! I slashed thought that thing like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't believe how many things needed to be fixed. I'd actually sent a query letter to agents for it?!?! It is no longer a surprise to me why I never had a single request for it. It was AWFUL!
Well, not awful per say. But it reeked of a seriously inexperience writer. I still love the story, the plot was great, and the characters were well thought out. It was the wording, sentence structure, descriptions, and the voice for each character needed more personality.
I wrote Angel's Grace over two years ago and since then I have learned so much about writing. Through reading blogs, reading what agents are looking for, twitter, reading more current Y.A. novels, and from simply writing and finding my own style, I can't believe how much I've improved as a writer.
I cannot tell you how important it is to take a step back from your book before you send it out to agents. Not necessarily two years like I did, but enough that when you read it it feels like you are reading another writer's work. It is hard to find your own mistakes when you have read something a million times. The lines simply start to blend together.
And don't even get me stared on my query letter. Towards the end of it I'd actually put, "This is my first YA novel." Bwahahahaha!!!!
In short: Write. Try different styles until you find your own. Read. Read blogs, read about writing, and read what you want to write.
A few weeks ago I pulled out my print-out of the very first book I ever wrote, Angel's Grace, and went through it with a red pen.
What was I thinking?! I slashed thought that thing like there was no tomorrow. I couldn't believe how many things needed to be fixed. I'd actually sent a query letter to agents for it?!?! It is no longer a surprise to me why I never had a single request for it. It was AWFUL!
Well, not awful per say. But it reeked of a seriously inexperience writer. I still love the story, the plot was great, and the characters were well thought out. It was the wording, sentence structure, descriptions, and the voice for each character needed more personality.
I wrote Angel's Grace over two years ago and since then I have learned so much about writing. Through reading blogs, reading what agents are looking for, twitter, reading more current Y.A. novels, and from simply writing and finding my own style, I can't believe how much I've improved as a writer.
I cannot tell you how important it is to take a step back from your book before you send it out to agents. Not necessarily two years like I did, but enough that when you read it it feels like you are reading another writer's work. It is hard to find your own mistakes when you have read something a million times. The lines simply start to blend together.
And don't even get me stared on my query letter. Towards the end of it I'd actually put, "This is my first YA novel." Bwahahahaha!!!!
In short: Write. Try different styles until you find your own. Read. Read blogs, read about writing, and read what you want to write.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Need a name for the book!
Usually I have no problem naming my books....until now.
I just can't seem to come up with a name for the YA I'm currently working on. So, if anyone has a suggestion or two, please let me know!
Here is the first chapter for your enjoyment:
CHAPTER ONE
Death
Death, it is an inevitable part of life. For some, it is a means to an end where as for others it is an unavoidable terrifying prospect everyone must face. Every life comes to an end at precisely the right time.
It was autumn in Dayville, Connecticut. The sun was shining on that Saturday afternoon and a slight chill floated on the gentle breeze that swirled about, gently rustling the turning leaves in the trees as they faded from green to vibrant shades of yellow, red, and orange.
No one suspected it, but a dark cloud lingered and edged its way closer as time went by. I took the antique style pocket watch from my vest coat pocket and looked at its face. The second hand ticked; its sound available to my ears alone.
2:38
Only four more minutes and it would be time to collect him.
I strolled leisurely along the sidewalk that led into the park. Delight filled screams emerged from the children playing as they climbed, ran, and swung. It would end all too soon.
I spotted him as he flew out from the tunnel of the slide and into the loving arms of a young lady that waited for him at the bottom. His blonde hair caught the afternoon light; it looked like a golden halo. He smiled with his heart, his cherub cheeks filled with laughter, and his corn flower blue eyes danced with joy as only a small child’s could.
It was taking the young ones bothered me. There was so much that they had yet to experience…and never would. I, myself, had never had any of it. Part of me hungered for the human experience instead of watching from the sidelines.
The female stood, carrying the boy in her arms. With their backs turned, she walked with him to the bench where their belongings sat. Gently she sat him down and tugged of his shoes. She tipped them over, emptying out the fine grains of sand that filled them. He squirmed, eager to get down and head home. It was his fourth birthday. Cake would be waiting for him when they returned.
“Hold still Jake,” I heard her tell him as I walked up behind them.
