Lynette Bishop Snell

Not the kind from the song you’re probably singing along to right now.  But the kind that settle in your stomach and flutter around, dropping kisses of nerves and anticipation and fear and excitement throughout your insides.

Those are the kind I have right now.  The mean reds have been replaced by butterfly kisses.  Angry, mutant butterflies. 

I have taken a major leap of faith, fear, stupidity (choose your own motivational word) in my writing career.  I have submitted an original work to a writing competition.  Now, this is not, in itself, a major thing.  People do it all the time.  What makes this submission special is the venue.

Avon Publishers has created something called “Avon Fanlit.”  In late August, a panel of editors and authors came up with six potential storylines and asked readers to vote on which one they would most like to read.  The idea is to have a collaborative work created by random authors (mostly unpublished).  Each person can submit 2 or 3 entries per chapter, then the polls open and readers from all across America can then vote on the chapter they like best.

The pressure is intense because not only did I have to write the chapter (the easy part) but I had to come up with a tagline (150 characters or less) and a short description (500 characters or less).  I am not a sales person.  I just write and hope someone else will go on & on about how wonderful my writing is.  This time, however, I am forced to rely on my own talent (gasp) and hope and pray someone sees enough potential in 150 characters to keep reading. 

So today I did all of the above:  submitted a chapter (easy), wrote a short description (not so easy), and a tagline (rottenly, stinking hard).

If you are so inclined, feel free to go to Avon Fanlit and check out my entry.  It’s called “Uncovered.”  And vote (or not) as you see fit.

In the meantime, I shall be a bumbling, neurotic, butterfly-filled mess.