Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Adjusted 250 Words

I took a step back and worked with a smaller range of events, so here's what I've come up with for the log-line and 250 words. Check out the contest here: http://brenleedrake.blogspot.com/2011/06/four-teens-judge-your-story-with-three.html?showComment=1309464008080#c191944983326420783



Let me know what you think of my new entry idea!

Sarah Keith

Logline for Masque:
Blue discovers the secrets of the Writer, the all-powerful ruler of their little village, while searching for her sister and being romanced by the power of lies and disguises. 

250 words:
I knew there was something wrong as soon as I heard the tinkling of the bell. There was only one reason for someone to ring at our house at this time of night. Something was wrong with Molly.
                My parents entered the hallway about the same time that I did. There were no locks on our doors, or on the doors of any other house in the hamlet. The Writer disallowed it. And as soon as I saw Charles standing inside the front door of our home, I registered how short my nightgown was, how sheer. My heart was throbbing in my chest. What was it?
                I wasn’t used to seeing him so close. On stage, he always looked so confident. Framed in my tiny doorway, he looked taller than usual. His strawberry-blond hair, usually slicked back, fell into his eyes. His face was etched in a strange sorrow. I wrapped my arms around my chest as I stood in the hallway. My father went up to Charles and took the small letter he held.
                “I wasn’t supposed to open it,” Charles said. The seam had been ripped.
                My father nodded. He understood. We all did. Charles and Molly were so close. My father opened the parchment and scanned it quickly, then looked up at Charles. “You have no idea where she could have gone?  Why?”
                Charles shook his head. “I wish I did, sir. This letter was given to me by the Writer. I was given no other information.”

Saturday, July 16, 2011

The First 250 words...

Here's the first 250 words of my latest project Masque, a YA Dystopian novel. I have until 11:59 on July 20th to collect as much feedback as possible and submit my final 250 word beginning. Please let me know what you think! I know it's condensed, but I hope that there will still be some constructive feedback that can assist me. Here's the logline and 250 words. Thanks again!

Sarah Keith

Logline:

The Writer scripts village life. The Players perform. No matter what. Blue is summoned to join them when her sister disappears. When Blue learns the truth, can she save her sister, her friends, her world?


250:


                I knew there was something wrong with Molly. There was no other reason for Charles to be standing in my house in the middle of the night. He was a Player, they both were. They weren’t allowed in the village, except to perform. He’d invited himself in, the door wasn’t locked. None were allowed to be, by order of the Writer.
                I caught my breath and averted my eyes as my parents entered the hall. My nightgown was too short, too sheer. And Charles was far too attractive. But tonight, his eyes were sunken, his faced etched in sadness. He gave my father a crumpled note.
                “I wasn’t to open it,” Charles said. He gestured to the open seam. “I’m sorry.”
                My father nodded. He understood. We all did.
                “So she’s gone?” my father asked.
                Charles shrugged. “I don’t know anything. I thought, maybe you would know more.”
                Molly. My perfect sister. Most popular on the stage. Five years ago, before she’d joined the Writer’s Players, she’d been my best, my only friend. She hadn’t spoken to me since. I saw her every other day, on the stage by the beach. But where could she have gone?
                My mother knotted her fingers in her nightgown. “But you were so close. Surely, surely you know something.” Usually, she could have talked for hours. Now, she was frightened into silence.
                Charles turned to go. “Mr. and Mrs. Ackleman,” he said. His dark eyes met mine. “Blue.”
                I nodded and he was gone.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

My First Rejection

It wasn't a rejection. Not really. Actually, it's something I'm rather proud of. I was a finalist in the Gatekeepers' Post contest on Wattpad.com. I did not win. This would be the first time something like this has happened to me in the writing world.

Now comes the great part. It's because this is the first thing to happen to me in the writing world. Ever. I've written for years, but mainly in my room in the dark. A few select friends privy to my scribblings. This marks the very first time I have done ANYTHING outside my comfort zone. Never before have I introduced my writings to people I didn't know, or on such a scale. And it has done things for me that I could not have anticipated.

The book I submitted, THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN, was born just about 5 years before the beginning of the contest. It had taken on many forms, and was re-written about once a year. But this time, it was different. I had a deadline. I had an audience. I got feedback while I was writing, re-writing, and revising. And I got a chance to live like a real writer, to work everyday on something I felt passionate about. And for the first time, I found others who enjoyed my work. Others who didn't have to be wheedled into reading it.

So today, I could be really, really upset. I could cry, throw my manuscript into the trash, rip it into little pieces, or any number of other cathartic things. But I'm not. I'm working on another project, giving that one a break. I'm practicing the art of the query letter, so that when the time comes to share it again, I'll be prepared.

Because this isn't bad. It's not the end of my success as a writer. It's the beginning. Rejection means that I'm trying, and that I have something I believe in enough to put out there. And eventually, after what is sure to be a long road, success will come. And rejection will only serve to make it sweeter.

Friday, June 24, 2011

The Breathings of My Heart

William Wordsworth said "Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart."


As a writer, I take those words seriously. It's what I try to do. Whenever I think about a story, plot it out, begin to type. What do I want it to say? And how does that relate to what I think and feel?

When I read a good book, I know immediately. I know how the characters feel. And quite often, if the viewpoint of the character doesn't match that of the author, they feel strongly in some way about a topic that the author feels strongly about. It's impossible to fake. Passion is passion, and too many books fall flat without it. It's a missing feeling, and nothing else can make up for it.

As I travel the road towards publishing, consider my options, look for possible agents and publishers, it's something I remind myself of. I could have the best agent, the most dedicated publisher. I could have the most comprehensive ad campaign imaginable. But if I don't love my writing, if there's no passion running through it and around it, it won't work. There's no substitute.

For me, it takes the pressure off. I need to work my best at my job, creating stories that I think will entertain, and hopefully force one to think. The rest will come, but not without an excellent product. And that can only come from the breathings of my heart.