Contest Results AND Guest Feature Alyson Schroll!

I'm doing a double today - combining my contest results with a fun interview featuring Alyson Schroll from over at Pages From My Journal, a fellow teen writer who attended the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writer's Conference at the same time I attended Realm Makers.

So, first, the contest results, since I know you're all dying to hear about them. I had a total of 28 entries - eight more than I hoped for originally! - from 15 different authors. I never understood the whole thing about contests being so hard to judge until now. Thank you for making it nearly impossible.

But, I still had to choose a winner. Much as I hated to. As much as I would love to give you all the prize you deserve for buckling down and entering such amazing stories, the random number generator (a.k.a. my mom, who had no idea what was happening) has spoken, and the winner of the drawing for the (now signed) copy of Plot vs Character is...

J. Grace Pennington!

Grace, who not only entered the limit of five times, had the first-place entry and one runner-up that I couldn't bear not to post. I was very glad the random number machine a.k.a. mom picked her, and I felt wonderful about packing up the book today and scrawling her address on the front in Sharpie. Fantastic job, Grace!

In addition to the winner of the drawing, the three winners are:

1st: J. Grace Pennington - All My Tomorrows
2nd: Kitra Skene - The Magpie
3rd: Meaghan Ward - Don't Let Go

I'm going to publish these, starting with the first-place winner and going down, once a week. In addition, there were five runners-up I couldn't bear not to publish, so I'm going to go through those in no particular order. Those are a surprise; you'll have to wait and see whose are going up. ;) See, I really am the Queen of Torture. (I'm going to soften things a bit, though, and email the person whose entry is going up so they don't miss it.) I'm also going to critique every entry using my book review system, saying what worked for me and what didn't. So keep a watch out for Grace's All My Tomorrows and my critique sometime between tomorrow and Friday. I can't wait for you guys to read it!

And now, Alyson's interview. (I will also be answering the same questions, except about the Realm Makers conference, soon, except on her blog, so look out for that too.)

1. What made you decide to attend the conference?

I had heard about the conference through an author who had attended it and suggested I go to the teen day. Many people told me that going to a conference was the best way to get an agent or editor to read my work, so when I had a full novel ready, I chose to attend the entire conference.

2. Meet anyone special?

I met Ruth Samsel, who is a fellow agent with Rachel Coker's agent. Rachel and I have met and keep in touch so that was special. I also met Dina Sleiman who works for Whitefire Publishing and has posted on Go Teen Writers a couple times. It was nice to have connections with some of the people.

3. Did you do anything embarrassing?

In one of my appointments, I met with a man who didn't take fiction. This was embarrassing to me because I spend hours doing research and overlooked that major fact. But, I am very proud of myself that I didn't get lost. I am directionally challenged.

4. Were you as exhausted as I was?

I commuted to the conference, so the early mornings and late nights made me very tired. The first day was the day for teens and there were nine lectures right after another not including the morning and evening keynote.

5. Are you an introvert, and did that affect how you interacted with the people there?

Depending on the people I'm around, I can be very shy, but my confidence got a huge boost. Once I had my first professional conversation, I was good. I asked God to give me courage to talk to people about my story, and he did. I think I told my mom after that I didn't know where the extrovert in me came from. It sort of just happened.

6. Did you come home with any special encouragement or insight into your writing?

Many people complimented me on my professionalism, how prepared I was, and how I presented myself. One editor loved my writing style and one said that I communicate my ideas well. I was able to take their tips and immediately formulate a way that I would apply it. I think that helped. Agents and editors are looking for people who are teachable, and that's what I presented myself as.

7. Did you take lots of notes?

I took notes in every class. Some on my laptop, and some on paper.

8. Can we have a sample? ;)

One thing that really struck me as interesting was when an author explained the strategy behind length of paragraphs. When you begin every chapter with short paragraphs and slowly move into longer ones, the reader will begin to read it and then get hooked into reading the rest. I had never thought of it like that before.

9. Was there an assumption about conferences you had prior to going that was proved right or wrong?

Going into the conference, I had assumed that everyone was there to get their book published. I had not thought about the people who were there to learn how to write a book to begin with.

10. Would you go again?

I would love to go again. Hopefully, next time, I'll attend as an author.



