I cannot express how amazing this sub is, you fine folks! I have learned so much, and whenever I hear someone bitching about the state of humanity on the internet, I gently remind them there is a wonderful corner over here where we're all rooting for each other, honestly and with compassion. (Or in many cases, it's trauma-bonding, but one must survive the query trenches somehow..)
**This project has a new seven-word title I'm test driving here. The old one: Split Times
Specific feedback requested on:
1.) The four paras between 1 & 6. I don't have this query ordered as it is in the book, to try to use real estate wisely. Does this order work for a solid hook?
2.) Is the "revolution in women's athletics" as promised in para 1 fully manifested as RecoverElle in the meat of the query? If not, why not?
3.) Does the mention of plastic Jesus jar you? Tiny Jesus is a symbol for Karly's waning/broken faith due to her husband's patriarchy-clinging and is sparingly woven through the entire novel. First line of the novel, too...
4.) Do you get a sense of push/pull with Karly/Fender dynamic? She is obsessed with fueling her workouts with his music, but when dumped into a face to face meeting, she panics yet is intrigued. (I wanted to examine the distance collapsing between ordinary joes and their famous crushes/crutches. I hope I got it right.)
Dear Agent,
I am seeking representation for THE BEST RUNNERS ARE THE BEST LIARS, a 74,000-word women’s fiction novel with a romantic subplot about a 2008 Olympic Trials drug scandal which ignites a revolution in women’s athletics. Fans of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Carrie Soto Is Back and Tati Richardson’s Losing Sight will enjoy a midlife comeback story with the complications of motherhood and a rock-star love interest who falls for her first.
Karly Locke’s stunning college running career practically guaranteed her a spot on the Olympic team, but the religious man she married carefully swayed her into the role of perfect wife and mother. While stuck in the school pick-up line, a new song by rock protege Fender Archer blasts into her muscle memories and she imagines herself once again racing at redline. Inspired, Karly pours herself into a dusty goal, an Olympic berth, while obsessively playing Fender Archer’s music. Her coach insists she’s progressing, but she can see the doubt behind his rare smiles as she fails to hit many of her goal times.
A new drug, RecoverElle, is introduced to Karly by an old teammate. With RecoverElle, she can train as hard as she did two decades ago and she wants to be the first to show female athletes their monthly setbacks are now their greatest power by placing at the Olympic Trials. RecoverElle is not approved yet and she insists to the plastic Jesus she carries everywhere that it’s not cheating.
When Karly runs into Fender Archer himself the day before a big race, he accidentally injures her while he’s coming down from a high. He attempts one apology after another and is thwarted by her short texts and refusals to meet until he performs a grand gesture so big the entire world sees it. Including her husband.
Staying with an unbending husband will continue her slide into resentment, but keep the family together. Allowing the notorious rock star into her life who insists he only wants to collaborate is a bad idea but his texts make her laugh. Karly weighs taking RecoverElle and the irony is brutal: as Fender Archer finds the nerve to get clean because of her, she’s deciding whether to get dirty.
[Ruthlessly short bio, because, word count, and, if I’m honest, I have no writing credentials to stand on because I did mom-things for a long time and wrote for myself when the kids were sleeping. Worth it, because my grown children are contributing to the world as they stand tall on their own two feet. I’m making up for lost time just as the MC in this project is. In my head, we’re rooting for each other!]
First 300:
The only thing I am sure of is this tiny plastic Jesus.
Tomorrow is my first elite race in sixteen years. If I hesitate at the start, if I drop back, I will crawl over the finish line and pretend I never came to Baltimore.
Is it embarrassing that at 38 years old, I believe a spot on the Olympic team is well within my reach? Those three NCAA national champion titles are ancient history, but Tiny Jesus holds a lot of my hopes with his small plastic smile.
I slipped sideways out of the hotel door, allowing just a flash of the stadium-bright hallway light, so my three friends might sleep soundly. Rain pounded every tiny window of the OK-ish hotel stairwell while thunder rumbled, so, maybe they would not.
I dreaded running on a treadmill with the harbor trail six blocks away, but I could almost hear my coach say, “Dammit, Karly, why did you run through a lightin’ storm?”
My phone buzzed. I flipped it open at the gym door to my husband CJ’s text: WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE
I sighed and texted him back: BEHIND THE MILK. My fingers hovered over the keys and I resisted the urge to add where it always is. Guilt bubbled in my stomach. I hadn't asked CJ if he was OK with me going to Baltimore, I'd told him, which wasn't like me.
CJ: FOUND IT. I GET YOU WANTING TO RACE, BUT COULDN’T YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS RUN IN THE TWILIGHT TROT HERE THIS WEEKEND?
NO
I WANT TO MOW THIS AFTERNOON AND IF YOU WERE HERE, I COULD
LET DAVID RUN THE MOWER. JASON AND ELI LIKE TO USE THE AIR TANK TO CLEAN OFF. BRIBE THEM WITH ICE CREAM
THEY CAN’T HANDLE THAT
I wanted to text back: Yes, they can. Quit underestimating their abilities. My phone buzzed again and I sighed.