Saturday, March 2, 2013

Holding.My.Breath.

My friend, and novice editor, Willow will be traveling to New York in 32 days. Terrified? No. Well, not really. Only if you're referring to my stomach doing gymnastic routines all day. Every day. 
We're attending the Writer's Digest Conference, more importantly, the pitch slam. I'll be given 90 seconds to pitch my book to an agent. In Person. Face to face. 
(hence, the intestinal somersault)
It's time. The book has been written, then rewritten. Edited. Rejected. Revamped once more. Now it's time to get more professional feedback. Do I wish for an agent (that's like asking Brad Pitt if he wants that all illusive Oscar), of course! But realistically, the industry is competitive - to put it mildly. Akin to calling a lion a kitty.
But I want it. I crave creativity. I want this. I don't care if it take ten years to achieve this goal of publishing.
New York....here goes nothing...

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