Okay, so it wasn't totally on accident (but it made a good title, right?). Usually, I don't even outline novels. I'm lucky to keep one step ahead of my characters, but this time was different, and I'm all for that. Every novel is its own animal, so I can't expect the leash that wrangled the last one onto a word doc to tame the new beast raging around in my head.
But we're getting off topic. How did I end up accidentally outlining this novel?
It went a little something like this:
"You know, I think I need to take some time to just focus on editing this most recent manuscript. I'm going to give myself the freedom to do that by putting writing new content on the back burner for a while."
*shifts pot to back burner*
"But, boy, wouldn't basil be good in that back pot?"
*makes a note about basil even though I have no idea what else will be in the pot with it*
*repeat over the following weeks*
Pretty soon I had a big stack of note cards with little snippets and ideas written on them. Some of the ideas were very hazy. Things like "Car chase? Crash?" and "Friendly rivalry?".
Others were actual snippets of scenes, a few lines of dialogue. Things like:
The woman hesitates. "It's bad, Alice."
My stomach drops.
"You should really get over there now."
and
"What makes you think I'd believe anything you say?"
"Have you misled you so far?"
"Benedict Arnold could have asked the same question."
"You'll have to answer that question for yourself then. You said it yourself--why would you believe anything I say?"
Then one night, I fished all my note cards out of the depths of my purse and my computer bag from work and the sides of my desk drawers and started pinning them to my corkboard. Fifteen minutes, a few new cards, and a lot of rearranging later, I sat back and looked at my next novel outlined in front of me.
Sure, there are missing spots and I'm not quite sure how to actually get to some of the scenes on that board, but I know where I want it to go, beginning to end.
The brain is an amazing, amazing thing. I wasn't intentionally outlining or even thinking deeply about this novel, but all those snippets came together in a beautiful way.
Now, just to write it...
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
The Ten Commandments of Twitter Pitch Contests
A Twitter pitch contest is a great opportunity to start a "relationship" with an agent so you don't have to send your query in cold. Participating in the contests can be confusing, so I wanted to share my 10 Commandments of Twitter Pitch Contests. The advice here varies from Twitching manners to the construction of the pitch itself. I hope it is helpful!
1. Keep your pitch to one tweet. Don't split it between two. Don't link to the "rest" of it. 140 characters is all you've got for your pitch and any necessary hashtags. Use it wisely.
2. Don't flood the feed. Most contests will dictate how many times throughout the day you are allowed to post your pitch (generally, it is once or twice per hour) but read the contest rules. If you post more often in hopes that more eyes will see your pitch, you'll get your wish, but the feeling towards you won't be a positive one--from agents or from the writing community in general.
3. Stick to one (MAYBE two) named characters. There simply isn't space to name more than that.
4. Avoid asking questions, rhetorical or otherwise. Of course, there are always exceptions, but this seems to be the general consensus among agents.
5. Favorites are for agents. Don't favorite a fellow writer's tweet in hopes of encouraging them. You'll only give them the false joy that an agent wants to see more of their work, and they'll be sad when it's just little ol' you. If you want to show support for your fellow writings, retweet their pitch instead.
6. State the stakes. It's tough with such limited space, but do include the stakes in your pitch. What will happen if your MC doesn't succeed? Be as specific as possible.
7. Vary your pitches. Say that you can post twice an hour and the contest runs for eight hours. That's sixteen chances to get your pitch out there. Rather than posting the same thing sixteen times, vary your pitches. Come up with several strong pitches and rotate through them. When you do repeat a pitch, be sure to switch up the wording or order of words, otherwise Twitter may flag the repeated tweet as spam and you'll miss valuable pitch opportunities.
8. Respect the time limits. If the contest runs from 8AM - 8PM PST, tweet only within those hours. Be sure to adjust accordingly if that is outside your time zone and don't be that person who is posting hours early or hours late. It's bad juju.
9. Be prepared. Schedule your tweets in advance using sites like TweetDeck or HootSuite, then you don't have to worry about missing a tweet day-of.
10. Seek feedback. There are plenty of people who offer to critique Twitter pitches free of charge, so take advantage of these opportunities ahead of time (follow blogs, twitter feeds, etc. of other writers as they will often notify people in advance of these opportunities). You could always try offering a "give to get" as well! Swap pitches, offer feedback, and even if you don't hit gold (stars, that is) with an agent, you might just make a new best friend.
Best of luck to you in all your Twitching endeavors!
1. Keep your pitch to one tweet. Don't split it between two. Don't link to the "rest" of it. 140 characters is all you've got for your pitch and any necessary hashtags. Use it wisely.
2. Don't flood the feed. Most contests will dictate how many times throughout the day you are allowed to post your pitch (generally, it is once or twice per hour) but read the contest rules. If you post more often in hopes that more eyes will see your pitch, you'll get your wish, but the feeling towards you won't be a positive one--from agents or from the writing community in general.
3. Stick to one (MAYBE two) named characters. There simply isn't space to name more than that.4. Avoid asking questions, rhetorical or otherwise. Of course, there are always exceptions, but this seems to be the general consensus among agents.
5. Favorites are for agents. Don't favorite a fellow writer's tweet in hopes of encouraging them. You'll only give them the false joy that an agent wants to see more of their work, and they'll be sad when it's just little ol' you. If you want to show support for your fellow writings, retweet their pitch instead.
6. State the stakes. It's tough with such limited space, but do include the stakes in your pitch. What will happen if your MC doesn't succeed? Be as specific as possible.
