40 WEEKS OF ME- Week 8, #GUTGAA 1st Round Judge

As many of you are aware, I participated in GEARING UP TO GET AN AGENT as a first round judge this week. I admit this is something that would typically be outside my comfort zone, but in the spirit of breaking free of my shell, I jumped in feet first. Notice I didn't say I dived in?

I didn't know what to expect. So I dipped my toes in the water before fully immersing myself in the GUTGAA experience. I've met some really amazing people. Deana Barnhart, I don't know how you managed to organize this opportunity. Thank you for being such an inspiration. You are truly one of a kind.

I also want to give a shout to my fellow judges and blog hosts for donating their time. To the contestants, thank you for having the courage to participate. I wish you all the best of luck as you query widely and confidently knowing that your query rocks! And if it doesn't quite yet, well, keep revising. 

You can never have too many books. Yeah, right.

Some of you may be wondering how I made my choices. Let me tell you...so hard. Since I was voting for Adult, I had a variety of genres: Dystopian, Women's Fiction, Steam Punk, Paranormal Romance, Mainstream, Mystery, Fantasy, Thriller, Memoir, Historical and Science Fiction.

Luckily, I read all these genres. Don't believe me? Check out my overflowing, needs to be organized bookshelf.

Initially, I read through the 43 entries without looking at any comments. I don't like to be influenced by other people's opinions. I documented my initial impression. Was the query tight/polished? Did it hold my attention? Did I finish reading and want more or was I confused? Then I moved to the first 150, and asked the same questions.

I labeled each entry with a rating of 1-5. By the end, I had 1 (F'ing Awesome 5+++), 6 (5's) and 11 (4's). These were all books I would buy if I read the blurb in the bookstore and had a fat gift card with enough money to indulge myself.

Since I have never bought 18 books at one time (five at the most, maybe one a week if I'm feeling splurgey) I went with my rating system. All the 5's were automatic entries. Then I had to choose three 4's. Since they they were all equal in awesomeness in my eyes, I went with genre as the deciding factor.

I had 4's and 5's in every genre, except two which were 3's. So I made sure my last three picks did not come from genres already represented by my 5's, because I wanted to make sure as many of the genres I enjoy reading would be represented next week. Only 6 of my first pick choices will be going forward, but all of the winning entries fell within my 4's and 5's. I have faith all of these books will be on my overflowing bookshelf someday so I can finally read them And I want to read them so bad, drool.

Well, there you go. Apple's convoluted query picking system. 

Since this is a 40 Weeks post, I still have to share something personal about myself. Given all the contestants were brave enough to share their query babies, I thought I would share one of mine. You've seen the query letter for JUJU'S CHILD which landed my agent. But, nobody except the agents I had the temerity to query saw and rejected my very first horrible query letter (602 words).

Look, laugh, learn what NOT to do.

12/24/09

 

Dear Agent,

 

I am seeking representation for my paranormal romance novel, Psychic Journey.  I have 103,000 words completed from an estimated 120-150,000.    

 

Consulting Archeologist Jurnee Fontaine is a woman dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge to the sublimation of her interpersonal relationships.  She values logic and the crispness of the science inherent to her work.  Because Jurnee tends to avoid engaging in displays of emotional weakness, she finds she is routinely confounded by her fairy loving, tarot card reading mother, who constantly encourages her to cultivate her innate psychic ability. 

 

 

Jurnee’s stance on the matter is that foreknowledge never provided her with the ability to alter the future she saw in her visions and trying just left her with a blinding headache, and another aching hole in her heart. 

 

Despite her efforts to focus her attention on her current contract to excavate the site of a ranch built by Steven Durant, in the hills outside of Folsom, CA. in 1868, Jurnee develops an illogical obsession over the suspicious circumstances surrounding the deaths of Durant’s wife and young son.  But it is with the discovery of Willa Durant’s diary and subsequent frenetic drive home from the dig site that Jurnee’s life takes an unexpected turn from the norm.   

