Winners and Thoughts

I know you're probably anxious to get to the results, so let's just get those out of the way so you don't have to scroll and scroll:

The full critique goes to Dana Edwards's HARVEY THE BEDAZZLER.

I'd also like to critique the first fifty pages of Katherine T.'s THE WITCH AND THE DEMON and Spring's UNTIL THE STARS BURN OUT.

Congratulations, winners! If you see this post before I have a chance to e-mail you, feel free to send your manuscripts as Word attachments to kvandolzer(at)gmail(dot)com. Can't wait to dig in!

On the whole, I was super impressed with these entries. If I were an agent, I would have requested sixteen out of the thirty-eight manuscripts. And those were just the ones that spoke to me. I found many more of the entries to be compelling and well-written; they just didn't quite match up with my personal tastes.

That said, there were a few things that made me raise my eyebrows. I was immediately put off by word counts that were significantly under or over anticipated values. If, for instance, a YA fantasy was under 70,000 words, I worried that the story--plot, characters, and world--wouldn't be developed enough. On the flip side, if an adult contemporary was over 90,000 words, I worried that it might be bogged down with too many superfluous words and scenes.

(It's worth noting that these word counts are by no means set in stone. Obviously, each story is going to have a right number of words in which it needs to be told, but it is a good idea to try to be in the ballpark. For a supremely helpful post that you've probably been referred to at least a million times, check out Jennifer Laughran's "Wordcount Dracula." While she only addresses children's fiction, I'd say it's fair to add 10,000 to 20,000 words to the YA numbers to arrive at average adult figures in similar genres.)

I should also add that, while I usually discount the importance of titles (probably because I'm terrible at coming up with them myself), there were several in this bunch that immediately caught my attention, including UNTIL THE STARS BURN OUT, ONE IS FOR SORROW, and LET THEM EAT CAKE. I'd argue that the title is the least important part of your query (since everyone knows that they get changed at least half of the time), but if you've got a great title, you should definitely showcase it.

Lastly, thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing your stories with me. Best of luck to you and them!

Krista's Impromptu Critique Contest

If you didn't make it into Pitch Wars, if you know your manuscript needs something but can't quite pinpoint what it is, if you just want another set of eyes looking for plot holes and inconsistencies, then this contest is for you. I'm between projects at the moment, so I have some time to critique someone's full manuscript.

If you want that manuscript to be yours, you must meet the following conditions:

1. You cannot be a 2016 Pitch Wars mentee. I want to give someone else an opportunity to receive the same kind of critique.

2. Your manuscript must be rated PG-13 or less. I'm open to virtually any category or genre as long as the content isn't overwhelming. (If in doubt, you're welcome to enter, but know that if I select your manuscript and find the content too uncomfortable, I may stop reading and only send you a partial critique.)

3. Your manuscript must be complete and ready to send by the first week in October. You're probably going to get more out of this experience if you don't send me a first draft, but since you know your process better than I do (and since I can't really police it), I'm also not going to say that you can't send me a first draft.

To enter, please leave a comment on this post that tells me something about your manuscript, its approximate word count, and an e-mail address I can reach you at. (For instance, copying and pasting the summary from your query would be perfect.) I'll leave the comments open until Friday, September 30, at 11:59 p.m. EDT, then announce a winner sometime the following week. One entry will receive a full critique, but I may offer to critique some partials if I feel so inclined.

Can't wait to find a great story to dig into!

Winners Below!

Without any ado, Ms. Johnson-Blalock's winners:

First place: #5 DROWNING IN AIR

DROWNING IN AIR wins a full request!

Second place: #13 A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES

A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES wins a request for the first 100 pages!

Third place: #4 THE PARIS TRIP

THE PARIS TRIP wins a request for the first 50 pages!

Fourth place: #8 IF YOU FIND ME and #20 CROSSROADS

IF YOU FIND ME and CROSSROADS win a request for the first 20 pages!

