Comments

June 21st: Submission Window Opens NOW. Send Entries to:   WriteTypeCPMatch@gmail.com Subject Line:  Age Category and Genre (Exa...

Instructions Instructions

2016

Instructions



June 21st: Submission Window Opens NOW.
Send Entries to: WriteTypeCPMatch@gmail.com
Subject Line: Age Category and Genre (Example: YA Urban Fantasy)
June 24th: Submission Window Closes at 11:59pm EST.
June 25th: Entries go Live on Host Blogs.
June 25th - ?: Read entries and comment on your favorites. If they comment on yours too, it's a match!
When You Have a Match: Contact your matches, trade chapters, and see if it's a true match!

When sending entries, please make sure to follow submission guidelines as indicated in this sample entry below. Our hosts will be formatting each entry and posting them on their blogs. This will save us a LOT of time. Thank you so much! Click here for a helpful post on how to retain MS Word formatting when copy-pasting.

SAMPLE ENTRY:

Name: Kimberly Vanderhorst

Email Address: kimberly.vanderhorst@gmail.com  

Age Category (MG, YA, NA, or Adult): YA

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Other Age Categories and Genres You Like to Write: YA fantasy, YA sci-fi, and a little Adult Contemporary. 

Twitter Handle: @Kymburleev

Web Presence (Optional): http://www.kimvanderhorst.com, http://kimberlyvanderhorst.blogspot.com

Chapter Excerpt is From: Chapter Ten (No other context, please!)

500 Word Excerpt:


Cleo clutched at my hand, like she felt me floating away and thought she could tether me to the ground. I pictured myself as a wind-tossed red balloon, held in place by the anchoring power of her string.

We were running early for dinner—on account of the whole me-having-an-epic-meltdown thing—but Mom drove as if she were a bomb technician and Nonna and Grandpa’s house was wired to blow. Her dark eyes filled the rearview mirror, probably checking to see if I’d started twitching or talking to myself.

I turned in my seat so I wouldn’t have to see her mirror checks or Cleo’s forcing-a-smile face. Staring at the monsters reflected in the car window was easier than eyes and faces, and the still way Dad held his dark-screened phone in his lap.

Potentially crazy daughter. Best Tetris addiction cure ever.

Every time we passed a gap between buildings, sunlight flared across the window glass and flashed a glimpse of snarling beasts. I told myself they weren’t scary, that I’d proven they were just pictures under glass after all. I ran my fingers across the palm of my hand, the nail of my index finger sketching a lopsided spiral.

Cleo stilled my fidgeting by resting her hand on top of mine. She gave it a squeeze. “Are you sure—”

“That I don’t want to talk about it?” I finished for her. So easy to do. It was an obvious question. One of many. I could feel the shape of them, their sharp, prying corners, crowded around us in the car.

“Grace, you never—”

“Told you I saw things? Yeah. I know. I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” she protested. Her voice was so hushed compared to mine, like she thought we could whisper secrets the way we did when we were kids, oblivious to the fact that our parents in the front seat could hear every word.

Mom and Dad’s silent interest was so loud it practically shouted.

Cleo finally pulled her hand away from mine. The air from the overhead vent tickled across my suddenly cold fingers.

“I didn’t know if what I was seeing was real or not. I didn’t know how to talk about it.”

“Oh Grace,” Cleo whispered.

I saw the change in her. Heard it. Felt it. She’d gone beyond I-can’t-believe-you-did-this-to-me and straight to I-can’t-believe-this-happened-to-you. Her compassion nearly undid me, but not near as much the realization that Grandpa couldn’t make things better this time. He’d always been my safe harbor, but the storm had never raged this hard before.

Cleo’s seatbelt clicked loudly and swished away from her chest. She scooted into the seat between us, wrapped an arm around my neck, and tangled her hand with mine again. Her pale skin shone against the dull brown of mine.

She latched on, like a string tied to a straining-for-the-sky balloon.



Bio: I write YA/Adult spec-fic and prefer to critique the same. Claims to fame include being a freelance content editor for Prism Editing, serving on the committee for the annual Whitney Awards program and annual LDStorymakers Conference, being a team captain for the bi-annual Pitch Slam contest, and founding and running my local writers' guild. I’m a stay-at-home Mom with four daughters, I never make my bed, and I’m scared of penguins.
                                                                                             
Critiquing Style: I love to do thorough line edits a few chapters at a time. I make note of what I love and anything that trips me up or falls flat for me. Big picture story structure is my biggest weakness, and emotional authenticity is my biggest strength.


To connect with other WriteType-ers, join our Facebook group here, or follow our Twitter hashtag #WriteType. And feel free to ask any questions you may have!

9 comments:

Powered by Blogger.