More Contest Chatter

The primary focus of Novel Rocket is traditional publication. However, with the publishing world in a wild state of flux, self-publishing is an increasingly practical option. Independent authors are as much in need of experience and encouragement as those who follow the traditional track.

Last month, we shared a few testimonials of writers who participated in our contest in the past. Today, we’ll hear from three more.

In 2010, when the event carried the ungainly name of OUT OF THE SLUSH PILE: Novel Journey’s Fifteen Minutes of Fame Contest, Lee Darling was our second category winner with her Suspense/Crime/Mystery entry, Just Out of Reach. At that time we didn’t require that the manuscript be complete; in Lee’s case, it wasn't.

However, she says winning the category inspired her to not only complete the novel, but to self-publish it (through Lulu) in June of last year, using her own photos as cover art. It’s available in print and Kindle on Amazon.

In the contest’s first year, we took entries in each genre twice. Running the six-category cycle in January through June, and again in July through December, we chose the Grand Prize winner from the twelve genre winners. That year, Diane Moody won the Contemporary Romance category both times, with Strike the Match in May and Tea With Emma in November. Diane says:

I didn’t win the Big Enchilada that year, but goodness – TWO wins over the course of the year? That was so gratifying! I’d had soooooo many rejections over the years, and that was such a boost to help me stay the course and not give up.

Since then, I’ve incorporated both Tea With Emma and Strike the Match into a series called “The Teacup Novellas,” with two more stories to add to complete the anthology. They’ve done very well, so I’m extremely pleased.

In 2011, I took a step of faith by self-publishing my first novel, and I’ve never looked back. I’ve now released five books, and my sales have literally astounded me. I’ve discovered this phenomenal bliss, no longer having to wait years and years for some detached editor to decide if she will or won’t even look at my manuscript. Since then I’ve been a writing machine, and I’m loving every moment of it.

Heard enough? I hope not, because we have one more story to tell.

Our first Contemporary/Women’s Fiction category in March of 2010 had eleven entries. One of those stories, though it had enough mechanical problems to keep it out of the running, grabbed me by the throat. By the time I finished reading the synopsis, I had goose bumps.

As contest administrator, I often exchange emails with contestants, answering general contest questions, discussing matters specific to a submission, or addressing specific writing issues. In one of these email discussions, I suggested that this particular writer, Sarah Wells, get involved in a good critique group. She had solid skills but needed to learn more about the peculiarities of fiction writing.

She did; and she learned quickly. Despite being a medical doctor, wife, mother of two little ones, and undergoing two major moves, she managed to keep working on her story. Sarah revised it dramatically and recently self-published it.

I contacted her and asked for her input for this column. Because of time constraints, she wasn't able to provide the complete answer she'd intended. Apologizing for her (what she considered) inadequate response, she said:

I was really looking forward to raving about how helpful that novel contest was for me. Joining the Sharpened Pencils [the critique group] was the best sort of result I could have had from the contest; much better, in fact, than even winning would have been, since the group has been such a sharpening tool for my writing! There is nothing better for the solitary writer than honest friends who also love and know the craft.

Participation in the contest enabled Sarah to make contacts who helped point her in the right direction; and she knows how to take instruction. Her critique group provided input, but they didn't write the book. That was all Sarah's doing.

I haven't read the other books mentioned here, but in my opinion, A Fountain Filled is a beautiful example of what Christian fiction ought to be. We at Novel Rocket feel honored to have played a small role in bringing it into the world.

Obviously, we can’t promise success to everyone who enters. We do, however, promise to give each entrant a fair shake as well as a thoughtful critique.

If you’ve written a novel and are ready to take the next step, check out our contest rules. Who knows? This might be just what you're looking for.

Yvonne Anderson writes fiction that takes you out of this world. She's also been our contest administrator since the event’s inception. The first novel in her Gateway to Gannah series, The Story in the Stars, debuted in June 2011, and the next in the series, Words in the Wind, is planned for release this summer. She blogs at www.YsWords.com.