 

It begins with torrential rain, a bedraggled woman with her daughter standing in the middle of the road, and Jurnee so distracted she fails to see them.  Instead of running them over, Jurnee swerves her truck into an embankment.  The woman’s heartbreaking story of fleeing her abusive husband, added to the guilt of almost pulverizing them, causes Jurnee to take on the responsibility of protecting this woman and child from the danger she senses threatening them. 

 

This triggers a series of uncharacteristic actions by the normally level-headed Jurnee.   She breaks up with her fiancé, falls in lust with a dead man, and is accidently transported by… gasp, magic into the past.  She wakes in the year 1878, tied to the bed of sexy Stephen Durant, who incidentally thinks she’s stark raving mad and hates her with a passion, to discover to her horror that her consciousness has switched bodies with that of his doomed wife, walking Barbie doll, Willa Durant. 

 

Now Jurnee, who despises all things mystical; must figure out a way to survive an unexpected pregnancy by thwarting the bruja trying to steal Willa’s husband, Stephen by murdering her, keep from falling in love with the same husband and return to her own time, all the while, hoping that Willa doesn’t ruin her own life in the future.

 

I have a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Anthropology, specializing in Native American Studies from California State University, Sacramento.  I realized my dream of working for a consulting archeologist after college. 

 

The site I helped excavate was the inspiration for this novel.  I also discovered that due to seasonal allergies, I would not be the next female Indiana Jones. The stories I write are in the genres that I enjoy reading such as, paranormal romance, fantasy and tend to have a supernatural element.  

 

 

My favorite authors are Charlaine Harris, Laurell K. Hamilton, Rachel Caine, Kim Harrison, David Eddings, Arthur C. Clarke, Stephen King, and so many others that my bookshelves are overflowing. 

 

 

Thank you for your consideration of this proposal.  I look forward to hearing from you. 

 

GUTGAA MADNESS

It’s mad, I say. Mad!

Yes, and I’m loving it. Last week, I spent my free time Meeting and Greeting those participating in the awesome Gearing Up To Get AnAgent contest hosted by Deana Barnhart. I had a wonderful time checking out blogs and learning about their owners’ aspirations and inspirations. How about you?

This week is also going to be full of awesome.

The pitch polish entries are up. Nail biting excitement for the 100 participants who have their pitches up and waiting for constructive feedback. So, please hop over there and show them some love by critiquing their pitches.

 For those who would like feedback on their pitches but didn’t get into the contest, sign up your blog on the linky list and post your query/pitch. The more people help out and provide feedback the better each participant will get at knowing how to draft a query letter, what needs to be in a query, and how to make yours stand out from the crowd.

I talked about what I feel is one of the most important things to have in a query in a guest post on Kate Evangelista's blog. It is subjective. I'm sure others will tell you different things. However, voice is the one thing that draws me in. If the voice of the query is blah, good luck keeping me around very long. My attention span is short. You gotta catch me in the very beginning and use your words to wrap me in sticky tape so I can’t break free.

 

Like I said, I'm speaking for myself here. Now it's your turn. What do you think is important to have in a query. Is it voice? Or something else that draws you in and keeps you moving along to something else? What do you think needs to be included in a kick butt query?

 

 

Guest Post on Reads, Reviews, Recommends: The Anatomy of a Query Letter by Angie Sandro

Kate Evangelista, my awesome critique partner, asked me to write a Guest Post about query letters for her blog: Reads, Reviews, Recommends (if you haven’t checked out her blog, please do. It’s fantastic ‘cause she’s a blogging wizard, kinda like a female Harry Potter, so I guess she’d be Hermione).


Sorry, I'm still a little giddy. Refocusing.


At first I thought, NO WAY! I’m not an expert. How can I write a post about something that I’m still learning about myself?


I still remember how confused I was when I wrote my first query, oh so long ago, in a galaxy far, far away--called Clueless. I wrote a rambling two page letter that broke all the query rules: No hook, the book was 104,000 words and not complete, bah, I’m embarrassed to admit that I sent that piece of offal out to agents. At the time, I thought it was awesome. Then I found agentquery.com and learned how to properly format a query letter.


