It was one of those gem-encrusted fall mornings in Colorado. The trees were red and orange and yellow and gorgeous. The mountains were a darker blue than the sky and topped with some fresh snow that the sun lit on fire. If nothing else, the day was already perfect because of my drive to the mini-conference sponsored by Heart of Denver Romance Writers, a chapter of RWA.
Not very many years ago I regularly spoke to strangers. To large groups. To people up and down the social ladder. All with confidence and fully-formed thoughts. I've noticed lately that often I'm at a loss to communicate verbally in any meaningful way. Could be I spend more time than I should inside my isolated little writing bubble.
My time to pitch the agent attending the mini-conference was moved from before lunch to immediately after. Which of course is when I wanted to take a nap. I don't know why I got so nerved up, but I did. We finally settled on calling my manuscript a thriller because it isn't a mystery and doesn't have much romance. Fine. Call it whatever you want. She said my 80,000 word count was perfect. I handed her the written pitch because for the life of me I couldn't string three words together, let alone a cleverly crafted sentence or two. Then, because I was a little presumptuous and just wanted to show her that although I couldn't speak, I was prepared, I handed her the query letter.
She asked for a synopsis and a full. Which is nice, but I imagine she asked everyone for a synopsis and a full.
CR: The Burning Wire by Jeffery Deaver
It's all better with friends.