Thanks so much, Alyson! (See, my first guest post and my first contest - I didn't do too bad, did I? ;)
E

Day 3

Left to right: Me, Meaghan, and Kathy Tyers.

The next morning, I cry for no reason.

"Okay, what's the matter, kiddo?" Kaitlyn asks. Even this early after a 1 AM bedtime, she's jaunty as ever.

I could say it's my nausea or my nerves or my lack of sleep or my fried brain. But it's not. "No reason," I whimper. "I'm serious. There's really no reason. I just felt like I needed to cry."

I skip breakfast, wondering if it will help. It doesn't. By the time we pull out of the parking lot on the way to the conference center, I think I've composed myself enough to get through the day, but the sight of a gray Honda van puts me over the edge. I sit in the backseat and snuffle, half-hoping they will notice me and half-hoping they'll leave me alone. Because it really is ridiculous that a van that looks like ours would make me bawl.

Inevitably, Kaitlyn wants to know what's wrong.

"There was a van -- l-like ours in the parking lot." I swipe at the tears gathering in the dark circles under my eyes. "I'm sorry. This is stupid."

Kaitlyn takes a deep breath and snaps into tirade mode. Or maybe it's a pep talk. I'm not sure at this point. Perfectly reasonable is the running theme. Because it's perfectly reasonable that I should be a tear-stained mess this morning. I happen to disagree, but the glimpses of Kaitlyn's dramatically black-outlined eyes in the rearview mirror hearten me a little.

"But it shouldn't have to make my face look so awful," I manage. I hope it won't still look awful for my mentoring appointment with Kathy Tyers this afternoon.

"Oh, honey, you should see when I cry."

Funny. I'm usually the one calling people pet names. And this is the part of the conference I was dreading, and it really isn't that bad. I think I can make it.

Then I go into the conference hall. Almost everyone is there. I walk by Kat Heckenbach and poke her in the arm. She whirls around and the first thing she wants is a picture.

I hold up my hands. "No, not now," I protest, trying to laugh. "I look awful - I've been crying. Homesick."

"Aw, I'm sorry," Kat says, her eyebrows furrowing and her lips drawing together into something that is part grimace and part smile. "Later?"

"Yes! Definitely, I want a picture later. Just not now."

Kaitlyn makes me sit in the front row. I hold my head in my hands while Bryan Davis prepares his slideshow and think about how ridiculous it is that I can cry on command just now. If Meaghan told me to start sobbing, I would. For no reason.

I've never been this exhausted.

But as Mr. Davis starts talking, my pencil scribbles draw my attention. At the end of a particularly fascinating class about the hero's journey and some sudden insight about my main character that I hope I can thank him for later, I realize that I'm fine. Though the morning's escapades seem no less pathetic.

I sit through the next few classes with Meaghan on one side and Ness Treskillard on the other. We're all wearing plaid and we tell Kaitlyn she missed the memo. Kat gets the picture she wanted at lunch. She seems so approachable and I sit at her table through the rest of the meal, surprising myself with my boldness. Yesterday it was Bryan Davis and Jeff Gerke, today it's Kat and Grace Bridges and Robynn Tolbert.

Grace says she didn't expect me to look so young. "Really?" I ask, longing to imitate her accent - a round, slippery kind of sound like a greased rubber ball, sliding out of my mouth as easily as it slides in - but not sure if mimicking your international acquaintances' accents over lunch is something that will gain you friends or lose them. "So is the food much different here than in New Zealand?"

"Yes," Grace says, going back to her broccoli.

Beside her, Robynn bursts into laughter. "Now, see, I'll show you. You can't ask open-ended questions; you have to say something like, 'Now Grace, tell me about the different food in New Zealand!'"

"Ahh." I grin. Grace doesn't look offended, just smirks at her plate, then looks up and tells me about the fish and chips shops. She sounds a little more like me than I expected.

I get jittery when we leave lunch to return to the conference center. At 2:45 I have my appointment with Kathy Tyers, and it's one thing I've been looking forward to, not dreading. Back in class, I watch the clock and doodle flames at the top of my schedule page. I'm almost falling asleep - by no fault of the teacher, because even though I don't write comic books, Matt Yocum is fascinating - but because exhaustion always seems to catch up with me about 1:30 PM. I finally understand the cliche about eyelids being too heavy to keep open.

