Tuesday, October 25, 2011
This is a good example of how important it is to GET IT RIGHT as a writer. When do you need to get it right? How about when you hit that glaring send button before submitting your precious manuscript to that agent you've been web-stalking for the past year.
Just like this girl has been preparing and obsessing over THIS very important moment, so have you with your writing and querying and researching. Right?
But guess what? You're on stage, and your only time to get it right, is right now! Of course, this is easier said than done, and we can only do our best. But don't query before you're ready. Take it slow. Get it right. Then send that finished, revised, edited, POLISHED manuscript to that agent who just might fall in love with it and you.
Okay, you get it. Now watch what happens when you don't GET IT RIGHT:
Yeah, I don't know what she's talking about either. Don't let that be YOU. Don't let an agent read your work and think, What the heck was that?
**For the record, I actually feel really bad for her and completely understand how nerves can really mess up a person! At least when we mess up it's not in front of the world, right? Thank goodness!**
The next one is worth watching too! It's a remake of the first one. It's great because it makes it look like she was PREPARED and thought she did GET IT RIGHT.
Thanks for stopping by! HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The lid closes. It’s just the spiders and me. I rest my forehead on my knees.
The small ones are fast and already run my arms and around my neck. My skin prickles, and tremors shoot through me. With my nostrils pinched shut, I barely part my lips and take shallow breaths whenever I don’t feel scurrying legs near my mouth. My hair moves as it fills with the nesting creatures, and a slow crawler with a furry belly sneaks onto my ankle and under my jeans.
My entire form shudders and shakes, wanting to hyperventilate.
Breathing slow is torture. I need to distract myself. I try to forget the constant movements and itching and think about Treston. He’s watching me. Has he decided I’m not worth his love? The thought sickens me more than the spiders, and my heart swirls down my chest, landing somewhere near a kidney.
The big spider scaling my chin brings me back. There must be hundreds crawling along my flesh now. On my arms, my neck, my face. Down my shirt. Ugh.
More shallow breaths—controlling my panic hurts.
I try to think about Emerson. His kiss, his feelings. The way we grew up together. But I can’t stop thinking about the haunting creatures.
I bang on the lid. Cool air rushes in, and I stand, keeping my eyes and mouth closed while I’m brushed off.
“I think you’re good. Just shake your legs before you step out,” says Luke. “Now go clean your clothes out in the private area. You’ll get your score later.”
In the curtained area, I undress to nude and shake everything out twenty times. When a spider falls, I grab my shoe and crunch it. Maybe that will help me sleep tonight. But I doubt it.
I’ll be feeling spiders for the next year.
Thanks for reading!