See, queries and I have a magnet thing going. No, not the part where we are attracted to each other. The part where when you put the opposite ends together (or try to) they push each other away.
Every time I think about trying to write a query, my brain twitches. It reminds me of Maynard G. Krebs's response to the word "work" from the old Dobbie Gillis show (go about 3/4s of the way thru this short video to see Maynard's reponse:
But I really haven't given up on the contest. I may, yet, squeeze a query out of my brain, so I'll jump in and do Part 4. This is the final week of the Gearin' Up to Get an Agent blogfest, which is hosted by Deana Barnhart.
Our challenge this week is to perfect our first pages. We're to post them on our blogs and then flit around to other participants giving feedback and advice. Have you ever imagined what a critique fairy would look like?
And then, we're supposed to email our official entries to Deana by Tuesday at 3 p.m. EDT. They will be judged by a preliminary team and then by Agent Kathleen Rushall of the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency and by writer Monica B.W.
Okay, now that I've typed that, I'm having second thoughts about doing this. Ugh.
*bites the bullet*
We're not really sure about the genre for my WIP. It was suggested that it could be romantic suspense, but I've been told there's probably not enough suspense to qualify for that, but it's probably not a strict romance either, so it might be women's lit.
This project has been like that all the way through. It took me a year to come up with a title. I hope it doesn't take me a year to come up with a genre.
Anyway. Here's the first part of my ms. Go ahead. Rip it to shreds.
When Elle and I planned our dream cruise, pirates never entered into it, and they were the farthest thing from our minds as we stood before the check-in clerk at the wharf in Seattle. Holding my boarding papers I stood mesmerized by the site of the ship and felt a shiver of anticipation.
Elle nudged me as she accepted her ship card and paperwork from the clerk. “Don’t look but a guy over there’s been watching you.”
I started to turn my head, but she stepped on my foot. “Lyn, I said don’t look!”
“Sure he’s not been watching you?” I tried not to peek, curious in spite of myself.
“I know when guys are watching me.” She didn’t sound smug because it was the truth. After twenty years I should have known better than to ask.
We turned from the sign-in station to walk to the gangway. The man and his group had just finished at the station adjacent to ours, and we ended up next to him for a moment as we made our way to a new line.
He was tall. Really tall. At nearly six feet myself, I paid attention when guys were taller than me.
Elle gave him a sideways glance, and I casually turned my face in his general direction. He was looking at me. When our eyes met, he dropped his gaze and said something to a little girl whose hand he held. He and his group stepped ahead of us.
Elle smiled as we got in line behind them. “He’s cute,” she whispered.
“Looks like he has a daughter,” I noted, trying to discourage her.
Elle shook her head, keeping her voice low. “I overheard them. The little girl belongs to the couple he’s with. She called him uncle.”
Almost of their own volition, my eyes turned in his direction again, and I forced myself to turn away. Elle had hinted her goals for the cruise included getting me on a date again. My plan included reading a lot of books.