A Variation of Disappointment

Hey, friends.

Last week, I blogged about a writing contest I entered on Twitter called "#PitchMadness." Let me assuage your fears right here and confirm that it lived up to its name. Also referred to in my mind as #PitchAddiction, it became equal parts both: madness and addiction.

St. James Park, London

The best part of this contest was the people I met and connected with. Kind of like watching the now-defunct American Idol, where the contestants became great friends, we all competed against one another and rooted for one another, which brought its own special kind of camaraderie. In the end, though, we each wanted one thing: to be picked. Over thirteen hundred writers vying for sixty (then, added bonus at the last possible moment, seventy) spots.

You do the math. 

I wasn't picked. The disappointment was thicker in my throat than I had anticipated. Because now I had to let go of the hope I'd held onto for over a week. Which brings me to an author's/editor's blog post that I remembered shortly after not "getting picked."

The title of her post is exactly that: Getting Picked. Instead of me going on, I'll let Jennie Nash's words speak for me. You should follow her blog, too, and sign up for her newsletter. Wonderful information packed in every post. For now, read this:

http://jennienash.com/how-to-write-a-book-blog/2016/8/26/getting-picked

As a nice surprise sidebar, there were a few professional editors running little contests of their own within #PitchMadness in which they offered to choose one, two, or ten people, and critique the manuscript first pages for those of us who weren't "picked" for #PitchMadness. I was "picked" as one of two winners by editor Lyla Lawless to critique my query letter and first chapter. Thank you, Lyla. It's just the salve I need to lessen the sting of disappointment. And also quite generous of you and the other editors to offer your services for free in this manner.

St. James Park in the spring. London.

If you care to share, I'd love to hear your comments about a time you didn't get picked, and how you overcame the disappointment. Did you use it to forge ahead and become better? Or redirect your path to a different one, where your talents could more properly shine? I hope you did, because I think each time we're not picked, it serves a particular purpose. It's our job to search for and find that purpose. 

With spring just around the corner, I hope you enjoy the photos and a little taste of what's to come soon. Because spring is always a time of hope and renewal. Another, "just what I need right now."

St. James Park

Twitter and #PitchMadness

Me. The Royal Crescent, Bath, England.

As I continue my writing journey, something has recently come up that has, ahem, caused an internet addiction to arise. I speak of Twitter. More specifically, #PitchMadness on Twitter.

A Facebook user since 2007, I just didn't get the thing with Twitter. All those @ and # signs. They not only confused me, but intimidated the heck out of me too. What if I # when I should have @ ? Or vice-versa. I'd look stupid. Or worse yet ... old. 

It seemed Twitter was meant for the millennials and teens and younger, those raised on fast food and faster video games, scheduled play dates, and so many extracurriculars it's a miracle they managed to sleep. Who was I to use Twitter? See, I even goofed there. Who was I to ... Tweet?

Then I became super-serious about this writing gig and my novel in its umpteenth iteration. I was told to have a "platform" and connect with others in the writing community. What the heck? Can't I just write and then send something wonderful out into the world, where it will be embraced and lauded by the masses?

I'll wait while the laughter dies down.

The Tithing House -- ruins at Sudeley Castle, Winchcombe, England

The photo above reminds me sometimes of this writing journey. It's beautiful with the sunshine, greenery, and promise of new growth, but they're still ruins making the best of a situation. 

I digress. My apologies.

Back to Twitter. I don't remember where or how--probably through someone on Facebook--but I found writing contests and pitch contests that are free to enter on Twitter. Which brings us back to #PitchMadness.

Shortly after entering, I learned why they call it "madness." Personally, I believe #PitchAddiction would be more apt, but I'm not the one running the show. It's my first time entering the fray. Perhaps I'll more clearly get the "madness" as days pass during this contest. I won't share the details of the contest, because the creators and hosts are so creative and fun with how they've set up everything, you can go to 

http://www.brenda-drake.com/pitch-madness/ 

and see for yourselves.

After we all submitted our entries (1340 total, I believe), the real fun began as the initial, official readers tweeted out hints about particular entries. And those participating in the contest set up games for all of us to play. As more hints appeared in the #PitchMadness twitter feed, and some of us thought, Hmm, that could be my entry, we would tweet our suspicions. If the hint was particularly complimentary, we not only tweeted our claim to the hint, but added #EgoClub to the tweet.

Between the games ("Where did you first get the idea to write this manuscript?" or "If your novel was a food, what would it be?") and the hints, several of us have come out openly and admitted our addiction to the #PitchMadness feed. "Hello, my name is Lyn, and I can't seem to get off Twitter and live a productive life ..." 

Altogether, I've "met" some cool folks, increased my Twitter followers by over 200 (at one point, shamelessly asking for more followers) and increased who I follow by a few hundred. 

All the people who judge this contest and help us writers prepare our work to be pitched to agents are volunteering their time and skills. To borrow a cliche, this blows my mind. The generosity of time and effort of all these folks is humbling. 

So while I'm quietly and slowly going mad over on Twitter, I also sing the praises of folks like Brenda Drake, Heather Cashman, Jami Nord, Samantha Joyce, and Sharon Johnston, to name just a few because there are so many. This writing community is so blessed with so many people willing to reach out a hand and help those who are still struggling on this writing journey. My greatest hope is that one day, I can be the person reaching out that hand. 

Assuming, of course, I haven't already gone mad.

P.S. If my novel was a food?  Meatloaf, spiked with slivers of glass.

Thoughts about Twitter? Feel free to share them in the Comments section!

Coln River, Bibury, England