Yes, Jenna’s story, Cami’s First Kiss, will continue this month even while I’m on my blogging sabbatical – and then later next week you’ll see some more “what’s going on with me” posts.

So, hope you’re ready for this month’s Excerpt Monday – Jenna can’t seem to get herself out of this ridiculous night yet!

I’m always surprised when I take a blog break and people DM or email me. As if I have something ultra-important to say or something

Well, I’m in the middle of querying (it’s going so well I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop), editing the next Secret book (it’s going well, no shoe to drop yet), writing Cami/Jenna stuff (the shoe dropped) and putting together a workshop proposal. October is a busy, busy month.

So, for sanity and business focus, I won’t be blogging for the rest of the month EXCEPT:

1. Monday October 26th, Jenna Drake will be posting a free short story about Cami’s Halloween. Please come back and check it out – that doesn’t mean there won’t be more Jenna and her adventures in November. That’s coming also!

2. If something amazing happens: I get an agent. I get married. I get abducted by aliens. etc.

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

This is the 7th installment of Cami’s First Kiss. For the first 6 excerpts, click Cami’s Page OR Free Reads above.

As the music ended and the light dimmed, I headed toward our group. Before I made it more than two steps, the singer’s hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back into the lane and the center of attention.

 

“Not so fast miss.” He raised the mic and spoke to the crowd. “I may look like a flashback to a kinder, gentler time, but I believe women should be as giving with their gifts as men. And so, I’m going to hand the microphone over to my lovely partner for the next song.”

 

With a thud, the mic ended up in my hand, the cord twisting between my feet as he gave me a gentle shove toward the center of the spotlight. My gaze rose, shooting though the light and into the darkness beyond to lock onto Ben, the forever Mocking Guy. His lips curled in a slight grin, a challenge issued with the mere cocking of his eyebrow.

 

Beside him, Lisbeth laid a hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper who knows what in his ear. His light grin grew, his brow dropping as he turned toward her and said nothing. Probably stunned anew by her shabby-chic beauty. Without replying he settled back on his plastic chair-bench seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

He was really looking forward to watching me fail.

 

My gaze slid back toward Lis, looking for support, looking for my friend. Only I looked too soon. Well, too soon for what I wanted to see.

 

You know those moments in life when you’re walking down the street and you glance up and see someone you haven’t run into in ages and their expression before their polite-person mask falls into place is not so welcoming? Well, that’s what I got. I got that moment. And I saw the ugly side of friendship.

 

I saw dislike and a hope that I’d fail.

 

There I was, dragged out of my nice little apartment to pretend to hit on men I had no interest in for her sad version of “research” and now at this warehouse of a bowling alley in a horrible neighborhood that smelled of over boiled hot dogs and stale beer. Trapped in this place because of yet another guy who wanted her and would do stupid things to have her. And because not only would she let him, but she’d love every minute of it. And there was no way she’d share the spotlight in a good way… no way unless it was to watch me fail.

 

I don’t think so.

 

We all have a past, things we’ve put away. And not all of those things are bad. Some are wonderful, wonderful things that just aren’t the core that moves our heart as strongly as something else.

 

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t part of you any more.

 

College had robbed me of something. It had robbed me of part of myself. Okay, that isn’t fair. I had given part of myself away to be the girl my high-school-slash-college sweetheart wanted me to be.

 

As he pledged his fraternity and became one of the Big-Man-On-Campus-In-Trainings, the idea of me being the nerdy girl I’d been in high school was unacceptable. He never said I was unacceptable, but I was more acceptable not being in choir. Or drama club. Or Latin debate. Yeah, I debated in Latin, you have a problem with that?

 

And so, those things got put away for the boy who eventually threw me away. But that doesn’t mean my heart didn’t remember them, didn’t long for them, didn’t long to sing.

 

My gaze slid back to Ben, looking to see that smirk of his so I could watch it fall from his face when the words slid from my lips in a clear, perfectly pitched melody. The music started –a perky oldies tune – and that’s when my confidence slid away instead. Ok, it landslided away, but who’s really counting. All I could thing was, It figured.

 

I didn’t know the song.

 

It was vaguely familiar in the way that kid who moved away in kindergarten is when you run into him as an adult. But, tune? Not really. Words? Not at all.

 

 I must have shown the panic on my face, because Lisbeth’s hand came up to hide what I could only presume was a smirk and Ben leaned forward for what I could only presume was a better view of my humiliation.

 

The singer must have also seen my panic, because he stepped back into the sphere of shame – I mean the spotlight – and gently turned me toward the place where the scores were typically projected. Now, the words were there in all their glorious 50’s-ness. Throwing an arm around me, he whispered in my ear.