She brushed off his shocks, put his feet back into the shoes, and tied the laces. Her hands were delicate and her fingers nimble.
“It’s my birthday, Aamira!” he told her gleefully for the twentieth time that day.
“I know,” she responded. “You’re a big boy now.”
Love for the little boy filled Aamira’s voice. She stood, picked up her purse, and held out her hand for Jake to hold.
It was the beginning of the end.
Instead of taking it, he slid off the bench and bolted down the sidewalk and towards the street.
“Jake! Stop right there!” she yelled after him.
He didn’t listen. Jake giggled as he ran, excited to head home.
Aamira didn’t waste any time. She raced after him.
A squat looking man with a bulging stomach walking a dog let Jake race by as he stood watching it all take place. He could have stopped what was about to happen had he reached out for the child…or had he moved out of Aamira’s way when he saw her running after the small boy. His poodle jumped on her the leash became tangled in her feet, causing her to fall. She scrambled to get up.
Standing, she called out after the boy yet again. He never stopped running.
She was gaining ground on him.
Aamira reached out to grab him, missing his shirt by a mere inch. Jake jumped off the curb and headed for their red brick metallic Pathfinder parked on the opposite side of the street.
A heart rendering screamed ripped through the air.
I was beside the boy as he looked down. Then he studied the silver car that had tried to veer to the side. It had not been enough. There was nothing to be done for it.
I held out my hand to Jake. His small hand grasped mine and he looked up at me.
"Do I get to go home now? I want my Mommy and Daddy." His voice shook slightly, not quite grasping what had happened.
"Yes," I told him, "to your new home. You parents will meet you there later."
"What about Aamira? I want her to come with me now."
I shook my head.
Jake looked at his elder sister. "I don't want her to cry." His lower lip pouted.
I did what I swore I'd never do. For the first time, I looked at the one left behind.
Aamira was sobbing. Tears streamed down the gentle slopes of her cheeks as she shook her head vehement as if it would change the outcome, refusing to accept her new reality. In her arms she cradled the boy.
She looked up and she saw me, truly saw me standing there. Her stormy glistening grey eyes pierced mine. She became real to me in that instant, no longer an invisible casualty of my job. Her eyes, I knew those eye and her soul from a time before, but from where?
I breathed her in. Her hair was the color of hazelnut with streaked with honey, her sun-kissed skin still warmly glowing from the summer sun, her lips were pouty ripened raspberries, and the smell of her skin was nothing I could compare it to. I had never smelled anything before that moment. I had to know what it was. I had to know...her.
It disappeared in an instant.
She was back to looking at the small lifeless body in her arms, rocking him gently on the sun warmed pavement.
A crowd of people had gathered around. Sirens wailed in the distance.
"I don't want her to cry," repeated Jake as he tugged on my hand.
I tore my eyes from the weeping angel and returned them to Jake. I understood the sadness in his eyes.
"She won't cry forever," I told him. "One day she will be with you again."
Right then and there I wanted to trade his soul for hers. I would have if I could have done anything about it.
'She should be dead,' I thought longingly. She had to die, I wanted…no, needed…her to die. Perhaps in her death, I would be made whole.
“It’s time to go now,” I told him.
Death, it is an inevitable part of life. For some, it is a means to an end where as for others it is an unavoidable terrifying prospect everyone must face. Every life comes to an end at precisely the right time.
Death is immortal. I am immortal. I am death.
I just can't seem to come up with a name for the YA I'm currently working on. So, if anyone has a suggestion or two, please let me know!
Here is the first chapter for your enjoyment:
CHAPTER ONE
Death
Death, it is an inevitable part of life. For some, it is a means to an end where as for others it is an unavoidable terrifying prospect everyone must face. Every life comes to an end at precisely the right time.
It was autumn in Dayville, Connecticut. The sun was shining on that Saturday afternoon and a slight chill floated on the gentle breeze that swirled about, gently rustling the turning leaves in the trees as they faded from green to vibrant shades of yellow, red, and orange.
No one suspected it, but a dark cloud lingered and edged its way closer as time went by. I took the antique style pocket watch from my vest coat pocket and looked at its face. The second hand ticked; its sound available to my ears alone.
2:38
Only four more minutes and it would be time to collect him.
I strolled leisurely along the sidewalk that led into the park. Delight filled screams emerged from the children playing as they climbed, ran, and swung. It would end all too soon.
