Mood - Tired
Playing on itunes - Nothing Just Yet
Yesterday I finally returned to "writing". Well, if you can call it that. I reopened The Renfield Syndrome and started reading/editing it from the start. I want to reacquaint myself with the story and make sure everything is on track before I dive back in. Oddly enough, I found tons of things to "change" and it's as if I'm reading with virgin eyes, which is good.
I also entered a contest over at Jennifer Haymore's Blog in an attempt to "try to land an agent". You submit the Title, Genre, and the first five sentences of your story. If you're chosen, they'll request the first chapter of your story for consideration with the Irene Goodman Literary Agency.
I decided to submit the first five from my urban fantasy, The Company of Wolves. What do you think? Does it have a shot?
Sickness has a scent. The stale tang doesn’t burn the nasal cavity, nor does it sour as it hits the back of the throat. The perfume of impending death is musky, lingering heavy and oppressing in the air. It doesn’t have to be accompanied by formaldehyde or alcohol, the metallic rustiness of blood or the stench of decaying tissue, but I was able to distinguish all four scents — as well as something else.
For a moment, I considered feigning sleep, concentrating not on the unexpected earthy scent I knew all too well but rather on the strong and intrusive aroma of bleach, sterile fluids, and unemptied bedpans overflowing with bodily waste; the world was less complex without the complication of pack.
