A Tale of Three Judges

So let's talk about my not so successful Genesis entry. The one I had high hopes for but yes, polarized judges even more spectacularly than it did in 2008. The highest score? 95. The lowest? 49. The middle? 52. Ouch!

To be honest, it's not unusual for this particular manuscript. In its last contest before Genesis it got a 150 and a 96. I have no clue what it is that makes judges either love it or want to put their heads through a wall, but at least they're not bored!

So let's have a look at some of the judges' comments so you can see what I mean :)

Professional Impact

Need to work on punctuation, especially; some grammar mistakes, as well. Overly long sentences and unacceptable analogies make for difficult reading.

The story is nearly ready for publication. Only a little bit of tweaking relative to pronoun confusion and making the POV character more likable. 

Story

Opening tells a lot about the character but doesn’t make me care about her, or let me know what’s at stake, right away.

Some good examples of sensory details but some of the basics (where, when) do not come clear until several pages into the story

Lots of fresh, creative imagery.

The story felt like many I’ve read before. I saw no new twists or unique elements to hold my attention.

Where spoke of spiritual things, some of the characters were so cliché and one dimensional that it was almost painful.  

The story is interesting. I particularly liked the play with the friend’s conflicting advice much like Job’s situation. 

Good imagery, language and cadence support the tone of the story. 

Characterization

Her friends seem to have similar personalities and it’s hard to tell them apart. I like her sister, though. She’s a distinctive character yet realistic and believable.

Some secondary characters are caricatures, others are very one dimensional. 

I do enjoy the lead character's sarcasm, but there needs to be some element to engage the reader and help them to sympathize with her. 

Conflict

I’m having a hard time feeling her pain.

There are no unusual turns or unexpected ways to resolve the conflict. I felt as if I’d already watched this film a dozen times before.

Well done! Both inner and exterior conflict well demonstrated.

Dialogue

Dialogue mostly seems natural, but could be tighter. Hard to distinguish between the friends. 

The dialogue was often so cliché and stereo typical that it made reading on difficult.

Very good

Strengths and Weaknesses

Lots of fresh, interesting writing but don’t overdo this. Too much of it slows down the flow of the story. I think you have the potential to develop a good voice but don’t force it so much.

Cliché phrases and characters, long-long-long sentences that try too hard. There were a few very nice phrases, and the story will fit well into the CBA marketplace.

Tone and cadence are well done. Most story elements are very strong. 

When I first started writing I tried to incorporate all judges' comments. Which ended up with my manuscript being a nonsensical mess.

You have to know your work, know your voice, well enough to know what will strengthen your manuscript, and what will gut it and what says more about a judge's own biases than the quality of your writing.

A general rule of thumb is that if two or more judges comment on the same thing as being an issue, it is. For Genesis I had two judges comment the heroine wasn't sympathetic enough.

They confirmed what I suspected. Since Genesis was only 15 pages I heavily edited down my first chapter. I suspected I had cut out too much, and that readers didn't know enough about my heroine to care about her before the crisis hit.

However, another comment was that some of the spiritual content was trite and cliched. She's right, it was, but I wrote it that way on purpose for reasons that become clear later in the book - so that comment will be put to one side. 

And then you've got the irreconcilable - one judge saying your story is blah and boring, another saying it was compelling and gripping. Or sometimes they just flat out get it wrong - one judge marked me down for not saying what my heroine's occupation is when it's stated on about page 3.

Ultimately, not even Karen Kingsbury gets all five star reviews. As long as you can honestly ay you weighed all the judges comments with an open mind, you have to trust your gut instinct as to what is right for your manuscript.

After all one person's favourite book ever is another person's would rather watch paint dry :)

What about you? If you're a writer what the best or worst contest feedback you ever got? If you're not, what was one book that everyone was raving about but just wasn't for you?

Genesis Results: Good News!

As many of us probably know, the ACFW Genesis results came out last week. For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about the Genesis Contest is a competition that the American Christian Fiction Writers run each year for unpublished writers. There’s a first round, then the top 20% become semi-finalists and the top three in each category are the finalists.