I learned because of the other members who gave their time to critique my query and show me where I went wrong. Most of the people who helped me weren’t query experts either. They passed along the information they learned to a newbie, and now I have a responsibility to pay it forward. Sharing and collaborating with others is the only way to learn and grow as a writer (my thanks to my awesome critique group for all your help with my queries).


Kate is one of the people who helped me out. I couldn’t say no to her request even though it filled me with nail biting terror. This morning, I open an email from Kate. All it said was, SURPRISE! And had the link to my post: The Anatomy of a Query Letter, da, da, duh, by Angie Sandro.


Thank you for such an amazing honor, Kate Evangelista, and for making me peek outside of my turtle shell and give back to our wonderful writing community.

Query Letter- JUJU'S CHILD

This is the pitch letter for Juju's Child, my debut New Adult novel, coming from Grand Central/Forever Yours. 

 Black mud oozes between my toes as I shift my weight and jerk on the rope, sending up a cloud of midges and the rotten-egg stench of stagnant swamp water…

Ripples undulate across the surface of the water, spreading in my direction. My breath catches, and I fumble for the knife. Those aren’t natural waves. Something’s beneath the surface. Something big. I jerk on my leg, panting. With each heave, I sink deeper, unable to break the suction holding me prisoner. If it was a gator I’d already be dead. But, I’m not. So what is it? Why hasn’t it attacked?

 

A flash of white from the corner of my eye—

When twenty-year-old Malaise LaCroix finds a dead girl floating in the bayou, she makes the mistake of reporting the murder to the police. She’s naive enough to think the girl’s parents will be grateful, but Mama warns her otherwise and hints at a darkness to come. Mala has always written off Mama’s interest in hoodoo as a quirk, more comical than some of her other habits. Unlike Mama, Mala thinks that believing in magic is for weak-minded fools. Until the dead girl starts haunting her.

The town believes that Mala’s great aunt was a New Orleans Hoodoo Queen, a descendent of the famous Seven Sisters. Cruel rumors have followed Mala her whole life, but now that she’s considered a suspect in the murder case, the rumors don’t seem so harmless. Even Landry, who’s had a crush on Mala for years, seems afraid to stray too close.

The girl’s desperate spirit needs Mala’s latent psychic gift, willing or not, to expose her murderer. And once the girl’s father, Reverend Prince, learns his daughter’s body has been drained of blood in what he assumes is a satanic ritual, he sets out on an old-fashioned witch-hunt. Mala knows the killer is still lurking nearby. To keep from becoming the murdered girl’s possession, or worse, Mala must accept the mysterious aspects of her family’s blood-stained hoodoo lineage. Landry proves to be an unlikely source of help. Trouble is, he seems to have his own agenda.
 

This is the query letter: 

When seventeen-year-old Malaise LaCroix finds a dead girl floating in the bayou, she crosses her mama by reporting the murder to the police. She’s naive enough to think the girl’s parents will be grateful, but Mama warns her otherwise. Of course, once folk start dying, Mala wishes she’d listened and left the girl for gator–bait.


Mala’s innocence becomes overshadowed by the pesky rumors that her aunt is an infamous New Orleans Hoodoo Queen and her mama can shrivel a guy's, well, man-parts. Even the boy Mala’s in love with is afraid to stray too close. Thing is, Mala thinks believing in magic is for weak-minded fools, until the dead girl starts haunting her.

The desperate spirit crushes the minds of those she influences and needs Mala’s latent psychic gift, willing or not, to expose her murderer. And once the girl’s father, Reverend Prince learns his daughter’s body has been drained of blood in what he assumes is a magical ritual, he sets out on an old-fashioned witch-hunt.

To keep from becoming the soul’s possession, or worse, being burned at the stake, Mala turns to the two guy’s whose own agendas don’t include helping an outcast such as herself—the cop she’s pined after since ninth grade that is investigating the murder and the ghost’s grief-crazed brother who uses Mala’s attraction to him as a weapon for revenge.

