Marketing Muse: Its a Librarians World
Did you know you can purchase lists of all mailing addresses and contacts to Librarians in the US? Go to http://www.librarymarketinglist.com/ Depending on your book/genre, it may be worth the investment.
OK so I always see great posting about all of your new books and love reading them. I have never put my writing out there. I guess because I feel kinda vulnerable.
Am I crazy?
I mean what if you all hate it but don't want to tell me? What if you love it but hate to comment so all the comments are negative? What if the people who will love it dont' come today?
But I need help. So I have to just put it out there.
Past or Present, that is the question.
Do you like the book in present or past tense better? Or does it even matter? Before I ever query my book, I need to know. But I can't decide and have had different people pick each way.
OK so here goes (thanks in advance for your time in reading this.)
But be gentle :)
Gabby is a tween angel assigned to protect her high school rival, Angela. What’s worse, Angela is now dating Gabby’s pre-Transfer boyfriend. Soon, Gabby is put on probation by her Sky Agent for the three offenses: popping Angela's Wonder Bra, conducting an onion breath spell on Angela's first date with Michael, and influencing Angela to buy a pair of jeans that make her butt look big. But when Gabby continues her pranks and refuses to give up her mortal life, she sets off a series of “death changing” events and learns what can happen when you hate someone to death.
Present Tense (chapter 1/Copyright 2008)
Like all my birthday parties, my funeral is just plain boring. Nothing different. Nothing exciting.
Not exactly the final act I hoped for. Then again, I never expected this day to happen so soon.
First off, I hate elevator music, AKA crap tunes. I much prefer something a bit angrier. I’m also majorly bummed that my mom chose the hideous white pants that made my butt look as big as Texas. But then again, it didn’t really matter anymore. Except that now, I’m stuck with these pants for eternity. Lucky for me, white is cool where I’m going.
I balance on the open lid of my casket and watch all the tear-streaked strangers stream by my mortal form. The guest list freaks me out more than the music. I’m not only shocked at who has come, but how many. I am more popular dead, than alive. Who knew?
The strange, acne-infested kid from my Drama Class strolls up and starts to whimper. Weird. The kid never gave me the time of day so how can he be disturbed by my death? He’s probably hoping our Drama teacher notices and offers a lead role in the upcoming school play?
Ms. Cross, my World Religion teacher, comes up and whispers her respects. I betcha she feels guilty for giving me a D on my last test. Someday real soon, I’d probably be able to teach her a thing or two about “life after death”. That would definitely spice up her syllabus.
The snaking line parts and my mom stumbles through the sea of black polyester. She slumps over my mahogany box and sobs. Pain screams through my chest, forcing me to double-over. I remember what I learned in my Orientation Class. A downside of being a Bright is that we experience the pain of our loved ones, only 1,000 times more. Sometimes my mom’s agony gets so bad, it paralyzes me.
Now I know why every Brights hates it when a loved one mourns. Because we suffer too.
I clutch my chest and wait for the tide of agony to pass. Deep inside, I have a deep urge to cry with her. I’ve heard most Brights think their inability to cry is a total perk. But not me. I always loved a good cry. Not the whimpery kind. I’m talking about the all-out blubbering, snotty, suck-in-your-breath kind. The kind that - somehow – always makes you feel better.
Now, I’d give anything to have one last wail session.
One more thing I’m sure I’ll miss up here.
PAST Tense: (Just an exerpt of Chapter 1 so you can compare)
Like all my birthday parties, my funeral was just plain boring.
Not exactly what I expected as my final act.
First off, I hated the elevator music, AKA crap tunes. I much preferred something a bit angrier, like Muse. I was also majorly bummed that my mother choosing the hideous white pants that made my butt look as big as Texas. But then again, it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Except that I’m stuck with those pants for eternity. Lucky for me, white was in fashion where I was going.
I perched on the lid of my casket and observed all the tear-streaked strangers streaming by my mortal form. More than anything, the guest list totally freaked me out. Not only was I baffled by the people who showed up, but surprised by the sheer number, more than in my whole crummy town.
An acne-infested kid from my Drama Class strolled by and started to whimper. As I recall, the kid had never given me the time of day. Was he really that disturbed by my death? Or was he just hoping our Drama teacher would finally notice him and offer him a lead role in the school play?
Ms. Cross, my World Religion teacher, strolled by and whispered her respects. I bet she felt guilty for giving me a D on my last test. Now I betcha I could teach her a thing or two about “life after death”.
A few minutes later, the snaking line parted. My mom’s wilted body stumbled towards the front. She slumped over my mahogany box and sobbed. Pain screamed through my chest, forcing me to double-over. One downside of being a Bright was that you actually experienced the pain of your loved ones. Only 1,000 times more. Sometimes the agony was so bad, it paralyzed me.
The reason why Brights hated it when a loved one mourned. Because we suffered more.
I clutched my chest and waited for the tide of agony to pass. Deep inside, I felt an urge to cry with her. Some Brights thought their inability to cry was a total perk. Not me. I’d give anything to have one last wail session. I’m not talking about the whimpering kind, but the all-out blubbering, snotty kind. The kind that - somehow - always made you feel better.
Just one more thing I would miss up here.
What do you think? Past or present?