Showing posts with label Agent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Agent. Show all posts

Monday, December 14, 2015

CLUE - LESS

Ever wonder where your ideas come from…
Especially we writers?
I have a clue to my latest creation. 
Literary agent, Janet Reid, aka the Query Shark…
From Fineprint literary…
Has a contest every Friday…
She gives you 5 buzz words…
And you have to write a story in 100 words or less.
Last week’s words were, trail, cob, robo, bark, vet.
My brain went numb - nada.
On Friday…
I went to the movies and saw…
Secret In Their Eyes
It was OK, moved a bit too slow for me…
However, Nicole Kidman had a fantastic scene
As did Julia Roberts
And the ending was creepy cool.
It’s a police story with the oh-so-over-used scenario…
Rogue detective vs smug, angry superior.  
So Saturday morning I woke up and…
TAH DAH!  
An idea!
This is what I wrote (don’t laugh)
It's a Mickey Spillane kinda story.
             Lieutenant Morrison banged his fist on the desk, coffee cup spilling muddy brew. “Damn it, Cob,” he barked at his new detective, “how could you lose him?”
“Trail went cold. Snitch booked.”
“Speaking of booked,” the redhead smirked, her purple-glossed lips smearing across her flawless China-doll face as she sashayed her bodacious booty into the room full of testosterone, “I got him. Getting processed now.”
“I’d like to vet her in bed,” Cob sniggered to his partner.
         “Don’t waste your sweat. She’s vice. You’d think she’d be hot in the sack, but she ain’t. More like a robot.
Um, yeah…
No mystery where that came from…
But I didn’t see the connection…
Until after I posted it on Janet's blog.
Arrgghh!
Why is it that I always see stupid mistakes…
Or a not-fleshed-out story
Until after I hit send. 
How about you?
Do you know where your ideas come from?
And ever send out a cheesy story to an agent?

Always,

Em-Musing

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

MORTE D'AUTHOR

AHHHHH!
Harriet, my 82-year-old neighbor…
Is harassing me!
Yes, that wisp of a woman with thin bluish hair…
Just won’t leave me alone.
“When are you going to let me read your manuscript?”
She had asked back in the summer.
Well, I thought she was just being polite.
Then I ran into her in the fall on my way to the dumpster.
“When are you going to let me read your manuscript?”
Again, I thought she was just being polite.
(why did I have to brag that I wrote a novel?)
And then, just yesterday, on the floor in my foyer…
A white envelope…
Had been slipped through the mail slot in the door.
There was no return address, not even my address…
Just  my name.
Hmm?
I opened it up.
A belated holiday card.
Hmm?
Oh, no! It was from Harriet…
I still want to read your manuscript, the card said.
AHHHHH!
Oh, why won’t this pushy woman quit tormenting me!
Then…
Clarity struck me…
As clearly as seeing my pores in a 15X magnifying mirror…
I’m afraid!
Of Harriet…
Reading my manuscript!
But why?
It's a love story
Sure, there's sex
And some cuss words
But after all 
She is 82…
Surely she can handle it.
But what if
HEADLINE: 82-YEAR-OLD WOMAN DIES OF SHOCK
WANNABE AUTHOR TO BLAME
Lord! That'll kill my writing career.
But obviously that wouldn't happen.
So?
What is holding me back…
From giving Harriet my manuscript?
Can you shed some light?
Should I let her read it?
What should I do?
What would you do?

Always, Em-Musing