Aaaand here we go again

Oh Hello! Welcome to Heart Attack Island! I'll just take your coat and then AAAARGH!

WHY DID I EAT ALL THOSE BACON SANDWICHES!

 And by that, I mean, yeah, we entered LITTLE MISS EVIL (or LME for short) into a contest (#pitchfest). Oh, no wait! That's a lie! We entered it into TWO CONTESTS (#pitchmadness)

And you would think (as we did) that after doing this last year, we would have gotten used to all this emotional crap, and be able to go into this round as jaded, cynical veterans.

Worst. Pitch. Ever.

Nope. HELL nope. It's just as nerve-wracking. Just as panic-inducing. Just as brain-aneurysm-causing as it always was.

There's a YA Fantasy in those trees. I'm taking the shot.

I don't think we'll EVER get used to this. Sending out your story into the world, I mean. It's a little like, well, arming your kid with a bow and arrow and just shoving them out into battle where everyone wants them dead. So what I'm saying is that pretty much, the entire writing industry is basically The Hunger Games. With slightly less murder. I hope.

And we've just thrown LME into that world.

To say we're Freaking Out is to show a grave misunderstanding of what Freaking Out actually means.

But there's little we can do about it now. The writing world is cruel. Cruel and unforgiving. And it's in this environment that LME has to live and die by.

And like any parents, we hope LME makes it. But at this point, there's very little we can do. The gun's gone off, the race has begun, and we're standing in the bleachers, screaming our lungs out. That's our LME. That's our little girl. And we desperately want her to win.

So run, LME. Run like we taught you.