Congratulations, winners! Please e-mail me at kvandolzer(at)gmail(dot)com for details on how to submit your materials to Ms. Johnson-Blalock.

In addition, Ms. Johnson-Blalock named two honorable mentions: #9 SIGN OF THE COCOA BEANS and #10 THE EXQUISITENESS OF SEEING. In her own words, "these queries and pages were fantastic, but for wholly subjective reasons, they aren't quite right for me. But congratulations on a job well done and all my best wishes for finding the perfect agent."

Thank you, Ms. Johnson-Blalock, for your time and thoughtful critiques. And thank you, everyone else, for YOUR time and thoughtful critiques. These contests always restore my faith in humanity:)

"An Agent's Inbox" Is Live!

Check out the entries below, then leave some feedback in the comments if you feel so inclined. (ENTRANTS, PLEASE REMEMBER TO CRITIQUE AT LEAST THREE OTHER ENTRIES!) And I'm sure this goes without saying, but please keep your comments constructive (i.e., not rude or mean-spirited). If you want to think like The Agent, you might consider the question, "If you were an agent, would you request more of this entry?"

I'll announce Ms. Johnson-Blalock's winners and prizes at the beginning of next week, but until then, have at it!

(For your information, I take out profanity when I'm formatting the entries, so if you notice any asterisks, they're my asterisks, not the entrants'. Also, entrants, if you find a Krista-generated error in your post, feel free to shoot me an e-mail, and I'll correct it straightaway.)

An Agent's Inbox #22

Dear Ms. Johnson-Blalock,

After reading your page under the Liz Dawson Associates website, I was excited to learn you are interested in thrillers/mysteries, contemporary romance, and young adult. I have a manuscript that fits all three descriptions, titled OLD MAN BOONE, of roughly 75,000 words.

In OLD MAN BOONE, anything is better than living with a lying, cheating, no-good father--even living in a town with more horses than people. Still, sixteen-year-old Hailey Johnston suspects her life is over when her divorced mother moves them to Clearmont, Wyoming.

The rural town looks more promising when Josh Turner, gorgeous star athlete, asks Hailey out. He’s the guy every girl dreams of, but his ex-girlfriend is the stuff of nightmares. Once Hailey sees Josh and his ex getting cozy in the hall after school, she doubts his feelings are genuine.

The bugs in her locker and rattlesnake in her backpack have psycho written all over them, and Hailey can only assume Josh’s vindictive ex is the culprit. Things take a strange turn, however, when Hailey’s little sister claims the rumored town phantom--the ghost of Old Man Boone--is following her. When her sister wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, claiming someone is lurking outside her window, Hailey realizes the danger is real. Before Hailey can solve the dilemma, her sister disappears one stormy winter night without a trace.

To save her family, Hailey must put her doubts aside and trust Josh. Working together is the only way they will survive the snowstorm that spirited away her sister and defeat an unexpected villain.

OLD MAN BOONE was greatly influenced by my own experiences as a youth, when I moved to Clearmont. Though the plot is made up, many of the details of the town and rural society are true. I recently e-published my first novel under the penname Liz McCraine, and am preparing a second for publication later this year. While my adventures self-publishing have been invaluable, I want to follow a more traditional route with OLD MAN BOONE. Pasted below are the first 250 words of the story. The completed manuscript is available at your request.

Sincerely,
R.C.

OLD MAN BOONE

Things could only get better.

Hailey stared out the window at dull valleys overflowing with gray-green sagebrush and felt the familiar hot rush that came just before an onslaught of free-flowing tears. She swallowed, forcing down the sob threatening to burst free. It would do no good to cry. She’d already spilled a million tears, but it hadn’t changed anything.

This was hard for all of them. But whatever their troubles, they were in this together. The three of them. They had survived the upheaval of the last six months, and they could survive the next six. They were making a fresh start in a new place.

“What do you think?” Her mom, Ruth, glanced over from the driver’s seat, a hopeful expression on her too-lean face. The weight loss from everything that had happened over the last six months was evident in her hollow cheeks. The gray hairs at her temples were new, too.

