ABNA Cadabra

So I entered ABNA last week.  I did within a few hours of the contest opening, so I’m pretty confident I made the cut off.  I been reading other people’s posts about prepping their novel and grinding their query into game shape, and I realized something. 

I really didn’t do anything.

I could tweak, revise, and line edit my MS for the next twenty years and never be completely satisfied with it.  Not only that, but I think I hit the point of diminishing returns, where it’s about as good as it’s ever going to get, and the more work I put in will generate a smaller and smaller result.  So basically they got what I gave them, and if they don’t like it, so be it.

I wouldn’t have entered the contest if I didn’t think I had some kind of chance, but realistically, I’m going up against 4,999 other novels, many of them literary fiction.  I’m rooting for myself, and since anything else is now out of my control, I won’t gnash my teeth or rend my clothing if I don’t win.

A publishing contract and a trip to New York would be sweet, but what I know I’ll get from this no matter what happens, is a definite assessment of my query.  I really think my story is appealing enough to make through the first round, which is judged solely on the pitch, which is essentially my query.  So if I don’t make through, I’ll know for sure that my query isn’t going cut it no matter who I send it to.  If it passes, I’ll know I’m on the right track, and I’ll just widen my agent net a little more.

Here’s the pitch that I sent.  The main problem is that it feels long, even though it’s less than 250 words.

Seventeen-year-old Theadne Adir dreams of using her gift of speed to escape her bleak future on Qalon and to build a better life for her family. She’d even escape being Qalonian if she could. Her little brother is dying, her mom works two jobs just to provide scraps, and her entire universe is a sixteen block nightmare called the Pit. For decades, Qalon has cowered under the grip of the Sarall Supremacy, and through the aliens’ occupation, she’s learned to believe what the Supremacy teaches: Qalonians are the most wretched and pitiful life forms in the solar system.

When the Supremacy’s war with the planet Muer reaches Qalon, Thea’s way out seems shut until a midnight swim brings her face to face with an enemy not at all what they seem. Mistaken for a Muer collaborator, Thea finds herself running not for ribbons but for her life in a desperate trek through the darkest reaches of Qalon and into the arms of Talus of Raal, the captivating son of a Muer noble.

Thea and Talus’s obvious affection runs afoul of the Muerlings’ xenophobic sensibilities even as the Muerling Army launches a desperate assault on the full might of the Supremacy Military. Forced into a covert mission as a native guide on the streets of her home, Thea finds herself caught between enemies on both sides of the battle lines and suddenly torn between self preservation and the survival of a planet, and a race, she’s slowly learning to love.

So basically, I’m hoping on the first round; anything else is cake.

Mmm…cake…

Should Auld Rejections be Forgot…

I was going to write a retrospective of 2010 today, the highs and lows, the accomplishments and setbacks, the losses and the discoveries.  It was a year unlike any other, although there were no major tragedies or triumphs.  It was a very workmanlike year, each up and down a small cog in the machinery of my days.  But put them together and…I don’t know.  It was significant.  I was going to share all that, as I’ve had no hesitation sharing things on here, but I’ve decided to keep it to myself, just this once.  I’m not sure why.  Just because, I guess.

It’s been a while – too long – since I wrote a piece about my writing escapades.  Christmas is over, 2010 is breathing its last, and the publishing world will once again spring to life, exploring strange new queries, seeking out new authors and new manuscripts, boldly going. . .

Never mind, thinking of something else.  My point is, vacation is over; it’s time to get back to work.

And I will have my query ready. 

I had a mini-epiphany while twisting, pulling, and spindling(?) my query to mold it into the shape of that most mythical of creatures – the Perfect Query Letter.  What’s perfect?  To hear some tell, it’s as much detail as possible; others want little more than a logline. 

The trick, I think (but it’s not a trick really), to a good query is not in the writing but in the research.  Research the agents that fit your work and craft a query to fit each one of them individually.  It may take a lot of searching, especially the agents who don’t blog.  Find out what type of query a particular agent likes to read and write that query.  Then write a different query for the next.  I can’t speak to the mindset of an agent, but I know I’d be more inclined to linger over a query written in the style I prefer.  If you get a box of candy, you may eat them all, but you’re going after the kinds you like first. 

