It’s been a while since I posted a new episode of my writing ‘Mortal Instinct’ manuscriptly adventure. I printed off (no sheet of paper leaves this household until it’s been written/printed on both sides and thoroughly shredded) the previous episodes and sat in my garden with a cup of tea. I dutifully ignored the jays and robins dancing along the shed roof, as well as the feeling of the first sunny day we’d had for a week on my vitamin D deprived skin, and read them all with a critical (critiquing) eye.
“Not bad,” Said Self. Before I could take in such a gracious comment, Self continued. “You might want to edit this … and this … and here …” Self can be really annoying at times.
Grumbling all the while, I got a red pen and started making notes, my cup of tea forgotten.
The essence of each episode remains the same, but I think they’re a little easier on the eye now.
You can read all that has gone before, in one place HERE or click on the ‘Writing M.I.’ page above.
… the story of the Gallery and its twin, the magnificent and flawed Mortal Realm, flew from her hands, and something magical happened …
She finished the n-th rewrite, reread, edited, polished- buffed-n-shined it until she knew the time had come to send her baby out into the world, to seek its fate, to sink or swim, to … (that’s probably enough metaphors)
At some point during this process, she forgot just exactly when, the book’s name fell into her lap. She never seemed to have any trouble finding story titles, and this one fitted perfectly.
She’d researched publishers, set up her blog, written her template pitch, synopsis, and cover letter, (to be altered as necessary, according to the whims … erm … I mean, guidelines of each publisher’s submission process) and girded her loins to do battle with the purchasing Editors of her chosen genre.
Meanwhile, in another part of the e-Verse, an on-line writers conference was about to begin.
The woman had previously attended the conference workshops and forums, and learned a great deal in the process. Up until now she’d never had anything to ‘pitch’ to any of the publishing houses who were looking for new authors …. This time was different.
“Why not?” She asked herself. “I haven’t heard anything back from any of the queries I have out there. What have I got to lose?” Self refrained from commenting on this rhetorical question, and began reviewing the computer file titled, ‘elevator pitches’.
The process apeared to be simplicity itself. All she had to do was enter a chatroom, pitch to the waiting audience and wait for a ‘yay’ or ‘nay’. She didn’t have to talk to anyone face-to-face, or worry about what to wear, body language, or any of those non-verbal and visual clues that we all use to make value judgments about others.
So, she shouldn’t have been nervous, right? … Wrong! … What she would type, in the space of 30 seconds or thereabouts, would determine which alternate future universe she, and her novel, would exist in.
This was the pitch she used …
“A short-tempered Immortal and three mismatched women with commitment issues must find a way to harness the Sphere, the most powerful force in existence to save the Gallery, a web of corridors linking the worlds of the Mortal Realm, before it destroys them.
They are aided by a thrice-born warrior who cannot die, a woman who has lived for-almost-ever, and an Enhanced Cybernetic Habitat Operator Archivist who knows too many secrets.
Using ECHO technology and magic, they journey from the complex politics of their home world through the collapsing corridors of the dying Gallery into realms of otherworldly existence where only the strong and talented survive.
Their lives entwine in unexpected ways as they struggle to fulfill their destiny, or become unwitting pawns in a game that lasts for a thousand generations.”
And then …
… She waited … until something magical happened …
“You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance” - Ray Bradbury – Science Fiction Writer, 1920 – 2012