When I take another look at my schedule, trying to remember how long the class runs, I jump. Meaghan looks over at me, baffled. "My appointment," I whisper-hiss, since we're still in the front row. "I missed it. I had one at 2:45 with Kat yesterday - the one for today was 2:15, not 2:45, and I missed it!"

Once the comics class is over, I pace the hallway, regretfully missing the presentation on Splashdown Books, occasionally looking into the room at the end of the hall where Kathy is now busy with another girl. I find Becky in the bookstore and ask if Kathy has any more slots open today. Becky says she does, but the mentors work on their own schedule so she might have filled them up again already. Pace, pace. I read everything on the bulletin board twice and sit for two-minute chunks on the sofa in the sun at the other end, so I won't look too anxious.

Finally, I look back into the room and she's talking to Bryan Davis. "Mrs. Tyers?" I venture. I can almost feel the enormous weight of the Firebird trilogy in my arms. She turns. "I, um, missed my appointment because I mixed it up with the one yesterday, because I had one at 2:45 and today's was at 2:15 -" I really am babbling. I shut up.

"You want to come in now?" she asks, looking up at me from behind the rims of her round glasses.

"Oh - yes! Just let me get my notes." I race back down the hallway at the fastest allowable pace, hearing my mom's voice in my head about not running in the house. Meaghan, sitting on the sofa in my place, raises her eyebrows.

"YES!" I scoop up my notebook and pencil. "She's open for an appointment now!" Without waiting for a response, I dart back to the room and slide into a chair opposite one of my favorite authors.

I had a list of questions, but somehow they get buried and we just chat. She talks about her book. I talk about mine. Kathy is intense but funny, seeming interested in everything I have to say, and very flattered when I drop a hint about how much I love her books. She strikes me as someone who really loves her work. Not only as a writer will love it, but as a mother will love a child. There's a sense almost of detached pride when she beams and thanks me for telling her.

At the corner of my mind I see that Jeff Gerke is sitting across from us. When his client gets up to leave, I glance over and find him looking at me. Very slowly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world, he makes a face at me.

I burst out laughing mid-sentence.

The rest of the day somehow seems perfect. Even after I miss supper, lock myself out of my room, and aim a good-natured barb at L. B. Graham, which gets uproariously laughed at. The book signing downstairs has a slightly sad air to it - it's the last time we'll be together for at least a year. No one knows. I lug my copy of Firebird around until Kathy is free, then introduce her to my mom and plunk the huge trilogy down on her table for her to sign.

She signs it To E.

Day 2

Day 1
Day 3

It's 9:09 AM. Meaghan and I are running on 5 and a half hours of sleep and the streaming adrenaline. Kaitlyn is running on chocolate-covered almonds.

I keep looking around for people I know, but the nametags are mostly hanging below the level of the tables. I get an idea for the first line of my blog post and write it on a mostly-blank advertisement in the handout. The conference room is cold and I'm made of nervousness.

But I know the keynote speaker. I've looked up his website three times in the last six months just to read through the beautiful requirements for submitting. So eloquent. So...so fitting of his vision. And I have so many connections I'm buzzing to explore.

Jeff Gerke - Jeff Gerke himself - starts walking by the tables and handing out shiny pamphlets with newsletter information on them. He reaches our table and says in a casual way, "I'm looking for the young author who drew a picture of me on their blog. Did any of you..."

I shake my head, thinking of a pencil portrait or something. Then I see out of the corner of my eye that Meaghan is pointing at me. "Wha -"

"You did it?" Mr. Gerke asks, his eyebrows rising in light brown half-circles.

"No," I say, jerking my head back and forth. I'm jerky when I'm nervous. "She's making fun." I shoulder Meaghan. "Stop it."

Mr. Gerke moves on. I turn to my quietly mischievous friend. "What was that for?" She shrugs, grinning.

Then my hands fly to my mouth. "Wh - um - I think - did he mean my stick figures?"

Kaitlyn shakes her head, vaguely. "I don't...think so."

I see him coming past our table again. "Mr. Gerke!" I call. The clamor of voices buries mine like dirt over a seed. Oh well. Just the thought of yelling over that crowd makes my heart rate spike.

