This assimilation thing is strictly my problem. I just spent an hour writing and editing a spot to inadvertently erase it. ....brains not included.

Back from the WLT's conference, I'm tired, but not much wiser. I followed my own advice to smile a lot, and I made the conscious effort to walk up to strangers standing by themselves and introduced myself--be friendly. I met many new authors, wanna-bes, and got reacquainted with a few familiar faces, so the weekend was pleasant, as I worked on my person to person skills. Attending as many break-out sessions possible, I got familiar with many agents and editors--good info for future queries. But at my one-on-one pitch interview, my nervous reaction to talk made me my own worst enemy.

I had the opportunity ($) to attend a pre-conference pitch session Friday afternoon lead by Rebecca Oliver, an agent from the William Morris Endeavor. She also happened to be the agent I was scheduled to have my personal pitching session with the next day. Ecstatic to be so fortunate, I took notes determined to follow her 4 C's of pitching.

1. Connect with the agent, research them prior (no problem-I had done this!).

2. Context, compare my writing to published authors
(that was where I fell down last time, so I had my 3X5 ready).

3. Compeling, a description of my novel encapsulated. (another stellar 3X5)

4. Credentials, (not much to remember on my part, but I was ready).


I was relaxed, confident, and armed with the soccer score, of which Ms. Oliver had mentioned she was a fan. Later, when I played back my miserable pitch session in my head, I realized I had forgotten to even introduced myself. Never shook the woman's hand or thanked her. I remembered the 4 C's (sort of) and forgot my manners. Oh, well, back to the query letter. The words are going to have to sell themselves, cause Kathy Lee, I'm not.

I'm attending the Writer's League of Texas Agent Conference this weekend, so I was especially interested in a blog spotlighted in my monthly Sister's In Crime news updates. Ramona DeFelice Long, www.Ramonalong.com a freelance editor, shared her observations concerning the verbal pitch at conferences. Having attended multiple conferences over the past 10 years, I pretty much agree with her about the horrors and stress of what she referred to as the "cattle-call."

I'm paying big bucks to attend this weekend, knowing I will sit in line, waiting for my 10 minute interview with an agent, and hoping it will change my future. This all hinges on my verbal skill at discribing my novel, genre, plot, and hook in approximately one line. Rediculous enough in itself, those who know me recognize I have no memory skills, and I've been told I need to "filter" my output. This said, I plan to write my pertenent information on a 5x7 card, smile alot, and ask questions.

I liked Ms. Long's suggestions to enjoy the conference sessions, learn something, and have casual conversations with agents whenever the opportunity arises. Next week I'll e-mail a query to targeted agents and mention meeting them at the WLT Agent Conference.

I feel so much better now. I think I'll go eat some chocolate.

Quit Mowing

9:15 a.m. covered in sweat and feeling faint, I just walked inside from mowing our rather smallish front lawn. I had chosen to slog through wet ankle deep St. Augustine, because it was cooler - not the heat of the day. What was I thinking. (Feeling sorry for the lawn boy, my husband). The thermometor is reading 90 degrees in the shade. The sun is shining and the humidity is 100%. Any place but Louisiana and the Amazon river valley could it be that humid and not be raining. There are a few innocent looking clouds that with luck may grow into thunderheads and give my husband a break. I quit.

Thursday, laptop over my shoulder, I took my blog problems to Stellar Beans where the Bayou Writer's Group has a critique forum every week. We meet from 10 am until noon and discuss writing, books, and somone's baby that they are willing to lay on the table in its diapers.
Asking around, to my surprise and comfort most of the persons present knew as much or little technical stuff as me. After some fumbling around unsuccessfully in my attempt to remember how to access the internet, I asked a kid. (To be fair he was studying for his dental school final, but he looked 15.) Re-discovering that gift, Jan Rider Newman came late and being an experienced blogger, www.janridernewman.blogspot.com she helped me answer a few simple questions. So I learned something. What more can we ask for in this life - coffee, friends, and to learn something. Funny thing I came home and wrote this blog and a glitch in my internal settings forced me to abort the post (twice). Exhausted form the frustration, I'm at it again today. We'll see if I learned anything.

Shallow, sand-filled, pushed around by the tides of indecision and self-love, my thoughts lack gratitude. My anchor is in deep water where the waves don't crash, safe from the ripping shore. Hope moored deep, I swim the quiet into the unseen. Waters of love teem with color, fascination, and life. A Holy Breath diving toward the Spirit.

blog fumes

Day 4 and after dozens of attempts to personalize my "spot," I feel compelled to utilize the forum. As I struggle quietly in my corner of cyberspace, creating this baby, this monster that will require continual feedings and changings, I realize blog is a four-letter word. What genius at Google wrote, "you can create your own blog in 5 minutes -- really." Pa-leeze. - BLOG-YOU!

This is the first blog of the rest of my life.