This Means War
I am not a competitor. The last time I tried to play organized sports was the tryouts for 9th grade basketball. During practice I tripped over my own feet and twisted my ankle. (If I had a middle name, it would not be Grace.) {But I don't have a middle name.} [That's a blog post for another time.] Anyway, my competitive spirit was squashed along with my cheap tennies. I'm a lover, not a fighter. But when it comes to my writing, I'll make an exception. I'll even go to war. What kind of war, you say? Pitch War. First, I stalked a bunch of people online. (Not just any people. Mentors for the war.) I may or may not know where they went to elementary school and their favorite drink. Also, I know what genre they write--that's a bit more pertinent. I also got active on Twitter. Sort of. It still confuses me. I'm a twitter-twit. Then, I worked like a mad-woman to polish my manuscript and query letter . (Six years ago, I didn't even know what a ...