It's a bit of a big deal for unpublished Christian writers. It's a really big deal for those of us residing at the other end of the earth for whom doing well in contests is one of the few ways we have to get our writing in front of editors and agents.

When I entered the Genesis Contest this year it was not without more than a little trepidation. The Genesis and I have a *ahem* checkered history.

Back in 2008 I was a novice writer, knew nothing about the craft of writing and even less about the publishing world. But I had finished my first manuscript, I thought she was something pretty special and I was 99% sure that everyone else who read it would realize the same.

The Genesis was my first brutal experience in finding out that the world did not agree with me.  It was also a very valuable lesson in Contest Rules 101. Namely never ever open contest scoresheets in a public place unless you enjoy having a full-scale meltdown in front of strangers.

Since that first scarring/humbling experience I'd entered a number of contests, but never my nemesis. This year I decided the time had come to suck it up and return. Being an all or nothing kind of gal I threw all my spaghetti at the wall. Three entries.

Having spent the last four years learning, and writing and doing my best to improve my craft this was the big test. While judging is always subjective, being able to get three anonymous not-related-to-you judges agree that your work has merit, is a pretty clear indication you've improved.

The first was the same one as I entered back in 2008, renovated and rewritten. I had high hopes for it, knowing it was so much better. The second was one that had enjoyed both success and failure in other contests and I thought it might have a chance. The third was a brand new idea and I had no expectations, I just wanted to float the story concept and see what the reaction was to it.

So, spaghetti thrown, I waited. The week of semi-finalists being announced arrived. I spent April 16th checking my email every other minute. Holding my breath every time my inbox loaded. Then I remembered that being in New Zealand, America was still in yesterday, today for them was still tomorrow and I was nurturing an ulcer at least a day early.

As the hours ticked by, I reconciled myself to this not being my year. Even though the co-ordinator had sent out an email saying it was taking longer than usual to collate the results. I steeled myself for disappointment. Reminded myself that truly only the best of the best can get three judges to think that that particular 15 pages is worthy of progressing. Reflected on how the odds of getting at least one judge who wouldn't enjoy my style. Tried to convince myself that not progressing would be a blessing in disguise - semi-finaling would mean having to find large chunks of writing time in a life where my husband already struggles some morning to find clean clothes to wear to work. Maybe this was God's way of telling me it was time to take a break from the writing dream?

Then an email was waiting for me early one morning. "Genesis semi-finalist" read the subject. And not just one entry, but two! In complete shock, I sat in bed staring re-reading it making sure it was real. My husband was away, there was no one to tell. I wasn't allowed to make it public until the results were officially released. Went to work and stared at the computer screen trying to process. Double semi-finalist. Two. Three judges had liked two enough to put them forward. 

It was overwhelming. In the limited time that I have to write, how do I chose which one to focus my efforts on? The one that's more advanced, or the one I think is better? What if this is as good as it gets? What if I can't write a complete manuscript that lives up to the first 15 pages?  

Then I got my scoresheets for my unsuccessful entry back.

Need to be convinced that God has a sense of humor?

The semi-finalists - entries #2 and #3.

Entry #1? It received worse scores than it did in 2008.

The moral of the story? Throw your spaghetti at the wall. You never know what is going to stick :)

And of course big congratulations to all my fellow semi-finalists!

Facing Down The Nemesis

I think I've just checked my email for about the 30th time today. Every time I do my heart beats a little faster, and, when the announcement that I have unread emails pops up I hold my breath as I click open my inbox and feel slightly ill.

Why all the angst? Today, my friends, is the week that the Genesis semi-finalists are announced. If, you've been reading this blog a looooong time you'll know that the Genesis and I have a checkered history. It was the first writing contest I ever entered. And the first writing contest that slapped my up the side of the head and made me face the fact that my writing wasn't even half as good as my poor wee deluded self thought it was.

Since that time I have entered a number of contests. In some I did well, in others I got my butt handed to me on a scoresheet. Some were even worse than the first, but none stung quite as much. Kind of like you never forget the first time you got your heart really broken.