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We Have Another Winner!

We are happy to announce the winner of the second round of our OUT OF THE SLUSH PILE, Novel Journey’s Fifteen Minutes of Fame Contest. February’s category is Suspense/Crime/Mystery, and once again, the judges were unanimous in their decision.

The winner of this category is Just Out of Reach, by Lee Darling of Eugene, Oregon.

The judges were first taken by the lovely imagery in the opening paragraph, and the strong writing carried through the chapter. The setting was vivid. The characters were clearly drawn, had their own voices, and even in this small sample showed individual personalities. One judge would have preferred that the backstory be woven in more gradually but was pleased with the overall execution and development.

They noted that the occasionally coarse language and reference to alcohol wouldn’t fly with a Christian audience, but this book isn’t written for that market; there is nothing here that would offend the average reader. Also, the alcohol use, rather than being glorified, is portrayed as a problem leading to negative consequences.

The judges agreed that, all in all, the writer shows good skill and the story outlined by the synopsis sounds like an enjoyable read.

We present to you now, with pleasure, the first chapter of Just Out of Reach, by Lee Darling:

CHAPTER ONE
Come Saturday Morning

At the top of the steep wood staircase, I paused, drinking in the scene. On the beach below, kelp and debris draped the high tide line like a rusty necklace. Between that and the sea lay a wide chest of firm, dark sand. A hundred yards from shore, the sun sent sparks across a nearly flat surface, but the beach remained in morning shadows.

“Perfect!” I said aloud, pulling my wiry hair into a ponytail and through the back of my Trailblazer cap. Hand hovering over the rail, I bounced down the steps to the beach. My breath puffed in front of me as I trotted south at my usual eight-minute pace. Jogging is my therapy, my meditation, my rhythmic mental and physical cleansing.

This morning, I pushed myself hard to banish thoughts of Ed, my ex, and his new bride, Alyce – and to erase envy of her expanding belly, confirmation of her fertility.

I had scurried here for Spring Break – to Bandon and the Beach Loop cottage where I grew up. Bandon lies at the north end of Oregon’s Banana Belt, where temperatures are moderate year-round.

Now, inhaling the air my mother called ocean’s breath, her voice echoes in my head. Don’t forget to lock the door, Jessie, followed by a hoot of laughter, since the door never really locked. Back then nobody locked doors and neighbors kept watch.

Jolted back to the present by a tangle of kelp, I skipped sideways, then took another step. Something made me look again. A sleeve of dark leather protruded from the seaweed, but no hand.

“I want the hand … always to be there,” I recited the familiar phrase from AA’s Statement of Responsibility. The angle, the way the sleeve reached out from the seaweed seemed a plea for help.

“When anyone, anywhere reaches out … ” I shook my head, twisted it into a question: “And for that, am I responsible?”

I turned away, jogged a few more steps and stopped again. Damn! You just can’t leave it be, can you Jessie. I’m a confirmed eco-conscious picker-upper. I participate in the twice-yearly beach cleanup. On beach walks, I take an empty plastic sack and usually return with it stuffed. Not with shells or sand dollars or rocks but with discarded cans, chunks of nylon rope and plastic bottles. Trash. Once in awhile, after a storm, I find a real treasure like a glass float, but that’s rare.

I turned back.

“Oh, hell! Yes, I am responsible,” I growled aloud.

The seaweed, brackish brown and slimy, was like a pit of snakes with bulbous heads. I took a deep breath to shake off a sense of dread and pulled the jacket loose. I laid it on a rock out of reach of the tide and marked the spot with a chunk of driftwood.

Twenty minutes later, sweaty and refreshed, I veered back to the rock. The jacket was heavy and wet, the lining loaded with sand. Carrying it threw me off balance and I slowed to a trot, then walked the last hundred yards to the end of the beach. The tide was still low enough to sneak across the rocks below the cliff, the flat route to Cora’s Cafe. I was in need of caffeine and sustenance; one of Cora’s cinnamon swirls would do the trick.
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