Here are seven literary agents actively seeking clients.
Rebecca Eskildsen is actively growing her list, with a particular interest in middle grade, YA, and adult fiction. She is looking to elevate LGBTQ+ and BIPOC voices, among other underrepresented narratives.
Delia Berrigan Fakis is looking for nonfiction, as well as literary and commercial fiction, mysteries, and children’s picture books.
Alison Lewis represents a wide range of nonfiction and fiction, with a particular focus on journalism, narrative nonfiction, cultural criticism, history, science, literary fiction, memoir and essays.
Kathryn Willms is seeking History; Memoir; Sports; Business; Biography; Health and Wellness; Women’s Issues; Culture; Current Affairs; Journalism; Food and Drink; Self-improvement; Science; Film.
Sulamita Garbuz gravitates primarily towards nonfiction, with an emphasis on books with a social justice bent.
Nicole Eisenbraun is looking for middle grade and young adult fiction and nonfiction, in all genres.
Lisette Verhagen is seeking fiction and nonfiction, especially from immigrants and foreign language writers.
Always check the agency website and agent bio before submitting. Agents can switch agencies or close their lists, and submission requirements can change.
NOTE: Don’t submit to two agents at the same agency simultaneously. If one rejects you, you may then submit to another.
Erica Verrillo provides us with 52 writing contests in February 2019. Thank you so much, Erica. We really appreciate your hard work!
For a month that is nasty, brutish and short, February packs a punch when it comes to writing contests. This month there are 52 contests and none charge entry fees. Prizes range from $100,000 to a free writing class. As always, read the restrictions to make sure you qualify.
If you want to get a jump on next month’s contests go to Free Contests. Most of these contests are offered annually, so even if the deadline is past, you can prepare for next year.
Good luck!
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Life Writing Prize. Restrictions: Open to UK residents. Genre: Life writing. The Prize defines life writing as ‘intended to be true’, reflects someone’s own life journey or experiences and is not fiction. Prize: Winner will receive £1,500, publication on Spread the Word’s website, an Arvon course, two years’ membership to the Royal Society of Literature and a development meeting with an editor and an agent. Deadline: February 1, 2019.
Jane Martin Poetry Prize (UK). Restrictions: Open to UK residents between 18 and 30 years of age. Genre: Poetry. Prize: £700, second prize, £300. Deadline: February 1, 2019.
Don Massenzio starts a new Author Interview Series in 2019 on his blog. Contact him if you’re interested. I sure will. Thank you so much for all your support, Don!
It’s a new year and time for a new series of author interviews.
One of the features of my blog that I have enjoyed the most is my author interview series.
Over the past few years, I have posted over 200 interviews. We have learned about many authors, both traditionally and independently published. We have learned what makes them tick and what techniques have worked for them in creating and promoting their work.
To read the entire post and find out how to submit, click here:
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
From beneath the earth a sound appears.
like the sound of finger’s frantic movement,
confined under the ground for countless years
rest the souls of those in endless torment.
On one special day on the midnight chime
their spirits are released from death’s dark hold
they may rise again for one last time
and wreak their vengeance on all they behold.
The putrid bodies stripped of flesh and hair
their bones bleached white by cold, dank soil
as they lie shrouded in wood coffins bare
trailing mildewed ribbons of skin like oil.
For just one night their souls are free
then condemned to rest for eternity
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
The ghosts were residents
in the attic of
Grandma Murray’s house
for years.
Each Halloween she
would go and party
with the ghosts,
knew all their names,
met the new residents
over drinks and toffee apples
each year.
Halloween 2018 arrived
and Grandma Murray
joined the ghosts in the attic
permanently.
She wasn’t nervous when the time came,
her best friend ghost Geraldine held her
fragile, frail bones and helped her
descend from her body
up to the attic.
This year they continue
to dance, drink and be happily spooky
together.
The ghosts in the attic,
friends in death.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
It’s strange about humans
At this time of year
It’s supposed to be scary
But I have no fear
The days of the month do not matter to me
But sometimes it’s strange
The odd things that I see.
Like this thing on the floor
And what’s on the TV
It’s orange and it’s huge
Almost bigger than me.
I don’t have a clue as to why is it here
The same things appear
At the same time each year
Whatever it’s good for is far beyond me
In a couple more months they will bring in a tree.
Full moon smiles at night
waiting for us to go to sleep
so, he can bare his fangs and
sink them into our necks for
a red liquid meal. We die
a dry fleshly shell. A shell
people cry over and place
into the ground. Their tears
water the plants, which grow.pas
Four faces of the moon attract
his victims. During harvest
season when the vampires, werewolves,
and humans hunt for meat and blood.
Moon gorges itself until it grows
into a huge full moon, which turns dark red.
Harvest Moon, blood moon comes around Halloween
when spirits and other monsters can gather blood
for the full moon, so it can get full
enough to reach Harvest Moon, when the moon becomes full
of blood from people who sleeping or past out fangs
enter the neck either way. The full moon feeds without noise.
The moon rests on the new moon
so, it can feed again on the full moon.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
A rustling of the yew in October’s breeze,
While over her grave it sheds a few leaves.
They rot in the soil with what’s left of her corpse,
Rain drenches the ground where once she had walked.
Burned at the stake in seventeen-o-two,
Jane looks down from the top of the yew.
She wasn’t a witch, and it wasn’t a trick,
She’d learned from her mother how to heal the sick.