Instead of trying to force your writing to be perfect for everyone, accept the fact that it’s not and narrow the audience down those who will like it (and maybe even request pages as a result), then keeping the core of your pitch, write another in a totally different style if you have to.  Maybe this agent focuses on plot, and that one is more interested in finding a fresh voice.  And keep doing it.  It sounds hard, but really, writing isn’t the hard part, is it?  It’s forcing your writing to please everyone that’s hard. 

Anyway, that’s my theory.  Those of you ahead me, who’ve done the querying already, can tell me I’m nuts, or “duh” as the case may be.  I’ll find out soon enough.  

Road Map

I got my critique for my pitch proposal a lot sooner than I expected.  Crushed are my unrealistic dreams that she would be so in love with it that the world would fall away, and only she and the pitch would remain, their eyes locked in a fiery…

Anyway, that didn’t happen.  No short cuts for me; it’s the long and winding road for as long as it takes.  It’s a long road, treacherous and lonely, but at least I know where I’m going and how to get there.  Actually, it wasn’t all bad.  Heck, just getting honest feedback from a professional was worth the price of admission.  I don’t how polite she was in crafting the comments, but she had some positive words.  She complimented two of my sentences (I only had seven, so pretty good batting average) and said the opening was nice, if a little generic.  She was confused about Thea’s attitude toward her home and felt the mission was too vague.  I got the impression she liked it overall, but that it wasn’t specific enough, that it didn’t give her anything to make her want to pick my book out of the hundreds of letters she gets in a week.

Even though the miracle ending didn’t happen, this was a very positive experience.  The hardest thing for me to know is just how much of the Wind Maiden’s world people can “see”.  I’ve been living there with these characters off and on for five years; It’s as real to me as any place on Earth.  More so than some.  To everyone else, though, it’s just words on a page, and my biggest mistake in the pitch was not providing enough words.  I was so worried about overdoing it that I never considered I might under-do it.

Anyway, I’ve got great notes – a road map to along, as well as proof a respected literary agent thinks I can craft a good sentence (hey, we take the victories where they are). 

 

Here we go...

Well, I’ve finished the pitch proposal.  Actually, I finished a few days ago, but I’ve been staring holes into it ever since.  And I’m still not convinced it can’t be better.  I’ve showed it to as many people as I can (which, sadly, is about seven or eight), and for the most part have gotten the standard “Oh, I’d read it,” response.  That’s good of course, but I lack the discerning eye of the industry professional.  Although my wife has given me surprisingly insightful feedback (surprising because she praises everything I write – not necessarily because it’s any good, but because she is wonderfully supportive).  She pointed out some repetition as well as part that don’t quite flow.  I’ve taken her opinion to heart and made some changes; hopefully it’ll be enough to generate some interest.

After that, it’s all up to the book.

Short but Hard

No, I’m talking about my pitch paragraph.  Our ‘homework’ for the previously mentioned webinar was to revise our query pitch paragraph, and e-mail it to the agent who presented the webinar (I can’t stop saying ‘webinar’) for a personalized critique.  The query pitch can get your foot in the door, or it can kill your chances before anyone’s read a page of your book.  Naturally, I want to do my best.  I’ve been working on it for over a week now, and it’s proven harder in its own way than the book itself.  Eight to twelve sentences to convince an agent your novel is better than 99% of the thousands of queries they get a week. 

No pressure.

The webinar (heh) proved worth the admission fee and more, as I went from describing my novel in endless circles that either drove people away or into deep bouts of I-don’t-give-a-crap, to being able to not only present my story in a tight, coherent fashion, but also to generate actual interest in the book itself.  Until it gets read by industry professionals, I’ll have no idea how good it is – the query or the novel – but on both counts, I know I’ve done my very best.

Well, maybe one more touchup.