Four years later, I finally made myself face my nemesis. And I decided that if I was going to do it, I was going to do it with style. So I entered three times. Hey, why put yourself out there to get knocked down once when you can triple the fun? It was also the last year they were accepting incomplete manuscripts, so I figured I had might as well throw all my spaghetti against the wall and see if any sticks.

I also ended up judging three genres so on the flip side, am also going to be the person breaking a few hearts as well :(

And so, here we are. Want to know the worst thing about living in New Zealand right now? I woke up today all excited/terrified because today was the day I might find out, one way or the other, if any of my entries had garnered enough favour from three anonymous judges to be deemed worthy of a semi-final placing.

But of course, being ahead a day, means today is still yesterday in the States. And tomorrow will be their today. So maybe tomorrow I will find out. Or maybe I will be a stressed out nervous wreck for days because it's going to take longer than anticipated to compile all the scores across all the genres.

On the upside my fabulous roommate from Denver, Kimberley Buckner, semi-finaled last year and I'm sure she will again last year. I'm 99% sure my other roommate Jaime Wright Sundsmo will be hitting her stride this year, so maybe I'll get to make up the trifecta by virtue of being associated with such talent :)

Or maybe I'll get dealt with the brutal news that the judges didn't like my writing any more this year, than they did back in 2008. I honestly don't know how I'd deal with that.

Wish us luck!

Introducing The New Guy

Alright, so it has been an appallingly long time since I've had anything to say here. In my defense, I've been a little bit captured by the new guy in my life...

Book Review: Priceless by Tom Davis

Summary

Photojournalist Stuart Daniels has found purpose in life. After suffering the fallout of a tragic assignment, Daniels rediscovered his faith while helping a young African orphan. Now his photo work carries a greater mission: To educate people about social injustice happening around the world.

Daniels next assignment carries him back overseas and into the heart of Russia. Once there, Daniels is persuaded by an old friend to help save two girls from a desperate situation. Soon he becomes a key player in a dangerous campaign to rescue helpless women trapped in the sex-slave trade. What Daniels encounters during his journey will shake his faith, test his courage, and even threaten his life. Yet as Daniels gets deeper and the stakes get higher, he will discover that hope can be found in the darkest of places.

Review

Priceless is the kind of book that will pick you up and by the time you get to put it down again your heart is in pieces. Sex trafficking. It's an ugly phrase and, for anyone familiar with the global statistics that accompany it, can sometimes seem like all efforts are just a drop in the ocean compared to the overwhelming size of its scale. While this book is set in Russia there is almost no nation of earth that doesn't have a sex trafficking problem.

It's easy to think that it's a problem for places like Russia, India, Thailand and Cambodia. But the more you find out the more you find that "safe" Western places like New Zealand, Australia and the United States are not immune.

Tom Davis does a magnificent job of putting creating faces and stories to go behind the mind-blowing numbers. Of reminding us that while the scale of the problem may seem insurmountable, sex trafficking is a story about individuals. That every girl rescued from being a victim of those who trade human beings as commodities, is one more person freed from a life of terror, slavery, abuse and hopelessness.

Buy this book. Read this book. Buy multiple copies and give it away. And then do something to add your drop to the ocean.

Yes I'm Still Here

But life has been somewhat consumed growing the bump aka the Ricicle. On Wednesday he had his first trip up to the snow...

When A Life Is Wasted

Clearing my Blackberry on the way into work. Head spinning with everything that needed to get done today. Wishing the traffic would move faster. That the rain would stop. That this week would be over and I could crawl into bed and snuggle up to my husband and not worry about what crisis might need to be handled tomorrow.

News items deleting. My insurance company might go bust from the Christchurch Earthquake. Do we stick it out with them or switch insurers now? We have no food in our house. I still haven't got my Dad a birthday present. Why does having a baby sound like a holiday right now?

Then I opened up the next email. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what I was reading. A friend had died. Not a close friend, but someone more than an acquaintance. The girl who I first met six years ago who was bubbly and talented and full of life, had let anorexia get a hold of her and it has now cost her everything.