Hailey knew her mom was doing her best to find the positive in a bad situation, and it was because of her example that Hailey found the strength to calm the gush of bitter emotion.

She summoned a small smile. “It looks like it could use a few more people, Mom. Maybe even people like us.”

The creases on her mom’s forehead smoothed. “Good!” She smacked the steering wheel enthusiastically. “I wholeheartedly agree. Why don’t you wake up Sarah? We’ll be at our new home in no time.” She stepped on the gas.

An Agent's Inbox #21

Dear Ms. Johnson-Blalock,

Your appreciation of female power-driven narrative attracts me to your representation. If you enjoy tales of growth, diversity, and the art world, my novel may interest you.

Down-and-out stripper Velvet spends her nights dancing at the Boom Boom Room, Tampa’s dirtiest nightclub, and dreading the club owner’s demands for sex. So when eccentric painter Byron Beauvoisin offers her a job as muse and nude model at his avant-garde art studio on the refined side of town, she goes for it. 

There she befriends his clan of devoted students and blossoms into a confident woman with creative potential. But the experimental practices of the art studio spark indignation in the community, followed by a protest and police questioning.

Then Byron is brutally murdered. Velvet is the sole witness, but who would believe the testimony of a barely conscious ex-stripper? Not the police and certainly not Byron’s neighbors. In fact, they may be hiding the killer. 

Velvet must choose whether to face or flee a community that would rather see her dead, all while balancing two potential lovers and a shot at fame.

PAINT THE RAIN is a contemporary women’s fiction novel of 87,000 words. I am an active member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and the Florida Writers Association. Below you will find the first 250 words.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

G.L.

PAINT THE RAIN

Byron Beauvoisin’s first visit to the Boom Boom Room didn’t affect me much, except for the fact that he turned down the private dance I offered. Or the fact that my boss Matty almost beat the crap out of him. Nothing unusual. That clammy Sunday night, after the dinner crowd petered out and left the place dead, a giant worry weighed me down--how to make the request that had burned in my brain for over two weeks. 

Sweat started under my arms at the thought of a confrontation with Matty. I’d almost asked twice but wimped. Tonight I’d walk straight up to him and say, Please, Matty, please let me quit hooking. 

I loitered at my station in the dressing room, brainstorming reasons he should help me clean up my life. My only family, Grammie, died four months after I turned eighteen. Since her loss, I vowed to purge the coke habit. And I did it, even though it took two energy-sucking stints of rehab. My dance style proved I’d transformed myself--I was Boom Boom’s best. Not that ‘best’ meant much in this sagging mildew shack on seedy Nebraska Ave. Point was, if he had been a caring, sensitive boss, Matty would have wanted to help me be my best self.

But caring, sensitive dudes didn’t manage strip joints in the nastiest neighborhood of Tampa, and Matty sure as h*** wasn’t a self-improvement kind of guy.

An Agent's Inbox #20

Dear Ms Johson-Blalock,

I see that you are currently seeking contemporary young adult fiction and that you have a special interest in unreliable narrators and stories with a psychological focus. My manuscript may be of interest to you. CROSSROADS (69,000 words) is a contemporary young adult novel with elements of suspense and romance. 

When fifteen-year-old Bliss Peters moves to a new town to live with her dad’s new girlfriend and daughter Paige, she thinks it could be a chance to start over. Always the overweight girl, she resolves to lose weight, believing this will be key to her transformation. But what starts as determination soon becomes a dangerous obsession. 

Paige Doyle is fourteen and a popular, talented dancer. She had the perfect life until a tragic accident and her dad wound up in prison. More than anything, Paige wants her family back together. But the intrusion of Bliss and her father sets Paige off on a spiral of destructive behaviour and she’ll stop at nothing to drive them out.

When sixteen-year-old Gretel Le’s brother is killed in an accident, she is left to pick up the pieces. Forced to put her own needs last, she cares for her alcoholic mother and young sister. When she receives an email from a mysterious admirer, she finds a confidant, friend and potential love-interest. But is he who he says he is?

