 I don’t know how it happened, but I finally found someone crazy enough to represent my work. Not only that, but I’m working with some really awesome people to do the final touches. The Atheist’s Prayer will be published by Perfect Edge Books, a new imprint of John Hunt Publishing. Right now that’s all I can say. Except that they rock. I can say that too. Wait, what’s The Atheist’s Prayer about? OK, I’ll tell you, but only because you asked so nicely... A year ago, nineteen people were found dead in a remote area of the National Forest. They were lying in a circle, holding hands and wearing plastic fairy wings. The cause of death remains unknown. Experts claim that there is no possibility of a reoccurrence, but Candy knows better. She knows that there are copycats out there, and another suicide is imminent. The problem is, Candy is a coke-dealing stripper, and the only person who will listen to her is an alcoholic mall Santa named Hank, who’s only listening because, well… she’s hot. If Candy and Hank don’t figure their shit out, and quick, two innocent children will be dragged along on yet another deranged, fairy-worshiping suicide mission. Next Sunday, the ritual will begin. Inspired by Chuck Palahniuk and Christopher Moore, The Atheist’s Prayer follows a mentally disturbed woman, an alcoholic and a seven-year-old as their lives are brought together by a stripper and torn apart by a suicide cult. Underneath the crass humor, The Atheist's Prayer challenges our stereotypes and explores our interpretations of religion and myth. Dying to know more? You can follow me on Twitter, become a fan on Facebook or check out my website and I'll keep you updated. Till next time, AB Riddle
It’s over and we’ve all returned home to reality and our normal lives. After a day of brutal traveling and a decent night’s sleep, here are my lessons learned from the NYC Pitch Conference. This is the down and dirty from anyone thinking about attending this event. Was it worth it? That is a resounding yes, and here is why:
I think a trait shared by all aspiring writers is they labor alone in a vacuum, struggling for years in front of their keyboards, unsure if their work is any good. Is my story is marketable? What chance does it have of getting published? They may have never met another writer and their friends and loved ones, albeit supportive, often don’t truly understand. I can confidently say now that I am no longer in that vacuum. I met dozens of writers like me, who share my aspirations, frustrations, dreams, fears and struggles. Although we come from varied backgrounds, our stories and passions are similar. You will leave this conference knowing you are not alone.
What was this conference about? First, I’ll tell you what it’s not about. It’s not about your novel and how cool it is. It’s not about your creativity or how long you’ve struggled to be a writer. It’s about the cold and hard facts of selling ideas. It’s about setting a course to becoming a disciplined, professional writer. Read and heed, brothers and sisters! This is plain-language advice I wished I had before I showed up.
If you want to come to the New York Pitch Conference, be warned. It’s not for the thin skinned or faint of heart. Everything you think you know about writing, publishing, and your book will be challenged. The facilitators are professionals who’ve already met someone like you a thousand times. They know all the mistakes and want nothing more than to help you avoid them. They are on your side, but you will not be served by getting frustrated or angry when they tell you the ugly truth. Leave your ego at the door and be ready to shut up, sit down, listen and learn. They will start not necessarily with the quality of your pitch, but with the concept behind your book.
They say that home is where the heart is – and, of course, our hearts are always with our families. However, there’s a piece of our hearts that is always searching for those who share our same passions, those who will drive themselves to the brink seeking what may, or may not, be the impossible dream. This is what the Algonkian conference is all about – it is for those who refuse to give up on their dream.
There are four groups that are divided into approximately 20 people. Ann Garvin, the author of On Maggie’s Watch, is a vivacious, petite, curly haired group leader for AB and I. Ann is so engrossed with helping the l7 people who are in her group that she is more nervous than we are when we get our two minutes with each editor. She is not only a gifted writer, but passionate about helping other writers.
Ann and the other three leaders of the workshop spend hours on end helping us perfect our pitch to make sure it will be clear to the editors what we have written. Word count, genre, title and comparable works of fiction are all gone over so the editor can have a clear vision of what it is we write. These are worked on both in group session and individual sessions.
