The Peep Show

All of you have been so kind with your compliments, and words of encouragement. I'm touched that you read the Diaries, and have expressed an interest in my novel. See how I didn't call it my work in progress? I'm visualizing it as a completed product. It's my next step toward actually finishing it.

To that end, I am going to attend the New Jersey Romance Writers conference in October, and ask for an agent appointment. I'm excited to have a real deadline! There is much work to be done, but I'm pretty good under pressure. However, I need your help. One of the speakers at the NECRWA conference posited that a book must "hook" the reader within the first five pages. If one isn't interested in the characters at that point, chances are that book is going back on the shelf. But, you know, no pressure.

So, I went back and read my first five pages. I've shown them to half the country already, in my capacity as Contest Slut, but after the conference, I wanted to revise, revise, revise. I'm trying to suppress that urge, and move forward toward completion. Then I'll go back and gussy it up. So, I'm going to give you a peek at what is currently making the rounds of the pageant contest circuit, and you can let me know if you're "hooked." Geez, I've gone from slut to pusher in five sentences.

Here's the first paragraph, and if you want more you can follow this link over to Lyrics and Failures. There's space over there, because it's more a storage facility than a real blog. I'm sure there's an easier way to do this, but I'm a little computer stupid.

Tomorrow, a real post. Maybe about penises.

An Excerpt:

She heard the crunch of the tires before she saw the lights. Flashing lights. Although it had been years since her last encounter with the law, Sibby O’Connor instinctively reviewed her possible infractions. Unlike the 1992 incident, she wasn’t speeding. Her inspection sticker was current (summons issued, 1995), and all her taillights were working (warning, 1999). Maybe her New Jersey plates had triggered some east coast terrorist alert, but honestly, would radical extremists drive a 2003 Dodge Caravan? As she dug in her purse to find her license, indignation rising at this flagrant display of geographic bias, she heard Caleb behind her.

“Mom, there’s a policeman at the window,” he said, from the confines of his booster seat.