In JUJU'S CHILD, a 79,000 word young Southern Gothic, Mala Lacroix is a teenage, African-American Sookie Stackhouse who gets caught up with the supernatural--ghosts instead of vampires--romance and murder This manuscript was inspired by my rich, Louisiana Creole cultural heritage.

HOUND OF ANNWYN - Chapter Two- Jude

HOUND OF ANNWYN is written from alternating chapter viewpoints for Juliet and Jude. This enabled me to explore the twin's motivations and misconceptions in a unique way--through the eyes of their sibling.

CHAPTER TWO
JUDE
7:15 a.m.

Jude listened to Juliet clanking about in the kitchen, and knew he had less than ten minutes to think up a reason for her to ride the bus to school that morning. When they were kids, she could read him like a Dr. Seuss book, and proved a couple of times that he shouldn’t bet his allowance when playing against her in poker. Over the last year, she’d either gotten less perceptive or he’d gotten better at hiding his emotions because she seemed clueless about the many lies he had been feeding her lately.

Too bad the stench of charred eggs wafting from the kitchen made it almost impossible to think up a good excuse. He shoved his fist against his churning stomach and breathed in through his mouth. The vomit creeping up his throat settled back down. For now.

The flickering television screen captured his attention as a dark, storm cloud with a frowny face floated over the map of Ponderosa. The Weather Channel forecasted a severe winter storm—white-out conditions—totally treacherous and the perfect excuse for him to take the car so he could get home after tonight’s basketball game. Juliet wouldn’t want to be stuck at school. School spirit didn’t go with her “everyone go to hell” attitude.

He focused on the television screen and managed to ignore the burble in his gut until Juliet called him to come eat. His stomach’s reaction to her voice doubled him over.

No way. No way could he stomach another attempt at her being Susie Homemaker. He needed to get out of the house—fast.

 Jude glared at his sister, wishing she’d back off. “What? Did I ask you to fix breakfast?”

Juliet’s trademark scowl creased her forehead. “No.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

She turned her kohl-rimmed eyes toward him in disdain. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

Jude threw the television remote. It bounced off the edge of the sofa, hit the floor, and rolled under the coffee table. Don’t throw up…don’t throw up. He balled his fists tight to hide their trembling and sucked in a deep breath.

“Cut it out! I made myself breakfast. I thought I’d play the good twin and make extra. Why are you being such a jerk?”

Be calm, don’t lose it. Not now. The problem was that he couldn’t seem to calm down. Juliet watched him, studying his expressions, looking for a weakness that she could use against him. God, I gotta get out of here! The smell—ugh, thinking about the burnt sulfur taint in the air made bile rise in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He winced at the sound of the plate being slammed on the table. The eggs slid off the edge in a greasy waterfall. Shit, how can she screw up eggs? Even he knew enough not to cook them in day old bacon grease.

He felt a twinge of guilt at the hurt stamped on her face. She’d tried. True, breakfast was a disaster of epic proportions, but he appreciated the effort. Under normal circumstances, he’d sneak into the bathroom for a preemptive swig of Pepto Bizmol and force a few bites. Given the way he felt this morning, he’d probably die from indigestion even with the pink stuff coating his stomach.

Jude wished he could explain, but she’d be hurt less if he kept the ‘you’re trying to murder me with your cooking’ defense to himself. “If I was hungry—I’d eat. You’re not my mother. Being born five minutes earlier doesn’t give you the right to boss me around.”

He leaned back on the sofa in surprise, listening to himself. Where in the hell had those words came from? They sort of flew out of his mouth. Now that they’d been said, he realized he meant them. He shoved his feet into his hiking boots, but his eyes remained glued on his sister.

Juliet met his glare with one of her own. “Eighteen years is too long to stay pissed off about birth order. Get over it.” She rolled her eyes. “Socks, Jude.”

Get over it? That’s all she had to say?

