About an hour before the contest deadline this morning at eight, I heard about the Knight Agency’s new contest for representation. On their blog, they announced that Deidre Knight is looking for a new client and that she’ll choose one out of 125 entrants in the blog contest. That we should leave a comment on the next blog post and if we’re one of the first 125, we should send in the first three pages of a novel to enter.
I blundered over and caught the page JUST before the hour. I entered a comment on the comment-free post and posted it. “115 comments,” responded Blogspot. I was comment number 115 at 8:01 this morning . . . which is incredible. That many people were waiting to post?
What we should marvel at is that I heard about the contest at all. I had been checking for e-mail from someone who had a few medical tests done last night, and ran across the notification for the contest.
Maybe it’s kismet. Maybe there’s some cosmic reason!
Let’s not go insane, though. I did send the first three pages of LOVE IS THE BRIDGE, assuming that I made the cut, and am waiting to hear whether the book makes it to the second round.
Many, MANY people continued to post comments, though, even after Blogspot had gone to a second page of comments and their comment was obviously going to be more than 200th. The comments contained lots of “oh noes” that were sort of embarrassing for the posters, though.
What I mean is: they wrote, “I posted my comment on the wrong blog entry!” Well, then you didn’t follow instructions or you have poor reading comprehension when you DO read, so they weeded you out. It’s sad. Don’t brag.
They wrote, “I didn’t think it would be bad to wait until 8:15! I was sleepy!” *sigh* Then it wasn’t IMPORTANT ENOUGH. My desire to be publicated by a major and respected old-school New York City publishing house (such as Simon and Schuster, Penguin Putnam, Random House–the usual suspects) has dominated my life for years. Why wouldn’t I get up an hour early if I wanted to enter the contest? Of course, I ran across it in a splash of sheer luck–but if I had known far in advance, I would have set up some kind of alarm to remind me. If I REALLY WANT something, then I have to follow the rules. And even then . . . well, you know the drill.
I can’t imagine why they’re running this contest. The winner will be announced in a few days, and then someone new will be agented. It’s really wild. Usually you have to wait months just to hear back on a partial. But anyhow, it’s fun to watch the chaos.
Next up is the round where we send in ten pages. Wonder if I’ll get to send the next bit of the ghost story?
I did check to be sure they had sold romantic suspense recently. Sure enough, one of the examples on their “sold by us” page is a ghost story! This may mean they don’t want another, or it might mean they like them. Too early to tell.
But I did send something that they DO represent. So we’ll see.
Sorry I didn’t get wind of this earlier, or I’d have posted. But that would have meant more competition (heh heh), so perhaps it’s all good. . . . *GRIN*
IN OTHER NEWS, hubby had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. He does not have hemachromatosis, for sure–the DNA test came back. Yay! But it does mean they have no diagnosis other than fatty liver syndrome (non-alcoholic). So they told him LOSE WEIGHT NOW, FAST. His liver enzymes are still going up. He was very resistant to my offer to do Medifast if he would . . . even if just for a few weeks to get jump-started. But this morning he did eat Medifast oatmeal, so maybe he’ll do it. They want to see some commitment to quick weight loss so they can see those enzymes returning to normal. Yowza! Time to nag non-stop.
So I am deliberately not asking the Universe to “please let me win representation” or anything similar because I am already getting my wishes granted. Still, “would it spoil some vast eternal plan?*” What would it hurt? But anyway. I’m not saying a word, not a single word.**
*quoting Tevye, in “Fiddler on the Roof”
**quoting the housekeeper in the original “Parent Trap”–you know, the REAL VERSION
[P. S. My ribs still hurt. And my shoulder. From the fall, presumably. Doctor only laughed. “If your ribs were broken, YOU’D KNOW.” *sigh*]