I still can't process it. I'm angry. Angry at such a needless waste of life. Angry at those closest to her for not forcing her to get help before it got to this. Angry at her for steadfastly refusing to admit that she had a problem - right to the end. Angry at myself for avoiding her the last time I saw her at church because I didn't have the energy to try and hold a "normal" conversation with her, reinforcing her in her denial by being too awkward, too "it's not my place" to initiate the hard conversation. I knew that many people closer to her than I had tried, and failed to get her to see what she was doing to herself. 

 

I walked away that day and decided it was enough, that the next time I saw her I would have that conversation.  That continuing to pretend that she wasn't now dying, as opposed to just sick and needing help, when she looked like one of those photos that were taken of the people found in Auschwitz, was over.

I never saw her again. Will never see her again.

It's too late for Michelle. But I beg you, if you know anyone, if you ever know anyone who has let a diet turn dangerous, please do something, say something. No matter how awkward or inconvenient. If for no other reason, then you'll never have to be like Michelle's family, flatmates, friends and acquaintances who are all asking ourselves if maybe, combined, we'd all tried a little bit harder, she'd still be alive today.

Urban Myths: Writing A Book Is Like Having A Baby

I have heard it said many, many, times, that writing a book is akin to having a baby. This proclamation is generally uttered with such great conviction that, in my naivety, I went along with the wisdom of those who have gone before me.

Creatively I could see the parallels. Writing a manuscript is very much a labour of love. There are the nights you lie awake, or wake up, trying to unravel a particularly obstinate scene or figure out a character who just won't do what its supposed to. Sending your manuscript or book out - be it to be judged in a contest or by the general paying public - and not getting five star rave reviews back does literally feel like someone has attacked your much loved and (you think) wonderful child. While unpublished, I can certainly imagine how holding your very first printed book after months or years of perseverance would be greeted with a awe similar to having your first born thrust into your arms after hours of labour.

Now, having crawled my way into the fourth month of pregnancy, I can only conclude that those who utter this advice sagely either (1) have enough years between now and the actual event that time has healed many many wounds, (2) you are one of those lucky women who glowed like Moses while you glided all the way from conception through to birth with great hair and flawless skin to boot or (3) your nation subscribes to a much more managed approach than the "suck it up and carry on" mantra of New Zealanders.

So here are my top five reasons for why writing a book is NOTHING like having a baby, bearing in mind that I'm assured the worst should now be behind me and that a year from now I'll probably be a fully fledged believer in the analogy again!

1) Projectile vomiting. No matter how horrible the scene, how badly written the chapter, or tedious the plot problem, not one of my manuscripts have ever had me running for the ladies' like Usain Bolt in the 100m Olympic finals.

2) The escape clause. Tired? Had enough? Been staring at the same page for three hours making minor meaningless changes? File, shut down, walk away, my friend. It's a beautiful thing. Morning sickness, in contrast, doesn't come with a ctrl-alt-delete option.

3) The "public property" assumption. Has a stranger ever walked up to you and stroked your laptop? A friend popped around and started patting down your manuscript? No? You'd probably find that odd, probably even kind of disturbing, right? And yet having a bump seems to make you a target for people who seem to be practicing their skills for a job with airport security.

4) No wine and cheese allowed. Fundamental components of any great productive post-midday writing session.

5) Ceding control. Writing a manuscript - you're in complete control (well with some exceptions if you're under contract). Heroine red hair or blonde? Hero pilot or engineer? Write today or spend it watching a Bachelor marathon? Laptop or desktop? Mac or PC? Get up at 4am to squeeze in a couple of hours or burn the midnight oil? Romance or sci-fi? First trimester? You get to control what clothes you're wearing as you bolt for the bathroom. Pretty much everything else is out of your hands.

Alright, I'm ready, convince me that there are more simularities that differences or else add some more reasons to make my argument even more convincing...

Dear Baby

Dear Ricey,

I guess firstly I should apologise for the days of sobbing after I discovered your existence. You were, um, unexpected. Very. The only person who was probably more surprised than me was Mary. But I'm betting not by much.

I guess I should thank you for at least giving us a year before gracing us with your presence. Trust me, given that your Dad was a surprise honeymoon baby, I'm grateful you were a little more relaxed.