Making use of different formats such as emails, food logs, letters and newspaper articles, CROSSROADS is a story about three teenagers whose lives become linked through family, tragedy, secrets and lies. I am a clinical psychologist who specialises in child and adolescent issues.

Thank you very much for your time and consideration

Sincerely,
J.C.

CROSSROADS

I had that sinking feeling all through French. And as the minute hand crept two minutes, then three minutes past one, I knew it was going to happen again. As soon as Mrs Kingsley dismissed us, I hurried out of the classroom and down the hill towards the Year 10 area. Why did she always let us out late? And why did the language centre have to be at the opposite end of the school?

The common room was basically deserted with only a few students milling around the lockers, and none of them were Taylor and Jess. At my locker, I stalled, pretending to reorganise my books and folders, all the while looking over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jess’s long brown hair or Taylor’s black hoodie that she was forever getting dress-coded for wearing. After five minutes I had to admit it. They’d already gone. I could have walked around the school looking for them, but I hated walking around by myself, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. 

I grabbed the Jane Austen novel from my bag and slunk down the corridor towards the girls’ toilets. I went into the far left cubicle, sat down, and opened my book. Soon, I was transported to Emma’s world of glamorous balls, matchmaking pursuits, and misunderstandings with eligible bachelors. It seemed more real to me than my boring life where nothing ever changed. 

The bathroom door opened and noise from the yard outside floated in.

‘Thank God we escaped,’ came a familiar voice.

An Agent's Inbox #19

Dear Jennifer Johnson-Blalock:

When DC Madam Faith Crawley receives a call from former client, Senator Bill Drummond, she thinks it’s the answer to her prayers. The money he offers her to smear political rival Finn Billings will save her company, her lifestyle, and her girls. Finn is the Tea Party’s wet dream, and if Drummond can’t smear his squeaky-clean image, he can kiss his senate seat goodbye. 

Raised in the shadow of a political magnate, Finn seems more enamored with the rocks he collects than with politics. While offering to make over Finn into a political powerhouse, Faith plots against Finn--but in the process falls in love with her mark. Now she has a tough decision to make: turn over the incriminating pictures of Finn to save her own a** or give up everything for the sake of love.

FULL GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE is my work of women’s fiction complete at 90K words. 

I earned my MFA in creative writing from Wilkes University, and I am the Regional Director of the Florida Writers’ Association, Palm Beach County. I lead three local writers’ critique groups, and my blogs have appeared on The Good Men Project, and DivorcedMoms.com. I was senior editor of Fabulous 40rties Magazine and am an active member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and the Florida Writers’ Association. 

Thank you for your time and consideration. 

Sincerely,
C.D.

FULL GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE

I was sitting across the table from one of the most dangerous men in Washington. William Drummond, aka slippery Bill, had the hungry look in his eyes of a half-starved animal. The greediness in his gaze could’ve been attributed to my dress’s plunging neckline, but I soon realized Drummond had other things on his mind. Complications which involved me. And like the aged steak slowly digesting in my belly, sharing company with the man who almost killed one of my girls did not sit well. 

Still, I had problems. I had to at least hear him out.

I lifted my empty champagne flute and motioned for a refill. Drummond obliged. 

The bubbly was good and dry, and it was tempting to down the bottle, but I needed a clear head since I was dealing with someone less trustworthy than my drycleaners. 

While sipping my drink, I looked around. Subdued conversation and the sound of china tinkling filled my ears. The Capital Grille was an ideal setting for whatever Drummond had in mind. The place was elegant, a landmark decorated in a combination of old money rich and frou-frou contemporary. 

A place one didn’t make a scene. 

I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes had passed, and Drummond still hadn’t mentioned why he’d invited me to lunch. It was time to end the pleasantries and get down to business.

“I was surprised you called,” I said, circling my flute on the tablecloth. “But you hinted it was urgent.”