QUERYING BEGINS!

Aaand I didn't think this would happen to me again, but I've got a bunch of queries to prepare the second the showcase ends, and I can't. Stop. Fiddling with them. The query letter, the synopsis, the excerpt, the pitch--it all has to be just right. The excerpt I ended up using for the Pitch Wars showcase (which ends now, basically) took my mentors and I maybe seven or eight back-and-forths to make sure it was what we wanted? The process, darlins. The PROCESS.

In case you're interested, here's what we came up with for the showcase. Also, here's a link to my FB Author page, which is...sparse right now. But so it goes. There's a free story there for those of you who like me ;)

https://www.facebook.com/carizcrew/

Pitch Wars Showcase excerpt (and an aesthetic my mentors made me):

Pitch:

Ghostbusters meets CSI. Who needs Slayers when you can combat the supernatural with STEM? Nadege “Dodge” Michaels dreams of revolutionizing the magical hazmat business with science. When her unsanctioned field work lands her in the crosshairs of a ruthless supernatural drug dealer, Dodge must use her forensic-style approach to bring the perp to justice, before she becomes his next victim.

Excerpt:

Few things in life are certain, but one of those things is this: no matter how well you explain it, your intern is going to make you repeat yourself over and over as you drive to your first magical crime scene.

Yellow and black tape festooned the door of Manny’s Reptile Emporium, its name spelled out in big green letters shaped like snakes. I grumbled under my breath as I parked the van—this wasn’t the kind of job I liked. No need for forensic analysis or investigation. Nothing to prove my worth to the council. No hope of cutting my year-long probationary period short.

Just a ‘scrape and scrap,’ and this particular scene was a doozy. When Dispatch called me to report the incident, I knew we were in for a hell of a day. Mongolian Death Worms are good at three things: killing their prey, eating their prey, and making me wish I’d been born without a sense of smell.

“Are we really needed for this, Dodge?” Jared asked again.

“Crime scene tape is a good indicator there’s work to be done,” I said. There was a lot, too. The slayer—I mean, operative—assigned to deal with the illegal cryptid had gone hog wild. They weren’t leaving things to chance with bystanders.

Jared eyed the tape, and I hoped he wasn’t about to bolt. Having an intern was essential. Without one, the council could revoke my license to operate.