 

“Almost there. 3…2…1…”

 

And then it all came together. It was like getting halfway through a book and realizing you’d read it before.

 

The words and the tune were so simple, so easy to grasp, that I was belting it out before I knew what I was saying. What the words were saying. There was no way he could have done this to me, but the coincidence was too great to discount him being in league with Lucifer. I didn’t even see it coming until the moment before the chorus flashed on the screen. By then, my memory had caught up with the words. The very ironic words.

 

“If you want to know

If he loves you so

It’s in his kiss.”

 

At this rate, I was going to have a justifiable reason to kill him. Even his mother wouldn’t be able to blame me for this very public mocking.

 

There was no way after making me sing about kisses that he was going to keep me from writing about them. As soon as the crowd stopped clapping – ok, they were cheering. So I hammed it up a bit – I was going to demand my notebook back and storm out of this bowling alley like a modern day Scarlett O’Hara. Never to be mocked again.

 

Handing the mic back to the guy, I stepped off the brightly lacquered wood. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Lisbeth had put her happy face back on, clapping along with the rest of the group. Smiling as if there hadn’t been that moment where she wanted me to fail. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been more than a moment.

 

Ben stepped forward, his grin a little wider than before, but he was brushed aside as Lisbeth rushed toward me.

 

“That was awesome,” she gushed. “I didn’t know you could sing. Why didn’t you ever tell me. You… you… hidden talents girl. I never know what you’re going to come out with next, JJ.”

 

The last word, the initials, were said in that sly way someone says something when they want people to ask about it. When they know the answer and can’t wait to share it. When they have bad news or gossip.

 

“Nice job.” Dane reached past Ben to high five me. “What’s the JJ stand for?”

 

I knew it was coming, knew I couldn’t escape it, so I figured I might as well just get it over with. The smaller the production made of something, the smaller the deal people thought it was. Usually. I kept my gaze on Dane, not wanting to see the mocking attack coming when I spit it out.

 

“Jenna Jameson.”

 

Dane’s eyes rounded, but he had the good grace not to say anything. My gaze slid toward Lisbeth and there it was again. That pre-mask look of triumph.

 

But it was Ben who couldn’t keep his mouth shout.

 

“You’re named after a porn star?”

 And check back on Monday, October 26th for a special Halloween short story by Jenna about her character Cami!

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

Since we’re talking about queries, I thought I’d tell you about one of the God-sends of this process: Query Tracker.

Query Tracker was one of the things I actually put aside money for this year. My premier membership keeps my queries straight and me informed. They have a section for comments, tracking your queries, personal statistics, agent specific statistics, and a track of the dates of response. It’s always nice to be able to see where you stand in the list of who has heard and who hasn’t.

On top of that, you can search agents by name or agency. Each agent has a page that lists the links that will search them, how to contact them, their twitter address. It allows you to search by genre and then there’s the “agent’s with similar tastes” link.

If you want to get organized and informed for your agent search, check out Query Tracker.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know I’ve started querying my top 20 agents this month. For me, it’s an ongoing process. I can’t sit at my laptop for long enough to put together and send 20 queries …and not write… it’s just too much So, to those followers who have been watching my requests come in, you also know the initial response has been really amazing. I’m so excited about the number of fulls and partials already circulating!

Several people have asked me to post it, and –after checking with Someone In The Know– I decided to go with that. I’ve never posted an active query letter before, so it’s a little nerve racking. Please don’t ask me why it’s working. I have theories, but honestly I’m not and agent or slush reader so I couldn’t tell you what they see in it. I do know that I’ve gotten a handful of rejections and two of them liked the premise but didn’t rep the more specific YA genre. One broke my heart with that But, I love this book and the heroine…heck, by the end I even love the bad guy. So, without further ado…The query letter for Secret Girlfriend:

Ridge View High is a place teeming with secrets. Amy Whalen should know, she’s living one.

Shy. Introverted. Wallflower. Dreaded words, but not strong enough to describe Amy. She knows she’s nothing short of invisible since her mom died. Invisible at home. Invisible at school. Sometimes, if she looks in the mirror long enough, she’s invisible to herself too. Until Chris Kent – the only person she ever wanted to see her – needs her to be his girlfriend. His secret girlfriend. That’s fine with her – mostly. She can stay out of the spotlight while he implements “The Plan” for getting into college: He needs to win Homecoming King and soccer team captain with the help of his very public-image girlfriend…who just happens to be the head cheer-dealer… ah, cheerleader.

The Plan is coming along just great thank you very much, until Luke Parker shows up for tryouts and sees through all Amy’s defenses. To him, she isn’t invisible, she’s amazing and he can’t figure out why she lets people ignore her and walk all over her. When Luke decides he wants Chris’s spot on the team and wouldn’t sneeze at the captain’s jersey either, their rivalry spins out of control. It doesn’t help any that he also wants the girl Chris kept hidden all summer: Amy.