Becky Minor traipses up to the front of the hall in a geometric purple dress. She looks a lot like she does on Facebook. I'm wishing I hadn't eaten so much breakfast, even though I didn't eat much at all. After the opening announcements and her acknowledgement that we're pioneers (I'm a pioneer in a different way - the hermit converted) she gives the mic to Mr. Gerke.

Practically the first thing he asks, after the perfunctory welcome, is for whomever drew the picture of him on their blog to identify themselves.

My right hand comes out from under my leg and creeps up on its own, barely to the level of my face, the cold air buffeting it and making my fingers tremble. My hand wants to be seen, but the muscles of my arm keep it low, hoping it won't be.

Mr. Gerke must have sharp eyes. "You did it?" he says, incredulous, holding his hand out to me.

"Th-the stick figures?"

"Yes! But you said -" He gestures to Meaghan in confusion.

"I forgot!"

People are starting to chuckle. My head whirls, but my breath is coming surprisingly clear, tinged with sharp adrenaline like the sparkle in mineral water.

"Well, she said her mental image of me was in a suit, and -" he looks down at his slacks and his Marcher Lord Press T-shirt, eliciting a real, full-out laugh from the audience. "But you guys should go see it, or we should post it for everyone to see. But later she's going to pass out business cards and everyone's going to be like this." He crouches on the floor in an imitation of the frightened stick figures.

By this time my face is hot and I'm laughing with the audience, harder than I can ever remember, except that time at Thanksgiving dinner when, giddy and full of food, I lay on the floor and laughed so hard I knew I would fail if I tried to get up. The lack of sleep is probably contributing. Not now. Please, don't let me end up on the floor.

I cover my face with my hands and try to compose myself. Fortunately, Mr. Gerke soon moves on into the rest of his speech, with no further mention of the stick figures.

I scribble my way through two more classes, determine to write a flash fiction entry even though I'll most likely have to do it at midnight, which is probably when we'll get back to our dorm. I've never written at midnight and want to try it.

Then, lunch. Kaitlyn drives us back to Provincial House. The topic of the stick figures is unavoidable.

"Your face got so red," Kaitlyn says, stopping at yet another of the unnecessary stop signs.

"It did? Oh, no."

Meaghan turns around, her hair swinging against her chin as the van jolts forward again. "I thought you were going to pass out."

I lean forward, gripping the seat handles. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

We enter the cafeteria. Kaitlyn and Meaghan head for the table where we ate breakfast, but I hang back, scanning the room. I'm not sure I can do it after this morning. I'm not sure I can do it anyway. But my feet, propelled by the threat of regret and Jill Williamson's limitless wisdom, creep toward Jeff Gerke's table.

The published authors seem to group together. Not through any desire to exclude us, I'm sure, but all the same it's daunting to walk up to Bryan Davis and ask if he minds if I join them. Bryan Davis.

"Sure," he says.

I walk around to the only empty chair at the table. Right across from Mr. Gerke. I shut my eyes briefly. Really, God? It would be so much easier if there weren't any chairs empty or - something! 

I sit down. From Mr. Gerke's smile as he looks up from his conversation, I can see he recognizes me. "So, you going to give me a business card?"

Something takes over from there. To my relief, it's something calm and rational, something that knows the lines I rehearsed much better than most of my brain does. Something that steadies my voice and my hands as I reach for the business cards in my pocket and say "I wanted to ask, you gonna let me make my dream come true?"

I hand it across the table. He takes it and tosses his arms up. "There! Now you've fulfilled your comic!"

The rest of lunch is a blur. I eat flavorless green beans and don't notice. We talk about my book and the conference and middle names. When Kaitlyn leans over the back of my chair and says it's time to go, I realize I've eaten almost nothing but green beans. "I just - have a few more bites," I protest, realizing I probably didn't spend as much time eating as I should have. How could I? I was busy with more important things.

We file out of the lunchroom with a trickle of other late attendees. A wave of warm, humid air envelops me as we walk to the car. Meaghan and Kaitlyn look at me expectantly.

"He has my business card." I clench my fists and grin, so hard my face hurts. "Jeff Gerke has my business card! I am so freakishly excited!"