Like most writers, I’ve struggled mightily and for many a long hour trying to wrestle my queries into shape. But even when they’re done, they always need work. Always need another set of eyes looking at them. Another mind – one that doesn’t know your story - asking questions. So I entered the contest and got in through the random chance of Rafflecopter selection. Me and one hundred and fifty other anxious writers. Four coaches and their assistants (published authors all) pored over the entries and made their selections: four teams, each with just eight slots, just thirty-two of the original one hundred and fifty advancing to the agent round. You can imagine how surprised, pleased and completely ecstatic I was to have the entry for my sci-fi novel SimSim chosen by Brenda Drake and Heather Webb for Team Brenda.
For the next day and half days, agents snuck through the entries, leaving comments for the ones they liked and wanted to read more about. The coaches did their best to keep up with them, sending tweets marked #TheWVoice to provide updates to everyone hovering in cyberspace. That was nice, but most of us were too impatient for that. Most of us were furiously refreshing our coach’s blog site, hoping to see the number of comments for our entry change to something other than zero. I got lucky – I got a request relatively early on. Phew! Happy dance! Turns out it was the only request I got, but what a good one. What a big one. Sara Megibow. Holy freaking cow. Happy dance times ten.
So after nearly three weeks it’s all over. Those of us who got requests are basking in the short-lived glory of being chosen, feeling badly for our teammates who weren’t, but mostly just hoping the request for a partial or full manuscript turns into something more. Turns into the offer of agent representation we all work so hard for, and which can open so many doors in the publishing industry. I know I am. But even if it doesn’t, I’m walking away with a kickass query and a tiny bit of swagger. Not too much, mind you. And it probably won’t last – we writers tend to be an overly self-critical bunch - but for today…swagger. Oh yeah.