For my fellow authors out there, you likely experienced the craziness that was #PitMad yesterday on twitter.
#PitMad happens a few times a year. This tweet fest was hosted by Brenda Drake. (Thanks, Brenda!) Authors tweet out super short pitches for their manuscripts in hopes that their pitch catches an agent’s or publisher’s eye. If your tweet gets “favorited” (starred), that means that the agent who did the favoriting is expecting an official query in his/her inbox.
Exciting, right? Tons of agents spending their whole thursday just perusing twitter and starring all over authors’ hopes and dreams! It’s like Christmas!!
Okay, not really.
In reality, over 30,000 pitch tweets went out yesterday. 30,000. Thirty-thousand. 30-freakin-K. So, the few (in comparison) agents who did happen to peruse twitter on lunch break or a set-aside moment, probably glimpsed a very small fraction of those #PitMad pitches.
I browsed agent’s twitter feeds this morning and my thoughts were confirmed. Though most said they would also take time today to browse a little more of yesterday’s pitches. Because, remember, 30,000+ tweets!!
I’m thinking they need to divvy up #PitMad into different sessions by genre. What do you think?
We might not survive this day, dear reader. It is World War III over here. Screaming toddler, sassy 5 year old, messes beyond the capabilities of FEMA, bribes, threats, revoked privileges, “time-in” that quickly escalated back to the old school time-out . . . all things I’m going to regret in the morning.
Today has not been my best day as a mother. And it’s barely noon. Somebody say a prayer – there’s a good chance mine are struggling to be heard over the scream-whining of my littles. I may be only one step above bed rest at the moment, but you’d think I could at least keep things recognizable.
I could tell you the whole story, but I think my husband’s response to my text sums it up nicely.
“As long as everyone’s breathing and not bleeding.”
What a trooper.
So you know what I did? 30 minutes ago I gave up. I took myself and my unborn child back to bed. The kids officially have free reign. My knives are out of their reach, the pool fence and back door are locked, and my bedroom door is open.
And guess what. By the time I got to this point in my blog post, the house is filled with sounds of toys being put back in their rightful place. My kids are getting along as they put the war to rights, probably signing a peace treaty as we speak.
This is totally not where I thought this post was going.
My conclusion? Either 1) an angel came by and whispered in their ears some heavenly, secret phrase that suddenly inspires obedience and responsibility; or 2) I was the problem.
Yeah, totally not where I thought this post was going.