Miss Congeniality of the Book Pitch Video

Last week I did something I thought I would never do, I posted 2 videos on youtube.com. 

Perhaps, this would not be a monumental occasion for you, but for someone who can’t stand the sound of her own voice on an answering machine and un-tags photos of herself on facebook, it was huge.  I was compelled to endure this nerve wracking activity because of a single little tweet.  It all started one sunny afternoon while I was procrastinating writing my current manuscript.  I was indulging in my latest means of passing the time: watching the everyday lives of the rich and famous pass by on my twitter timeline.  That was when I saw that there would be a book pitch contest online.  It was for the purposes of learning to pitch your book to agents and the top 10 videos would be reviewed by 6 different agents.  I couldn’t resist.  So, I went down to Panera, sat with a cup of coffee and wrote 2 elevator pitches. 

Should I deviate from my story here to mention the Mary Kay convention at the table to my right at Panera?  No?  What about the ladies to my left, all wearing glittery shirts that said “Get your sexy back. Ask me how.”  I did overhear enough of their conversation to learn that getting your sexy back has something to do with Syran wrap and vitamins.   Still no?  Alright, where was I?  Oh yes, the filming of the videos.

I spent the next day memorizing my pitches while in the car on my way to the mountains to meet Mr. Alpha Male.  I think that toll booth operator thought I was insane but no one seemed to notice a lady talking to herself when I stopped at the gas station in Pumpkin Town, South Carolina.    Does this say something about the residents of Pumpkin Town?  I would imagine so.  By the time I reached the mountains and finally sat down to film my book pitches I had it memorized.  Therefore, it only took an average of 70 takes on each pitch to get it right.  Feel free to take a look…

Once I posted the videos on youtube.com and entered the contest, I began getting feedback, first from friends and family, then from agents once I made the top 10 videos.  My best friend told me I had pageant voice and my dress was too low cut.  Agents told me it was a great pitch, I seemed friendly, I had great eye contact, it was an intriguing premise for a book and they would enjoy reading the book once published.  Yet, nobody wanted to represent it.  The only critique I received was for my high concept.  I have now changed that to, “Abigail’s Secret is Jane Eyre meets Alice in Wonderland.”   Overall, I believe I can classify this experience as similar to winning the Miss Congeniality award.  I made it into the top 10; I had all positive reviews, but didn’t win the prize.  So, I’m going to do what every Miss Congeniality does, keep smiling and keep working toward the day when I get to say that I finally won and I’m published.  (Tiara optional.)

Have you ever gotten the Miss Congeniality award in life?  I would love to hear your story.

Go Celts!

     My favorite romances are paranormal and fantasy.  It’s a natural fit because while I’m not restrictively a vamps and were-folk kind of girl (more of a magical and mystical gal actually) I enjoy any story where the characters and/or the circumstances are larger than life.  In high school, I loved when we read Greek and Roman Mythology and Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.  I loved the battles, the mythical creatures, the special powers, the angst ridden love, the foreshadowing, and, most of all, when good triumphed over evil. 

When my own stories began to take form, I was drawn to Celtic Mythology.  They’re the myths of my ancestors and, while not as well documented as Greco-Roman, they’re equally compelling.

Today I’m going to blog a little about Celtic (namely Irish) Mythology.  My novel, Murphy’s Law (and the series it falls into), taps into these myths.  So many people have never been exposed to them or are unfamiliar, so I’d like to share.  I’ll start off with the basics and once a month I’ll cover a different myth or topic and how it’s influenced my series.

Today:  The Cycles of Ireland

Ireland is said to have been settled in three major Cycles.  These are actually just modern scholars’ way of dividing up the old stories into sections. Some of these Cycles are so ancient as to be considered only myth and legend.  But are they really?  So much of Ireland’s ancient history is documented only in oral form and fuzzy at best, who knows what mystical beings could’ve actually roamed those green hills?

The First cycle was the Mythological Cycle (or Book of Invasions), a settlement by the earliest Celtic people on Ireland: the Tuatha Dé Danann (later known as the Fey people) and then the Milesians. 

Second was the Ulaid Cycle.  It supposedly coincided with the time of Christ.

Third was the Fenian Cycle. It is perhaps the best recorded and its tales are the bedtime stories for Irish children today.

I am most captivated by the Fenian Cycle. The Fenian Cycle is a collection of stories about a band of Celtic warriors called the Fianna Éireann or Fianna for short (pronounced Fee-ah-nah).
Next time I’ll dive into the Fianna and their greatest hero, Finn Mac Cumhaill, or Finn McCool as he’s known in English. 

I mean, what’s not to love about a Celtic warrior???

Flash Fiction Fun- The Fortune-Teller Part 1

     The orange sky darkened into night as they wound their way through the gypsy camp, approaching Madame Nadya’s tent.  Sue Greene was sure that four young ladies did not often wander into such a place and at night nonetheless.   She shivered as a whisper of nervousness blew through her.  Distant music and laughter flowed on the air mingling with the sparks from small camp fires where families were gathered.  The dark eyes of the Romany people followed them as they passed, speaking to one another in a language Sue did not recognize.  Groups of the travelers sat outside the carriages and tents, making their homes in the tall grass of the roadside field. 

     “We should not have come here, Evangeline,” Sue murmured close to her sister’s ear. 

     “How could we not come?  Truly Sue.  We leave for London in a fortnight.  We must know what to expect once we arrive,” Evangeline returned.