Now she’s trapped between the guy she’s always wanted and the guy who saw her when no one else did. But who can trust guys when there’s so much at stake? Now Amy’s got her own plan now. She’s stepping into the spotlight and choosing her king. Senior year was not supposed to be this complicated.

Secret Girlfriend is complete at 54,000 words.

With a BA in English and a Creative Writing minor and years of experience in the workforce, I’ve returned to my first love, writing. I’m the former Vice President of the New England RWA chapter and the Workshop Chair for the 2008 Conference. 

Thank you for your time and looking at my work. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Bria Quinlan
phone #
Briaquinlan.com

So, SECRET GIRLFRIEND is done and already being read as partials and fulls and been rejected a few times. And to finish the lovely journey, here’s my SG Wordle:

I had  an interesting conversation with a friend a while ago that she circled back to recently.

A few years ago this friend turned to me after a long car ride and said, “You know, people love or hate you. The people who love you, love you because you’re so passionate about whatever you get involved in. The people who hate you, hate you because you’re so passionate about whatever you get involved in.”

Honestly, I didn’t have a problem with this. I think you should do everything you’re involved with 111%. There are too many things in this world to experience without spending large chunks of your time involved in things you have no passion for. Now, I’m not talking about obligations you feel you need to do or work. Sometimes it’s hard to work up a passion for everything on the to-do list, but whenever possible, why not.

Recently, she brought up this and added “There’s not an ounce of slacker in you when it comes to writing.”

OK, I tried not to have a problem with this statement either, but finally I had to ask. “Um, what do you mean about the slacker thing?”

We all have a friend who doesn’t realize she should or shouldn’t say something, or that maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it. That would be this friend.

Without thought she answered. “Remember in high school when our Adv Chem teacher told you if you’d just focus you’d be scary? Or the Latin teacher who nagged for 4 years that you weren’t living up to your potential. Well, you’re finally focused and working to your potential. Thank god.” And then she turned back to her ice cream leaving me to ponder her words…Oh, she also stopped a moment to tell me, “This is the bag I like to carry things in.”  She’s an oracle I tell you.

But, it did get me thinking. It’s true I’m 100% or not. I’m focused….or not. I’m driven….or not. And it feels good – really good – to have circled back to the thing that’s always driven me: Storytelling.

Her words also did one other thing for me…one really great thing. They shushed my critics. Everyone who writes probably remembers a time when friends (writers and non-writers) told you to relax. To put it aside. To take a break. To let it go.

It’s hard enough when this comes from your non-writing friends, but I’ve been amazed at writing friends who say it. This is something that I not only WANT, but that I enjoy and feel passionate about. It feeds me, and honestly, isn’t that a good enough reason to feel passionate about something? But, beyond that, I’m not sure how to stop and I’m not looking for a Writers Anonymous anytime soon.

I’m at that weird place….that weird writer place.

The first book of The Secrets is being queried and I’ve already sent out several partials. The second book is ready to start editing after my brain recovers from finishing book 1 last week…..And I’m buying my website template.

I’ll admit it, it makes me nervous. It feels like a huge commitment. Of course, this is from the girl who had a rough time signing her first 2-year cell phone contract.

So, there it is….sitting there waiting for me to hit “Buy Now”. It isn’t that I don’t like it. I love it, it’s really cute. It’s perfect for the books I’m currently writing. The colors are warm. The set up is different enough to not look like every other writer site out there. I’m just concerned about what I can do with it.

Beside me is “Head First HTML with CSS &XHTML” by Brain-Friendly Guide brand books because the sad truth is, this unemployment thing is cramping my style. Now it’s cramping my website style. I fear it won’t work. I fear it won’t look great. I fear that I don’t have the attention span after writing all day to try to create a website. I fear the people I’ll call for help will think I’m an idiot because of that lack of attention span.

But, most of all, I fear that there’s absolutely no reason to create a website.

Isn’t that something we all wonder about? I mean, usually nothing makes that cross my mind. I’ll be the one. I’ll be the one who gets an agent and then an editor and then publication. But, at times like this when it’s a cash investment of money I don’t really have to build my career side of my writing career, I get a little flip in my stomach that slows that “Buy Now” button down.

Faith has to play a part here. I have faith in my books. I have faith in my drive to keep writing those books. And now I have to have faith that this is the time to focus on the career side. And so, I’m off to hit “Buy Now” – wish me luck!

There are times in your professional life when you stop and say, “Huh, this is a bit surreal.” A good example: Getting on  a roller coaster at the Mall of America with Michael Hague…but not the one that does loops because he didn’t want to throw up on us.

