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 query letter was. Sometimes I wish that were still the case. Queries suck.) I had help in the form of my amazing, fabulous, stupendous writing group. They are talented and smart and beautiful, and they tell me I'm wonderful, so you know, I love them.

And, last, on Friday I went to Brenda Drake's website and nervously filled out the entry form. I attached my first chapter and stared at the 'submit' button. After a few deep breaths and a prayer, I hit submit.

Now, I wait.

I do not like waiting. I worry. I check Twitter too much. And my email. I just might drive my family crazy.

If I get picked, the prize (and it is a prize!) is getting a mentor who will work with you on your book and query to get it ready for the agent round. Kind of like a personal editor. PRICELESS. If I don't get picked...well, we won't think about that now, I'm much more graceful than I used to be.

Soldier on!