Ok, so, for those of you who followed the contest last year, you may remember that I limited it to the first 50 entries. But because it was such a hit I upped it this year to 75 entries with the first two rounds to be culled by 10, then once we were at 55 we’d go 5 per week. And as I promised last year, each round was judged by a published author. Same goes for this year, with one interesting development.
I had an epiphany whilst on my daily jaunt around the neighborhood (ok not daily, but maybe 4 days out of the week). A published author judge wasn’t going to cut it for me this time around. Not for the first round, which is so crucial. You see last year the judges were so polarized in their tastes it drove me crazy! I don’t want to have the first 10 entries culled by a judge who has very specific personal tastes. So, I asked myself, “Karin, how would you solve this dilemma?” Light bulb moment! Who better to judge what would hook an agent or editor but an agent or editor? So, since I already have an editor as my final judge I thought I’d ask my agent to cull the first 10 entries. But then I thought, nah, I want all judges to remain anonymous, not that I would say it was Kim but someone might ask and then well, I don’t want to fib, so I asked another agent. This agent is in my opinion on the A list. I asked, (ok begged, pleaded and groveled a little bit) and she very graciously said, yes, and added she thought it would be fun. I then encouraged her to keep an eye on the rounds every week. She might see something she likes. So, this week the first round will be judged by a very capable literary agent.
Now on a scarier note. My youngest child managed to get his driver’s license today. He doesn’t have it more than a half hour and asks if he can take his Bronco (it’s a tank) to get gas just down the street and fill up. I about lost my lunch. Fear paralyzed me. This is my baby, the last one, the one who thinks he freaking knows everything (ok all my kids do) the one who has always lived life as if he were bullet proof. So what is a freaked out mother to do?
I had him call when he got to the gas station, then when he was ready to pull out. (I of course forbid him to talk on his cell phone while he was driving.) He just called and wanted to know if he could go to his friend’s house and hang out. When I hesitated, my mommy instinct screaming, no! come home, his father yelled to me to cut the damn apron string for good. I flipped him off, and then grudgingly told my son to call me when he got to his friend’s house.
I’m too old for this shit.
PS, no Cop Talk for the duration of the contest and American Idol. I’ll let Officer Friendly come back in a couple of months. It’s all about us right now.