“Back off!” Jude slapped his hands against the edge of the sofa. As he rose, the sofa shot out from beneath his hands. He stumbled, off balance for a second then froze. It had only moved a few inches, but the screech of the sofa’s wooden feet scraping against the hardwood floor seemed loud in his ears. His gaze darted to his sister, horrified.

“Fine baby brother, walk around with wet feet. Be angry. I don’t know why I care.”

Jude blinked sweat out of his eyes. She hadn’t noticed. How could she miss the sofa sliding out of his hands as if running away from him? He latched onto her words, focusing on his anger to cover his growing panic. “That’s the problem,” he said. “You don’t care. If you did, you’d cut it out! All you care about is being right. Being smarter …”

Juliet’s hands flew to her hips. “Is that why you tried to brain me with the alarm clock? ‘Cause if anyone should be having a temper tantrum it’s me. But, oh no, as usual it’s all about poor Jude. Nobody cares. Nobody understands his pain, blah...blah, blah.”

He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to block out the image of the clock. He had to focus—think calming thoughts—but his heart raced and his breaths came in ragged gasps that he could barely keep quiet. Each derisive word she spoke stung like splinters being jabbed under his fingernails, dulling his ability to concentrate.

He blinked, a red tint blurred his vision, and it looked like his sister had been washed in blood. He tore his eyes from her face, staring over her shoulder at the skillet sitting on the stove.

No. Don’t think about it. 

The skillet shuddered. To anyone else, the minute vibration would have gone unnoticed.  Desperate to keep Juliet from turning around, he blurted out the worst thing he could think of and hated himself when the words crossed his lips. “Mom’s dead. I don’t need the person who killed her taking her place. Stop trying. It makes you look desperate.”

Juliet’s face drained of color, and her caramel skin took on a greenish-yellow tint. She looked about to vomit in her plate of scrambled eggs. She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears escaped from the corners to trickle down her cheeks. She pulled out a chair and dropped onto it.

Jude took a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest when he tore his eyes from Juliet and focused again on the skillet. Shit!

He hadn’t seen it move. He sure as hell hadn’t directed it toward his sister, but it floated through the air until it hovered in silent menace directly behind Juliet’s head. He’d lost control again, and he didn’t know how to get it back.

Calm down. Deep breaths…focus. The skillet spun in a lazy circle as if taunting him. He imagined a giant hand of air wrapped around the handle and concentrated on pushing the skillet toward the stove, one slow inch at a time. It fought him. His subconscious appeared to be stronger than his conscious mind. And for some reason, it wanted to kill his sister.

Catch Juliet's Chapter ONE along with the QUERY LETTER  for Hound of Annwyn by clicking on the link.

QUERY LETTER- HOUND OF ANNWYN & Chapter One- Juliet

This is the query I'm currently using and it's working. Yay!! Happy dance. Of course, any suggestions to improve are welcome. I love feedback. I've also included the first two pages of the story. Let me know what you think?

Juliet finishes Jude’s sentences, feels his pain, and gleefully exploits the fact that he can’t bluff her in poker. She takes their psychic connection for granted until her heart stops beating at the exact moment that her twin brother dies in a car accident. Nearly eight minutes elapses before their resurrection.

A year later, seventeen-year-old Juliet’s near-death experience continues to haunt her. A ghost contacts her in the high school bathroom and a sexy, albeit annoyingly conceited boy with wings—who claims to be her guardian, but definitely no angel—saves her after she’s attacked by a hell hound in the woods.

Her brother’s emerging, uncontrolled empathic and telekinetic abilities—he accidentally hurls an alarm clock at Juliet’s head while she sleeps—are eroding his humanity and threaten to blow their familial bond apart at a time when they need to be united.

Unaware that the darkness infecting their relationship is a manifestation of the evil that returned with them from the underworld, its taint spreads unchecked through their small mountain town. If the twins can’t resolve their differences and link their powers, neither they nor the people they care about will survive. And this time, death’s grip will be eternal.


CHAPTER ONE
JULIET
5:45 a.m.