 The group eagerly awaits their turn to pitch Yesterday, we pitched one editor; today we pitched two. The pitch is only the beginning. The editors hear the pitch (roughly a 150 word overview of our novels) and then if they like it, they ask for the manuscript. If they like the novel, they try to convince the marketing department that the book they are sometimes putting their career on the line for will be well worth the advertising dollars spent. This is the beginning to yet another long wait.
 Katie in Times Square The Algonkian Pitch Conference has been one of the most rich and unique experiences of my life. Right now, I sit in an eclectic little Manhattan apartment. The walls are decorated with Bollywood posters and artistic sketches. The hallway smells like the most interesting mix aromas, something like a Middle Eastern market and a dumpster. Across the kitchen table from me sits A.B., a person I've only met two days ago, yet I feel like I've known for years. We're bearing our writer's souls, swapping frustrations, reading pitches. I'm awash with so much emotion I feel like a Lifetime TV movie. And it's oh so good.
Michael Neff, the organizer, ran the writer's group in which Brian and I were placed. Even though Michael denies it, he's the literary Simon Cowell. As a Cowell fan from the start, I like Michael's no frills, cut to the chase approach. He's taught me so much already and, though sometimes I feel battered by the time we're done, it was all worth it.
Sitting there stunned at the end of the day, I was reflecting on this experience and trying to compare it to something that would help people understand. Not to beat the American Idol horse, but the experience is a little like Hollywood hell week. There's no cameras or Prima Donnas, but there are wide eyed artists putting their best foot forward for good or ill. You forget to eat, you forget to pee. You leave exhausted with your head spinning. And, if you're willing to work hard on what advice you're given, you just might walk away victorious.
If I never land a book deal, I'll always look back at this experience with fondness. I've ventured out of my box, hailing a cab, riding the subway and maneuvering around pan handlers who want to exchange my dollars for bongo music. I've received invaluable feedback on my project. But, the best part of this whole thing is meeting the three great writers who've held my hand through this whole novel adventure. They're just as wonderful in person as they are online. A writer might get so lucky is to find one writing soul mate in her life. I've found three. Thanks to A.B., Brian and Kimberly for dragging me into this kicking and screaming. I'm so glad you did.
Today was the first day of the much-anticipated New York Pitch Conference. The purpose of the conference is to perfect your pitch: to condense your novel into a short description that is less than one minute long. Today, we worked on the pitch. Tomorrow, and every day after that, we will pitch to big-name publishers who are looking to publish. On the last day, we will regroup and see what needs improvement, and hopefully walk away with a few requests for our manuscript. We'll come out with a book deal, a reality check, or possibly both. Not surprisingly, I went in with a small case of the jitters.
But before I describe the day's events at the New York Pitch Conference, I should mention last night's big event- when all four of us met for the first time. If you're wondering how it went, see the happy faces below:  The first gathering of the Underground The conference began at 9:00 this morning, and after milling about with our fellow writers we were given name tags and herded into four different rooms to begin the pitch workshop. Kimberly and I were assigned to a group of seventeen writers, all writing contemporary fiction. Our workshop was led by Ann Garvin, a published novelist and Algonkian Conference alumni. Brian and Katie were put in the group led by Michael Neff, the conference coordinator. Their group consisted of mostly of science fiction and fantasy writers.