Potions, plants, leaves and herbs,
She’d known of their use since she was a girl.
Jane looks to the left at her father’s grave,
After eating the yew leaves nothing could save
An evil man from his just desserts,
She’d felt so relieved as her handful of dirt
Mixed in with her mother’s and banished the hurt.
But as the flames did engulf Jane’s red hair,
The ghost of her father was standing there.
“Like me, in hell you will reside,
I’ll be waiting for you on the other side”.
Plastic skeletons of varied size,
Pumpkins of sundry hue, with permanent artificial grins
And lights in their eyes,
Rubber bats on string and flocked ravens perching,
Tinsel cats and wired-sheeted ghosts all implore-
Is it time to come out and play?
Little monsters of every style,
Fairy princesses bedecked in their finest and pirates
Clutching fake swords,
Movie heroes and villains poised for action,
Pint-sized demons and Jedi together plead-
Is today the day?
Werewolves prowling under the moon,
Ghouls howling in the attic and goblins
Lurking under bridges,
Vampires slinking in the shadows and
Boogeymen hiding underneath the bed all beseech-
Is it Halloween yet?
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
The cat rug lies, with squiggly tail
on concrete floor, with sharpened nail
quietly waiting to impale
the witless human walking by.
.
Do not be fooled, his innocence
is but a ruse with ill intent,
for those not wary will lament
the loss of both their thighs.
.
Do not presume you’ll walk away,
without a severed limb today
and if his mood is foul, he may
scratch out an errant eye.
.
Of course, I jest — my cat is tame,
a Tiny Terror but in name,
who will not strike and make you lame…
unless you steal his food.
Little miss muffet was on her way,
To buy herself a little more whey.
The shop came close and all her stuff she got,
But instead of returning home she made a quick stop.
At the costume parlour on Halloween night,
Oh how she hated those spider guts,
To take revenge was absolutely right,
And scare him till he got a fright.
Ding dong the bell rang,
What can I get you, Belle sang.
A costume of a birdie in blue is all I ask,
It’s time to get even with my young friend on scare task.
Belle gave her a pearly smile and replied on,” How lovely”
Look we have the perfect thing for you,
Now you go give him a terrifying night,
And then turn him into a stew.
Yes that’s exactly what I am going to do,
Torture him so that he won’t trouble me again.
Tell me beauty how’s your beast,
You two together look so sweet.
Your fairytale is so divine,
And I wish it could be mine.
Hurt and anger clouded belle’s face,
And she went into another flashback of that phase.
Destiny turned him into a man,
But he become a jerk.
You know what!!
He left me for a princess of his worth.
And now I am stuck with Gaston as my hubby,
Who is obsessed with me,
And treats me like a maid,
Plus he makes me pick up his dirty socks and plates.
Oh my darling you deserve so much more,
It’s Halloween so why don’t you teach Beast a lesson.
You trick him, don’t treat him,
Go make him pay.
Destroy his beautiful rose garden,
Then see him go cray cray.
The two let out an evil laugh,
Thinking about the devious plan.
Somebody’s night was about to be wrecked,
And another’s revenge was about to be satisfied.
The rest I can’t tell, as it will affect the young children and make them yell.
While on the other part of the town…..
Somebody came across,
A girl and a wolf,
Who had been quite lost.
The girl grinned,
The wolf looked uneasy,
She took out a beautiful costume,
From a bag brought from Caprese.
Why…. oh why….
The wolf cried,
First you get me shot,
And then you turn me into a baby bot.
Little Miss Riding Hood moved the pram forward,
And the next house she reached,
Belonged to a pretty maiden,
“Trick or treat”, Little Missy shouted.
Out came Cinderella wearing slippers made of chocolate.
I see you have got a big pumpkin tonight,
But don’t you think it should be carved, right?
Well you see,
Cindy sighed,
I picked out the biggest pumpkin from the pumpkin patch,
But with it I got Peter’s woman attached,
She threatned she would Sue me,
If I even cut a slice,
So instead I painted a warning on it….
‘That a monster lives inside’.
Cindy laughed,
Little Missy giggled,
While the wolf cried out in pain,
Therefore a slap on the face is all he got,
As he continued to howl in vain.
The fairytale town was in a lot of mess,
People going mad dressed in red.
The chaos started with just on spark,
By Little Miss Muffet who used to be a sweetheart.
This was a story of our young characters,
Who seem to be enjoying their day from the start.
So my dear little reader,
Now listen to me tight….
They are your sweets and don’t you divide,
Cause Halloween is all about ‘No rules applied’.
Dark times are coming on this balmy breath
Of south wind blowing, and the days are brief.
I hear their songs of cold and winter death,
Of weeping with the black despair of grief.
The trees that bow bedraggled by the gale
Roar with the voice of distant oceans dark.
Is that an owl or some lost soul’s last wail,
Laughter I hear or only fox’s bark?
The time is coming when the earth will tip
Into the darkness of cold winter’s reign,
And shadows longing to return will rip
The veils that keep them from our world of pain.
Come softly, candle beckons in the night,
To ease your loneliness in golden light.
There are more than two dozen calls for submissions in July.
For a month that is nasty, brutish and short, February packs a punch when it comes to writing contests. This month there are 52 contests and none charge entry fees. Prizes range from $100,000 to a free writing class. As always, read the restrictions to make sure you qualify.
It’s a new year and time for a new series of author interviews.
Writer's Treasure Chest 
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