7. Vary your pitches. Say that you can post twice an hour and the contest runs for eight hours. That's sixteen chances to get your pitch out there. Rather than posting the same thing sixteen times, vary your pitches. Come up with several strong pitches and rotate through them. When you do repeat a pitch, be sure to switch up the wording or order of words, otherwise Twitter may flag the repeated tweet as spam and you'll miss valuable pitch opportunities.
8. Respect the time limits. If the contest runs from 8AM - 8PM PST, tweet only within those hours. Be sure to adjust accordingly if that is outside your time zone and don't be that person who is posting hours early or hours late. It's bad juju.
9. Be prepared. Schedule your tweets in advance using sites like TweetDeck or HootSuite, then you don't have to worry about missing a tweet day-of.
10. Seek feedback. There are plenty of people who offer to critique Twitter pitches free of charge, so take advantage of these opportunities ahead of time (follow blogs, twitter feeds, etc. of other writers as they will often notify people in advance of these opportunities). You could always try offering a "give to get" as well! Swap pitches, offer feedback, and even if you don't hit gold (stars, that is) with an agent, you might just make a new best friend.
Best of luck to you in all your Twitching endeavors!
Monday, June 1, 2015
On Missionettes and Why I Never Earned My Tiara
When I was growing up, my church had this program for girls called Missionettes. It's sort of the Christian equivalent of Girl Scouts (not sure what's wrong with plain old Girl Scouts, but that's another conversation. Probably one that would lead into my conversation about how I would have LOVED to learn what the Pioneers/Boy Scouts were learning and never had the chance. While they tied knots and made arrows, we were no joke learning how to stir in mixing bowls without spilling. Seriously? *insert explicative of your choice*).
Needless to say, I wasn't super enthused about the whole thing, but one year I decided (or was coerced? I'm not quite sure) into giving it at try. Really the prevailing reason was that when you reached the end of the program and earned all your badges, you got to participate in the graduation ceremony. You wore a silk cape and a tiara and got a rose. Really, what more could a girl ask for? Because even though I wanted to make derby cars and learn to build fires, I still wanted that tiara, too.
Since I was starting later than the other girls, my sash was woefully lacking in way of badges. Being the person I am, I decided to make quick work of that. I worked my tail off so I could get caught up by the time our first badge ceremony came around. Most of the stuff was pretty stupid. I remember that part of earning the health badge involved tracking how many cookies you ate each day. Even my pre-teen brain could figure that one out--"I ate zero cookies today...AND A MILLION DONUTS! NOW GIVE ME MY HEALTH BADGE, YOU FLOOZIES!"
Regardless, by the time the ceremony rolled around, I had pretty much caught up to everyone else and was prepared to officially gain the mountain of badges I'd earned. We gathered on the stage, our parents gathered in the seats, the older girls got their silk capes and tiaras (with the rest of us younglings salivating over them). When my turn came, I walked up expecting a mountain of badges. That's what I'd earned. Instead, I got only a few.
Afterwards, I confronted my teacher about it. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went down. I believe it had something to do with them saying I couldn't earn that many at once/there's no way anyone could have done that amount of work in that amount of time (which clearly demonstrates how little they knew me!)
What I definitely remember is the result: none of those missing badges for me.
I never went back to Missionettes again.
They'd screwed me over. I'd earned something, and they hadn't delivered. I felt scammed and taken advantage of. I felt like the girls who had been in the program longer were the favorites, and I was getting scammed as the newbie. And hell if I was going to give them one more ounce of my time.
I like to think there's a lesson in here somewhere.
That as teachers or leaders, at home or in the workplace, we ought to be especially careful to give credit when it is earned, because when someone works for something, has been promised something, and you fail to come through on it, you may just lose them entirely.
And also, for the love of God and all that is good and holy in the world, let the girls tie knots!
Needless to say, I wasn't super enthused about the whole thing, but one year I decided (or was coerced? I'm not quite sure) into giving it at try. Really the prevailing reason was that when you reached the end of the program and earned all your badges, you got to participate in the graduation ceremony. You wore a silk cape and a tiara and got a rose. Really, what more could a girl ask for? Because even though I wanted to make derby cars and learn to build fires, I still wanted that tiara, too.
Since I was starting later than the other girls, my sash was woefully lacking in way of badges. Being the person I am, I decided to make quick work of that. I worked my tail off so I could get caught up by the time our first badge ceremony came around. Most of the stuff was pretty stupid. I remember that part of earning the health badge involved tracking how many cookies you ate each day. Even my pre-teen brain could figure that one out--"I ate zero cookies today...AND A MILLION DONUTS! NOW GIVE ME MY HEALTH BADGE, YOU FLOOZIES!"
Regardless, by the time the ceremony rolled around, I had pretty much caught up to everyone else and was prepared to officially gain the mountain of badges I'd earned. We gathered on the stage, our parents gathered in the seats, the older girls got their silk capes and tiaras (with the rest of us younglings salivating over them). When my turn came, I walked up expecting a mountain of badges. That's what I'd earned. Instead, I got only a few.
Afterwards, I confronted my teacher about it. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went down. I believe it had something to do with them saying I couldn't earn that many at once/there's no way anyone could have done that amount of work in that amount of time (which clearly demonstrates how little they knew me!)
What I definitely remember is the result: none of those missing badges for me.
I never went back to Missionettes again.
They'd screwed me over. I'd earned something, and they hadn't delivered. I felt scammed and taken advantage of. I felt like the girls who had been in the program longer were the favorites, and I was getting scammed as the newbie. And hell if I was going to give them one more ounce of my time.
I like to think there's a lesson in here somewhere.
That as teachers or leaders, at home or in the workplace, we ought to be especially careful to give credit when it is earned, because when someone works for something, has been promised something, and you fail to come through on it, you may just lose them entirely.
And also, for the love of God and all that is good and holy in the world, let the girls tie knots!
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