I spotted him as he flew out from the tunnel of the slide and into the loving arms of a young lady that waited for him at the bottom. His blonde hair caught the afternoon light; it looked like a golden halo. He smiled with his heart, his cherub cheeks filled with laughter, and his corn flower blue eyes danced with joy as only a small child’s could.
It was taking the young ones bothered me. There was so much that they had yet to experience…and never would. I, myself, had never had any of it. Part of me hungered for the human experience instead of watching from the sidelines.
The female stood, carrying the boy in her arms. With their backs turned, she walked with him to the bench where their belongings sat. Gently she sat him down and tugged of his shoes. She tipped them over, emptying out the fine grains of sand that filled them. He squirmed, eager to get down and head home. It was his fourth birthday. Cake would be waiting for him when they returned.
“Hold still Jake,” I heard her tell him as I walked up behind them.
She brushed off his shocks, put his feet back into the shoes, and tied the laces. Her hands were delicate and her fingers nimble.
“It’s my birthday, Aamira!” he told her gleefully for the twentieth time that day.
“I know,” she responded. “You’re a big boy now.”
Love for the little boy filled Aamira’s voice. She stood, picked up her purse, and held out her hand for Jake to hold.
It was the beginning of the end.
Instead of taking it, he slid off the bench and bolted down the sidewalk and towards the street.
“Jake! Stop right there!” she yelled after him.
He didn’t listen. Jake giggled as he ran, excited to head home.
Aamira didn’t waste any time. She raced after him.
A squat looking man with a bulging stomach walking a dog let Jake race by as he stood watching it all take place. He could have stopped what was about to happen had he reached out for the child…or had he moved out of Aamira’s way when he saw her running after the small boy. His poodle jumped on her the leash became tangled in her feet, causing her to fall. She scrambled to get up.
Standing, she called out after the boy yet again. He never stopped running.
She was gaining ground on him.
Aamira reached out to grab him, missing his shirt by a mere inch. Jake jumped off the curb and headed for their red brick metallic Pathfinder parked on the opposite side of the street.
A heart rendering screamed ripped through the air.
I was beside the boy as he looked down. Then he studied the silver car that had tried to veer to the side. It had not been enough. There was nothing to be done for it.
I held out my hand to Jake. His small hand grasped mine and he looked up at me.
"Do I get to go home now? I want my Mommy and Daddy." His voice shook slightly, not quite grasping what had happened.
"Yes," I told him, "to your new home. You parents will meet you there later."
"What about Aamira? I want her to come with me now."
I shook my head.
Jake looked at his elder sister. "I don't want her to cry." His lower lip pouted.
I did what I swore I'd never do. For the first time, I looked at the one left behind.
Aamira was sobbing. Tears streamed down the gentle slopes of her cheeks as she shook her head vehement as if it would change the outcome, refusing to accept her new reality. In her arms she cradled the boy.
She looked up and she saw me, truly saw me standing there. Her stormy glistening grey eyes pierced mine. She became real to me in that instant, no longer an invisible casualty of my job. Her eyes, I knew those eye and her soul from a time before, but from where?
I breathed her in. Her hair was the color of hazelnut with streaked with honey, her sun-kissed skin still warmly glowing from the summer sun, her lips were pouty ripened raspberries, and the smell of her skin was nothing I could compare it to. I had never smelled anything before that moment. I had to know what it was. I had to know...her.
It disappeared in an instant.
She was back to looking at the small lifeless body in her arms, rocking him gently on the sun warmed pavement.
A crowd of people had gathered around. Sirens wailed in the distance.
"I don't want her to cry," repeated Jake as he tugged on my hand.
I tore my eyes from the weeping angel and returned them to Jake. I understood the sadness in his eyes.
"She won't cry forever," I told him. "One day she will be with you again."
Right then and there I wanted to trade his soul for hers. I would have if I could have done anything about it.
'She should be dead,' I thought longingly. She had to die, I wanted…no, needed…her to die. Perhaps in her death, I would be made whole.
“It’s time to go now,” I told him.
Death, it is an inevitable part of life. For some, it is a means to an end where as for others it is an unavoidable terrifying prospect everyone must face. Every life comes to an end at precisely the right time.
Death is immortal. I am immortal. I am death.
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