 For over a year now, four strangers have joined together on a quest to get published for the first time. We have collaborated, edited, tortured and supported each other through the process of writing and finishing our first novels. During that time, we completed said novels, held each other’s hands during the querying process and created a blog that surpassed our expectations in readership and exposure. This December, we are taking the next big step. We will not only pitch our novels to big-name publishers at the Algonkian New York Pitch Conference, we will also meet for the first time! Four strangers, separated by miles of landscape and brought together by nothing more than words, will finally unite. Join us December 15th-18th as we continue our quest and learn the ins and outs of the publishing world. -A. B. Riddle
 "Carson's Love" is my first foray into independant publishing. Its available in paperback and e-book on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.I didn’t see the sun today. Well, that’s not entirely true; I felt its presence. Sunlight streamed through my office window, but it never actually touched my skin. I left for work at 4:30 A.M. and here I stand in front of my house at 7 p.m., getting out of my car in the clear spring twilight. I’m tired. Not normal ‘tired,’ but deeply, numbly exhausted to my inner bones. If I could stand forever between my car and my house, I would. Right here, under the budding stars in this tiny sliver of time I belong to myself, even if for one moment. I suppose this day went to the same place my other days go. It is converted, like everything else in my life. I’m not a man anymore; I’m a conversion machine. In the morning I convert coffee to consciousness, so I can go to work and convert the dwindling minutes of my life into a paycheck, which is then converted into a mortgage. At least my mortgage isn’t upside down, like most of my neighbors. We were sensible and waited until we could afford our house. As luck had it, we bought after the housing crash. I’m often told how sensible I am. I think it’s supposed to be a compliment. My house isn’t upside down. I am. Through the open garage I see a white overstuffed trash bag waiting on my workbench, right next to my dark, greasy 289 small block V-8 engine. I’ve been rebuilding it since we lived in the last house. I haven’t touched it in years. After we moved in I spent two nights getting my garage workshop exactly the way I always wanted it. From my Craftsman tools to the custom overhead vacuum system, this workshop is ( was?) my dream. I immediately started looking for a 1969 Ford Mustang body in which to lovingly place the rebuilt engine. No Mustang body materialized in my garage and the engine isn’t complete. Now my workshop is buried under knick-knacks, boxes stuffed with old clothes, and outgrown toys. My well-organized Craftsman tools lay somewhere below that pile, hidden and waiting for a sunny, perfect Saturday. Half of all author’s profits will go to Curesearch.org.
As if writing a novel wasn't hard enough while working a full time job, raising two small children and trying to keep some semblance of a marriage, I've reached the part of this process that in my mind feels similar to the scene in Full Metal Jacket where the other Privates beat Pyle with soap-filled socks. Though no one beat me silly, I still feel writing a query tantamount to mental abuse. I have spent a year of my life slaving away on a manuscript, giving my blood, sweat and tears (or at least every minute of my free time) to characters who now live and breathe in my head. I've gone over every word not once, not twice, but dozens of times until my head is spinning and my fingers feel permanently glued to the keyboard. Then the miraculous happened. I finished the dang thing. I did the dance of joy until I realize what came next- the query. Now I must take my perfected manuscript and set it aside and write a snippet that distills 100,000 words into 500. I must use voice (but not too much voice), make it stand out (but don’t go outside the standard format), sell myself (but don’t come off pompous) and dear sweet God don’t let me get the agent’s name wrong. If all this sounds impossible, then you and I are in the same boat. And sorry folks, but I think we left the paddles on shore. Querying is one of the most terrifying parts for the aspiring writer. I hate it. I’d rather scrub the grout around my toilet, clean the cling-ons off my dog's hind end, pretty much anything other than work on my query. It’s maddening. Where else do you work on something for literally years and are then told, no, that’s not how you will be evaluated? Consider this scenario below. An art buyer sits down with a prospective artist client. Behind her sleek, lacquered desk she looks at the painter. “Here’s how I’ll decide if I want your work,” she says. “Create a painting that represents your masterpiece. But, please make it no bigger than a postage stamp.” The exhausted, paint-speckled artist’s jaw drops. “I couldn’t possibly make something that small as beautiful as what I’ve already created. I’ve spent years on this painting. Couldn’t you just come see it?” the painter cries, frantically waiving to where his masterpiece rests just behind the door. “No, no.” She waves dismissively. “Honestly, I just don’t have the time.” I can whine and complain all I like, but querying is likely here to stay. The gatekeepers of the publishing world want queries. I want their representation. So I query and, like Private Pyle, keep my sobs quiet under my pillow. If you’re in my boat, there are lots of great query sites like Query Shark and Writer’s Digest that offer suggestions on how to summarize with style and promote like a pro. For me, I’ll take my beatings and get back to staring at my query.
As we continue our quest to find agents and publishers, we will update you on our progress. We will share our trials and tribulations, our successes and maybe even some of our failures.
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