Yes, folks. I’m still at it. The other night, I wrote four pages on Leftovers, bringing us to the grand total of 129. For you nonwriters, that’s roughly…hey, I just hauled out the calculator (well really, I clicked on it) and I’m further along than I thought. That’s the equivalent of 32,250 words and publishers are looking for anywhere between 70,000 and 100,000. Wow. Depending on which figure you use, I’m either nearly ½ done or 1/3.
I know, I know.
I’ll be finished when the story says I am. Still…that ½ done figure is encouraging.
See, I did a spreadsheet based on my synopsis. I plotted out where the turning points should occur, then filled in the scenes leading up to them, pulling guesses out of my you-know-what as to how long each would be. Last time I checked, I was pretty close to being on-schedule as far as page-count. But ya never know when that scene you thought would take four pages is gonna blossom into two chapters. Or disappear entirely, leaving a huge gaping hole.
Anyway, so I’m plodding (plotting?) along. Meanwhile, everywhere I go, the news on chick-lit isn’t great. Agents say no one is buying. Agents say only well-established authors with good track-records are selling. Agents say you need something really special, really fresh, really extraordinary, to sell.
Ack. A title like Leftovers doesn’t exactly conjure up freshness, does it? Not that I can’t change the title, of course, but…well…it really, really, does HAVE to be Leftovers. Don’t wanna say why, but trust me. It does.
So what else could set it apart? The age of the heroine. Mine’s in that tween spot. Not quite young, not quite old. Older heroines (older than mine) are hot right now. Maybe by the time I get this sucker finished, tween heroines will be hot. One can only hope.
Other than that…yes, I do have one other little trick that could set Leftovers apart. Not telling what it is, though. Neener-neener.
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