SPOILER ALERT AND UPDATE:
Email notifications were sent out Monday, March 18th, 2013, to let people know they’d made it to the next round. Even though I checked my spam folder about four times (every hour), I didn’t receive an email. Congratulations to all who moved forward and best of luck as you pursue your dreams.
This week I did something super scary. I submitted a query to a Twitter event called Pitch Madness.
I hardly know what it is, but I saw it happen earlier in the year and missed my opportunity. I tend to think that it can’t hurt to get feedback on your material, particularly if it comes from a knowledgeable source. I kept track of the site and when Pitch Madness came around again, I was waiting for it.
The rules are pretty simple. They pick a bunch of agents to look over the pitches people send in, and the agents can pick the queries they want to pursue. There are strict instructions about how to format entries and what to include. I’m going to include my submission/query for you to read below. Does this scare the living buhjeebers out of me? Absolutely. 100%. Ya you betcha.
Why am I going on about this?
Because many of the readers here (I say ‘many’ as if there are hordes of people lining up to read this blog! Funny!) are interested in writing in one way or another, and if my fumbling around can help someone else, I’m glad for it. If anyone else has participated in Pitch Madness, I’d love to hear about your experience!
[One last stalling tactic note: The beginning of my manuscript is a prologue. I’m worried about it being an information-dump, but it reflects the reality of the situation the character is in. Oh, and here’s the link to the website: http://brenleedrake.blogspot.com/2013/03/announcing-pitch-madness-submission.html ]
Pitch (must be only 35 words):
HANNAH ANDERSON, a freshman at LAKEVIEW COLLEGE in Minnesota, lives the dichotomy of thrilling newfound independence and weighty, life-directing decisions. Trying to learn forgiveness on top of her class-load may be way too many credits.
When I first met her during Freshman move-in, I pegged her as one of the popular cheerleader types, definitely from a wealthy family. She wore a flippy floral skirt with flip-flops that were just white enough to leave your eyesight intact, but you knew they hadn’t walked many miles. Not like my ratty flip-flops, which had started to pull apart around the edges. She had wavy white-blond hair, a strong jawline with a subtle dimple in her chin and the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. Were those fake? She began to answer, and I could hardly believe the velocity of her mouth, that she could actually form words at that speed. She slowed for breath occasionally, but most of her words blended together. My brain had to work to keep up.
“I’m Kenzie,” she said. “It’sshortforMackenzie. MylastnameisRandolph. Mackenzie’swhat myparents callme andyoucancallmethatifyouwant, but backathome everyonestucktoKenzie. Ithinkit’seasier, shorterthanthefullMackenzie. ButI’llletyoudecide. Anyway, what’syourname?”
She bounced over and plopped down on my twin bed, her fluttery skirt circling her as though she’d orchestrated it. Too perfect. I blinked.
“Um..hi. I’m Hannah. Anderson. Yes, like the kids clothes but no relation. I’m not the heiress of a clothing empire.” I wanted to ask ‘Are you an heiress?’ but stopped myself.
“Got it. Hannah. Anyconnection to AndersonHall overthere?” She beckoned to one of the other two dorms that contained all incoming freshmen.
“Nope, not that either,” I answered.
I couldn’t help but think she seemed slightly disappointed.
“Haveyoumetyourroommateandstuff?” She looked around my room, like she wanted to make sure there wasn’t someone else who might need her introduction.