Your grandparents are, of course, thrilled about you. And all the newfound psychics on your Dad's side are now insisting that they "knew" over Christmas. Funny how they never mentioned this great insight to me as I was knocking back the liquor and chowing down on cold seafood and days old deli meats. Sorry about that. Though I am intrigued to see if you have any great aversion or love for pomegranates when you grace the world with your presence, since you spent a good part of your first couple of weeks sloshing around in various pomegranate infused cocktails.

While we're on the topic of food, let's talk about consistency. Truly, I can deal with it if you don't like something. Even if it breaks me heart to give it up. We both know that this time next year I'll be getting revenge by force feeding you that revolting sludge Wattie's call "baby food". But, I would really appreciate it if you could pick a team and stick with it. This whole craving plums one day and projectile vomiting them the next is really uncool. Almost as uncool as walking into a meeting and discovering I have remnants still splattered on my suit.

Nap time. Wow you really like these don't you? I can only hope that my Saturday and Sunday afternoon writing time, that has now become 3-4 hours of coma-like unconsciousness, is a good omen for how much you plan to sleep once you arrive.

And your Auntie Bec has already bought every gender neutral onesie in the Wellington region so would like me to request that you let her know somehow if you're a he or a she so she can branch out into either trucks or flowers. Your father has christened her the most excited out of everyone, and trust me, the competition is super stiff on that front.

Can't wait to meet you in September.

xox

It Wasn't Supposed To Be Christchurch

As I sit here typing this 147 people have been confirmed dead and more than 200 are missing after Tuesday's earthquake. Hundreds of families who are bracing themselves for another night without their father, mother, brother, sister, niece or nephew.

Our beautiful second city is broken. Thousands who haven't lost their family members, no longer know if they have jobs or a home. Entire suburbs are cut off without power, sewerage and water and what was once a 15 minute drive, now takes two hours in an SUV to access.

And for those of us in Wellington, one of the many things that keeps cropping up in conversations is the bewildered, sometimes disbelieving "It wasn't supposed to be Christchurch."

It was supposed to be us. Our city is the one built on top of a fault line. In fact, we're the geniuses whose only arterial motorway is going to disappear into a gaping chasm when the earth roars because its built directly on top of said fault line. And built our national museum on reclaimed land which is going to fall into the ocean. We're the ones who after a couple of years no longer register anything below a 4.0. We're the ones who were resigned that if not us, then our children, or our grandchildren would one day be assaulted with the big one.

And then it wasn't us. Instead, we're the ones standing by helplessly glued to the news as the catalogue of devastation unravels by the hour. The miracle of 4 September, when the earth shook at 4am in the morning sparing countless lives, disappeared. In it's place images of people running and screaming, buildings toppling and the earth splitting brought everything to a stand still.

And then frantic chaos as people reached for phones. A nation of four million people. Everybody has either lived in Christchurch, or has family or friends down there. People who worked in the buildings that we were seeing had been destroyed. Or who lunched in the mall that was now buried in rubble.  Or who lived in areas we were told had been flattened.

And then within hours rescue and emergency teams from Australia, USA, UK, Japan, Singapore, Taiwan, China and Singapore on their way. We can never repay the men and women who currently have the harrowing job or sifting through the remains of our city looking for survivors and those who haven't made it.

Our beautiful grand English Christchurch is broken and its people will be hurting for a long time. But we have so much to be thankful for.

Christchurch Earthquake

Christchurch was hit by another huge earthquake yesterday. At 6.3 it was less powerful than the one in September (7.1) but it was shallower and much closer to the city. Worse, where the last one was at 4am while people were asleep, this one was at lunchtime where the whole city was going about their daily business.

The death toll is at 65 and forecast to rise, hundreds are injured, trapped or just missing. The city itself has pretty much been levelled in many areas. We have rescue workers being flown in from all over the world.

Please pray for them as they look for people trapped and missing, for families as they are notified of the loss of loved ones and for strength and wisdom for all of our emergency services personnel as we try to come to terms with the magnitude of what has happened.