     “I should think I would know what to expect by now.  There will be balls and luncheons and dinners and the same silly chat at every event.   Then I will return home with Mama, just as I did the past two years.  Why do I need a fortune-teller to tell me what I can see for myself?”  Sue grumbled, but pressed forward until she was standing before the tent bearing a small wooden sign that said Chovihani.  Beads hung at the opening blocking all view but the flicker of candlelight inside.

     “Perhaps you will have luck this season,” Evangeline said with a delicately raised brow and a nod toward the tent, making her blonde ringlets bounce in agreement.  “How often are Gypsies camped on the border of our property?  This only happens once in a lifetime.”

     One of her cousins nudged her in the back to push her forward, closer to the opening in the Gypsy woman’s lair.  “Go on Sue!  You go first.  You’re the oldest and most in need of her advice.”

     Sue rounded on Isabelle and Victoria shooting the identical girls, identical glares. 

     Just then, a dark figure appeared at the tent opening.  “Gaje girls.  You have come to learn the future, no?  I felt you near.”  One long finger pointed at Sue.  “You, come.”  The old woman’s deep set black eyes seemed to be looking into her soul. 

     Sue swallowed back the fear that held her feet firmly planted in the field with her family and followed her into the tent feeling unable to resist the draw of the unknown or the magic the woman held over her.  Inside, she sat at a small table opposite the woman.   Scarves and candles adorned every surface and the smell of incense swirled in the warm air, yet Sue noticed none of it.  She saw only the life etched face of the slight woman across from her.

     “Give me your hand,” Madame Nadya said, her deep voice scratching through the thick air as the band of bracelets on her wrist jingled with her movements.

     Sue complied, unable to make a sound.  The woman’s finger traced over her palm as she hummed some exotic melody.  Suddenly falling silent, she turned her dark gaze on Sue.

     “You will hide in crowds and chase after death itself.  Your journey will take you to foreign lands.  He will find you.  He will always find you.”

     “Who?  Who will find me?”

     “The future is not yet written in stone.  You must take care and watch your step for your steps will lead you to danger.”

     “Danger?  Isn’t there anything I can do?”  Sue’s voice came out in a squeak.

     The woman rummaged in an old trunk at her side before pulling out a small wrapped parcel.  “Take this and wear it for protection. “ 

     “Protection from him?  What is that?”

     “Do not open it here!”  She pressed the package into Sue’s open palm.  “Watch your step Gaje girl.  Danger surrounds your future, of that I am certain.” 

     Sue nodded and dropped a coin on the table in thanks of her warning.  She rose and left the tent without a backwards glance.  She wanted as much distance as possible between what she had learned of her future and her present life.  Sighing in relief as a fresh breeze cooled her cheeks; she stepped into the moon drenched night outside the tent and gazed into the faces of her two cousins where they stood with her sister.  She knew her life would never be the same from this night forward.

Flash Fiction!

Last night, while wondering what I could possibly blog about, I surfed through my Twitter timeline (Yes, I procrastinate via the internet.  Who doesn’t?) and remembered that #fantasychat happens every Sunday night at 8pm.  I came in on the tail end of the discussion, but there were some amazing topics and brilliant insights on blogging. (If you’re interested, next week’s topic is Branding – as in yourself as an author/product, not scorching hot metal on your skin – so check it out).  Anyway, one person mentioned they like to do a bit of flash fiction every now and then, just to try something different and get the creativity flowing.  I LOVED the idea, so I let them know I’m stealing it shamelessly.

Flash fiction is a fictional story of “extreme” brevity.  The word count varies depending on who you ask.  In fan fiction they call it “drabble.”  I'm a huge fan of drabble.  For the purposes of my flash fiction, I’m keeping it to about 300 words and it may or may not relate to current and future characters.  These two happen to be both.  So here goes ... and in the future I'm going to post it on a Friday, just so I can use a cool title like "Flash Fiction Fridays":

She kept pounding on the hotel room door, regardless of the fact that it was three in the morning.  If Sawyer was in there, then he could haul his ass out of bed.  He’d said, “if she ever needed him.” Well she needed him now.

He finally jerked open the door like he was ready to pulverize the person on the other side.  “What the- Oh, Kinsey. Hey.”  His scowl disappeared as he ran a hand through is unkempt hair, only making it worse.

She shouldered past him into the safety of his room.

“Uh … Come on in?”  That taunting voice she’d already grown used to, but when he locked the door and turned toward her, all his usual bravado fell away.  “What is it?  What's going on?  What happened?”

Her fear and anxiety must be unmistakable for him to take it seriously.  Sawyer steered her toward the two wingbacks by the window and, for the first time, she let him.

“I think he was at my house tonight.”  She didn’t have to specify who he was.

“Was he in your house?  Did you see him?  Are you okay?” Sawyer took her hands and flipped them over, checking the palms.

No she was not okay!  And what in the hell did her hands have to do with anything?

“I didn’t see him, but I'm sure he was there.”  So help her, if Sawyer laughed it off or called her paranoid, she was going to-

“I bet he was,” he said, releasing her hands with a gentle rub. “I figured he’d try something like hitting your place next.”

He believed her?  She wasn’t even sure she believed it was real.  Relief at her sanity began to flow, just before her anger slammed down on the tide.  “You figured?  Then why the hell did you let me go back?”