Mrs. Darcy wrote a book! Well, technically I guess it’s just a manuscript (long sigh), but I’m so darn excited I’m going to call it a book. The thing about that, though, is that it’s about a trillion times more difficult to find someone to publish it than it is to actually write it. Fortunately, there are blogging angels out there who run super fantastic contests that provide a little help with connecting with agents. So, I’ve entered a contest. It’s called The Writer’s Voice. And this is my entry (in the Adult Romance category):
If you build it, he will come. Alone and on the cusp of turning thirty, Samantha Cooper has figured out that a Kevin Costner film wasn’t the best place to go for life advice, so she sets off on a tumultuous journey to find the love she’s been waiting for since…well, since sixth grade.
In Wild Cherries, Samantha (Sam), an aspiring-writer/waitress in a California beach town, is brooding over her disappointing life: she’s a romantic outcast in a Sex-in-the-City world and a failure in becoming the writer everyone said she should be. How could this have happened? She earned good grades, made smart choices, and grew into the nice girl her mother’s friends adore. But her hopes and plans have built nothing but a lonely, uninspired life. Sure there are laughs with her long-time friends Claire and Joe—especially Joe who’s harboring a secret crush on Sam—but Sam is blind to this, so consumed by her dissatisfaction.
Suddenly, though, Sam’s life changes in one unexpected moment. She meets handsome and bookish Nick and falls in love instantly with this man-of-her-dreams. Her joy is short-lived, however, when she discovers he’s married. Now Sam must decide how much she’s willing to give up for love. By playing it safe, she risks losing true love. But choosing this ill-advised relationship could destroy the life that she’s built. Only one will be a risk that leads her to a happiness she never expected.
I think I peaked in sixth grade. As a writer, that is. Maybe romantically, too, considering that was the year of my epic first kiss with Collin Crosby, the boy who earned “cutest” honors in every yearbook from elementary school through high school. But definitely as a writer. Since that time, I’ve never come close to achieving the accolades I received during the springtime of that year.
Friday afternoons in Mr. Adamson’s sixth-grade class were devoted to Writer’s Workshop, a two-hour period when we hunched over our desks as we wrote and erased and wrote and erased until we had finally come up with the perfect paper. Well, everyone but Ricky Simmons. He usually stared at Jenny Freeman the entire time; Jenny had been the first girl in our class to get boobs.
Writer’s Workshop was also the key to the best thing possible for a sixth-grade girl at Maple Dale Elementary School: a paper adorned with a shiny gold star, displayed on the Spotlight Wall and a Friday trip to Baskin Robbins with Mr. Adamson, probably the cutest teacher in the history of the world. It might have been his closely cropped brown hair or maybe those bright blue eyes. Most likely, though, it was his smile that made girls swoon.
So, I slaved away each Friday, hoping that on Monday I’d see my paper in the spotlight dressed with a brilliant gold star and start to plan out the perfect outfit to wear on my fake-date with Mr. Adamson.
There was always one problem, though: Susie Sloan.