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It's spring. After all this mind-crackling, bone-fracturing cold, it is spring. I suppose most people are cavorting with great abandon with the vernal equinox, warmer temperatures, and the promises of blooming flower beds. I love the season, too. But something comes with it.
With spring comes something else on the all-too-soon horizon. The DFW Writers Convention is coming up and , yes, I'm going again. Will I pitch Snow, my current WIP? I don't know. I have a pitch session scheduled again. I will research the agents I've asked for. Look at their biographies. Chase down their tweets. Read their blogs. Oh, I'll look for every piece of information I can find on them. I don't know which one of my three choices I will end up with.
I'm not as anxious as I was last year. The situation could change as the date grows closer. But I did manage to get through a pitch last year. Strange, isn't it? Someone who expresses themselves best in written form attempting to express it in spoken form---and evaluated accordingly. To me, it is very strange. Even in my former profession I hated doing performance art; although they called it BCLS, ACLS, and Clinical Competencies.
But the pitch for Snow will depend on whether I finish the rough draft in time. I don't like the idea of pitching something that isn't complete. If it isn't complete by then I suppose I use the time just to natter and ask questions.
Now there's a quandary. An odd one for me. I've labeled myself a Pochemuchka (Russian for someone who asks a lot of questions) but I'm afraid when it comes to asking actual people actual questions which would do me some good----I am terrible. It's so important to have the right questions. So what questions? I will only have ten minutes. Those questions will be the most difficult things I have ever written. I think finishing the rough draft of Snow will be easier.
So I think I will share a scene from Snow. An excerpt, not a snippet. This is one of the first scenes I wrote for it. Yes, it's one of the pivotal points. And , if summarized like a logline, it can be read almost like a comedy. I dislike writers who explain their writing but I will simply say Snow is not a comedy, romantic or otherwise. It is a love story and this scene happens midway.