Ten Things I Love About This Summer

1) My basil plant is out of control! I say this as someone who has emaciated every single plan she has previously ever owned.

I am so proud of my lush green basil that I take it with me in a little zip-lock bag whenever Josh and I go out for pizza, which I then whip out when my margherita pizza shows up with it's inferior basil. Yes, I know, he must love me a lot.

2) Plum juice running down my fingers

3) Our house has a deck which gets the best sun. And our boarder moved out last weekend so no more awkward moments of being busted sunbathing in my bra.

4) Actually wanting to go outside. This is not the case for 9-10 months of the year in Wellington.

5) Weddings. Especially the ones when it has taken the two people involved FOREVER to find each other and everyone has been waiting for this day for about 15 years!

6) Avocados. Guacamole. On toast. In salads. In burritos. Eating them straight out of the skin with some salt. I'm convinced that avocados were what God hung on the tree of life.

7) The pre-Christmas rush of lots of books, books, brilliant new books.

8) Holidays.

9) Finishing work at 3pm pretty much the entire month of January.

10) Fish and chips, especially golden hot crispy chips wrapped in fresh white bread dripping with butter and tomato sauce.

So what are your favourite things about summer? Or whatever season you're in!

The Final Chapter

I've never really believed that the final chapter can make or break a book. Well with the exception being it being either truly horrific, or a thriller or a mystery that ends up creating even more questions than it answers, as with one of David Baldacci's latest books.

However, that doesn't mean it's not important. Because it is. Very. While the first chapter is meant to draw you in, and all the subsequent ones keep the reader engaged enough to keep turning the pages, it's the final one that leaves them closing the book with a sigh of satisfaction or a vague sense of discontent.

Unfortunately, for the last four years, my final chapter has been the latter. It's not that I hated it. And it wasn't that I could put my finger on what was exactly wrong with it. It just wasn't... right. For some reason it didn't feel worthy of my heroine.

After everything she'd been through, it was like I left her hanging with this slightly soppy, introspective, anti-climactic exit. I could almost see her standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at me and saying "Seriously, after everything, this is where you leave me?"

The problem with not knowing what is wrong, is it's really hard to make it right. And so I tinkered with the scene and I edited it and I rewrote it and four years later, and who knows how many rewrites, it still stunk.

And then the other night I woke up and realized. IT WAS ALL WRONG. All of it. The scene didn't need rewriting, or editing, or a better use of the five senses. The entire scene needed to be scrapped and replaced with something completely different.

And I had an inkling of what that new scene should be. So I scribbled something down but, while I knew it was heading in the right direction, it still wasn't it.

On Tuesday night I was jolted from my sleep again. And this time I had it.  The new scene was right, but the choice she made was wrong. She had to make the different decision.

The opening line showed up on my notebook page. Then the closing line. Then a completely new character who linked it all together.

Today, I finally sat down and weaved it all together. And as I tapped out the final line, I could see her leaning back in her chair, pumping her arms and saying "FINALLY!"

Holiday Time

Right now Josh and I are sitting in Auckland Airport waiting for our flight to Sydney to board. We're there for ten days and then back in New Zealand in a (hopefully) sunny location before diving into 2011.

So often the magnitude of a year is determined by the number of "significant" events that it contained. Mine has head a few - got married, bought a house, changed jobs. All good things. All FREAKING scary things! I am now attached to another human being for LIFE, attached to a bank for 20 YEARS and switched to a job with NO job security.

And I found myself meandering around the writing wilderness, wondering if one (semi) decent story was all I have in me.

After what anyone would probably call a dream first writers' conference, in which both an agent and an editor requested proposals, I guess that maybe I'd thought I was getting somewhere. One superfast rejection and one no reply later it was back to before square one. No longer did I have a clean shiny new manuscript to send in, but rather one that has been roundly rejected and nowhere left to be sent.

And no Plan B.

So this Christmas, along with all of the usual things, I'm saying a big prayer for some inspiration because I really don't want to be one of those wannabe writers who gives up because her first attempt at a manuscript didn't find its way to fame and glory (or even an editor who kind of liked it a little).