So, how does a girl end up in such a situation? Easy…kind of. Ok, I’m just amazingly lucky.

My CP is a member of the Midwest Fiction Writers who had invited Michael out to speak this past weekend. After his all day workshop, he offered to do some consulting gigs the next day. My CP was lucky enough to grab his last slot in the evening. I went along for the ride for two reasons: 1. so we could discuss whatever he told her on the way home and, 2. because I’m really allergic to her cats and any time out of the house cuts down on the migraine.

At the end of their meeting, my CP waves me over as Michael walks away and tells me he wants to see the Mall of America…um, okay. It had been on my list too because it’s part of the Minneapolis deal, but still it seemed weird. We get there and wow, these Minneapolis people love their malls, huh? In the middle of the mall is this amusement park with games, rides of kids, a flume and three roller coasters. I was shocked. Michael was excited. CP was just giving the tour

The next thing you know, Michael has us at a ticket gate. We clarify which one does what because, even before dinner, no one wants anyone else getting sick on them….this would be a completely different blog then. We even have the picture they take — all three of us in one shot — kismet I tell you.

But I’m sure, if you’re reading this post, this isn’t what you want to hear. You want to hear about the nugget of genius that Michael Hague passed on to each of us over cheap mugs of black coffee in some hip little joint.

Sorry, no can do.

We went to a lovely Greek restaurant where (I think) they almost had to throw us out…you know how writers are once they start talking.

Personally, I managed to horrify him with my choice of favorite movies and (maybe) convince him to go watch two he hasn’t seen. We got to hear about some of his VFC (otherwise known as Very Famous Clients) and what consulting on scripts is like. The differences between working with open-minded and not-so-open-minded writers. What his early workshops were like…the travel, the groups, the being told he could walk back to the hotel in Boston (some how, as the Bostonian at the table, I think I somehow got blamed for this, but gosh darn it, Boston proper is only 3 miles across).

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when he brought up Jenny Crusie and asked if we had met her. We got to tell him about being mentored by her at the LCMC and how much we learned. When he found out we weren’t in touch with her any more, he turned around in the car to look at me and tell me, “Call her tomorrow. Tell her I told you to. Let her know how you’re doing and tell her thank you again.” I had to point out we’re not all Michael Hague. My “Famous People On Speed Dial” list is relatively short. So instead, the command became: email her. (I did. We’ll see if she even remembers me )

But honestly, hanging out with Michael is just an experience in story. For so many reasons. When he isn’t talking ABOUT story, he’s telling a story. Everything comes back to the story. People, places, movies, books, work, craft, travel, dinner…it all comes back to the story…to the Identity and digging into the Essence. It boils down and you have to watch for it, because everything he tells you wraps back to something else and if you blink, you’ll miss it.

That’s exactly what I’m doing. As in, RIGHT NOW.

Not that this is new for me. Usually I’m right in the middle of those conversations with the girls I mentor, but it’s sometimes interesting to listen to girls you don’t know…and who don’t know you’re listening. And I’m learning so much. Let’s get some perspective. These girls are pretty-jocks. They’re meeting for slushie-mochas at the coffee shop in their school sweats and braids that are working loose from running.

Here’s what I’m hearing. Girl’s are competitive…no big surprise there. These are girls I might have hung out with in high school. The idea that putting on makeup to leave the house was unthinking able. Especially when you’re just going to sweat thru it, but to leave without cute flip flops and your adorable sports-friendly hairclips is equally unthinkable.

Most of their sentences around their game start with “I don’t mean to brag, but….” OR “No offence, but…” Which, oddly enough seems like a step in the right direction. When I was 15, the idea of bragging about your game was rude. I’m excited to hear these girls able to talk about their successes, even if they have disclaimers.

There always seems to be one girl the others rally around not liking…Poor Grace. She didn’t have a chance in this conversation. One girl would say Grace was the only one worth having on the team who was an 8th grader and another would jump in that Grace didn’t even have to try out. Grace has made the mistake of being good, but not good enough. Cool, but not cool enough. Pretty, but she knows it…although sometimes she’s not pretty.

Clothes were a by-word. Something discussed quickly and disregarded.

One thing I didn’t hear mentioned once…was boys. Oh, wait…strike that. But, it was only because the boys came to watch their game and cheered. Um, how much am I loving THAT role-reversal. And then they were off again, the boys a minor footnote in their discussion about their game, homecoming, Halloween, tryouts, and classes.

These are independent women and they can’t even drive yet.

So, they’ve taken off…planning next week’s day off to shop, see a move and maybe play some volleyball – And suddenly, it’s way too quiet in here.