Juliet jerked awake as the alarm clock smashed against the headboard and rained thick chunks of plastic onto her pillow. The jagged faceplate, landed with the pointy end an inch from her eye. She fought free of the blanket tangled around her arms and legs and rolled off the edge of the bed. As she fell, her chin slammed against the edge of the nightstand. She touched the tip of a trembling finger to her swelling lip.

Damn it! Not again.

The jerk wad. It wasn’t that Jude had frightened her, oh no, she’d never admit to that, even under pain of torture, and especially not to him. What pissed her off so bad she could barely see straight was he’d broken their unspoken truce and had gotten in the first shot of the day in their ongoing war. A war she planned to win or die fighting.

A shiver slid down her spine. What was he waiting for? Was he sneaking up on her? No way did she want to peek over edge of the bed to check his position—might as well stick a bull’s-eye smack in the middle of her forehead.

This is stupid. Don’t hide from him. Pain shot through her injured elbow as she slid her hand under her pillow and pulled out the gun she’d stashed there last night—in case Jude played dirty—then gathered the shattered remains of the alarm clock in the other hand. She licked the blood off her lip and pushed to her feet.

An eerie calm settled over her as she studied the shrouded lump in the twin bed across the room. Now that her heartbeat no longer pounded in her ears, she heard her brother’s muffled snores. She kept the weapon pointed at the floor, but her finger hovered over the trigger. She tiptoed forward, each step deliberate. She concentrated on breathing, a slow inhale and exhale—soundless. With each step, she expected him to pop out of bed like an old-fashioned TV mummy from its sarcophagus, with outstretched arms and spine tingling moans. Her body felt jittery, ready to dodge if he threw something else at her.

Either Jude had been faking being asleep or he sensed her hovering over his bed. A single eyelid rolled up to peek up at her. Her hand trembled as she aimed the barrel of the hot-pink water gun at his eyeball. “Why’d you do it?” she hissed.

He yawned.

“Talk fast, jerk. You freaked me out so bad my trigger finger’s twitchy. Not sure how long I can control myself.”

“Is the water gun supposed to make me pee my pants?” his voice oozed sarcasm like a popped zit.
Juliet let out a muted squeal of rage and pulled the trigger. A stream of water laced with Tabasco sauce squirted out of the plastic water gun. At the last minute, she lifted the end of the barrel, not ready to blind him—yet.

“Are you crazy?” Jude wiped frantically at his forehead before the liquid ran into his eyes.

“Gee, Jude, everyone seems to think I am, so why not live up to my psycho rep.”

“This is stupid—”

“Oh, now I’m stupid?” Her voice rose to ear bleeding pitch. “So sick of the insults, evil twin. I’m not the one who started this. You chucked the clock at me. That’s crazy. And I want to know why?”

“The words you speak make no sense.” Jude rubbed at his eyes then yelped. “Oh, crap! What is this stuff? It burns.”

Juliet leveled the gun at him again.

He jerked the comforter over his head. “I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t care. I’m done. Go away, Jules.”

She lowered her hand and stared at the bed, biting her lip. The thing about Jude—he couldn’t lie to save his life. Not for lack of trying, but she knew his quirks, and during the conversation, his body language told her he believed he insanity spewing from his lips.

The hand clutching the clock shards, tightened. A jagged edge dug into her flesh, reminding her that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Maybe he threw it in his sleep? Sleep tossing instead of sleepwalking? A mystery medical condition? Bah, doubtful.

Juliet dropped the plastic pieces on top of his bundled head. “Whatever. Pretend nothing’s wrong, but I’ll get you back for this.”

“The only thing wrong is you’re insane,” he said, voice muffled by the blanket. “Get back on your side of the room.”

As much as Juliet wanted to drag him out of bed, she decided to let him go back to sleep. Maybe by the time he got up he’d be civil. Not having to look at his stupid face would give her a chance to calm down before she gave into the overwhelming urge to strangle him with his own sheets.

Click on the link to check out JUDE'S CHAPTER.