Holiday Guest Post by Ashley Whitt!
Dec15

Holiday Guest Post by Ashley Whitt!

I wrote this for you, Pitch Wars. Perhaps I have too much free time on my hands. Anywho, thank-you to everyone for your dedication to making aspiring novelists dreams come true. Enjoy! Ashley ‘Twas the night before #PitchWars, and all through the web, writers were stirring, not a lone one a’bed. The queries were sent to the inbox with care, in hopes that a mentor soon would be there. The spouses were nestled all snug in their beds, attempting not to regret it was a writer they wed. And some with their PCs, and some with their Macs, revised furiously with clickity-clacks. When from the Twitterverse there arose such a clatter, they sprang from their desks to see what was the matter. Away to the window they flew like a flash, minimizing their manuscripts, teeth starting to gnash. Encouragement on the breast of their new-fallen woes, gave the lustre of hope to writers unknown. When, what to their wondering eyes should appear, but a Tweet from Brenda, and her helper Rae-dear. With little preamble, so lively and quick, they announced in a moment the mentors had picked. More rapid than eagles the writers elected, to fly to the blog, and see who was selected! “Now Middle Grade! now, YA! now, Adult and New! On, Fantasy! On, Mystery! on, Science Fiction too! To the top of the list! to the top of them all! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!” As they scanned for their names, some hoped and some prayed, some went to work, their excitement delayed. Their eyes fell on names of alternates and competitors, some were friends, others rivals and upset-it-ters. And then, in a glance, from the corner of their eye, their dream-mentor’s name did they hesitantly spy. As they drew in their hopes, and were turning around, their attention was drawn by the new email sound. An email dressed up in praise, from it’s header to footer, ‘Congratulations, I love you!’ from an enthusiastic mentor. A bundle of toys and improvement already in store, they appeared as a general, going to war. The writer’s eyes-how they twinkled! Their dimples how merry! Their cheeks were like roses, they abandoned the sherry. The mentor’s new suggestions all tied up with a bow, the manuscript would be as spotless as new fallen snow. But it would turn out the honeymoon wouldn’t last, after revision and revison, and pass after pass, The writer exhauseted, the mentor still patient, the writer would shake at the thought of an agent! The day would come when the MS was ready, and the writer laughed when they saw it, the feeling...

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