Pitches from the Pensieve

 

During our last Pitch Slam, we shared some pitches and 250's of our own to help ease the tension a bit. 

We've pulled these from our memories (and hard drives), like the silvery contents of an overflowing pensieve, for your amusement and distraction. 

This is from a WIP, so both the pitch and 250 aren't at their most magical yet, but I'd love to know what you think!

~ 

Name: Kimberly Vanderhorst

Genre: Adult Romance

Working Title: Three Ways Home

Word Count: Incomplete. For now.

Hogwarts House: Seona is a Slytherin. She's strong, driven, and ambitious as hell. She teaches word-working by day, and creates masterpieces at night. Her goal is to break free of the public school system and open her own studio.

35 Word Pitch: Seona’s been dumped the same way three times—her exes skipping town. To get her “mojo” back, she resolves to ex her exes before her disastrous dating exploits drive her to Crazy Cat Lady lengths.

First 250:

The dry-cleaners smelled like sweaty feet, totally at odds with the name’s implication that things would be dry—and clean.

I sucked in a lungful of rain-washed city air and plunged inside. The shop's door chime beeped like a vehicle backing up and I tensed like always. My brain knew better, but my body thought I was about to be run over by a garbage truck.

Mrs. Lee eyeballed me from behind the counter, her manicured crimson claws tapping the rumpled yellow flyer spread in front of her. If you ever want to move product, just tell Mrs. Lee it’s fifty percent off.

"Seona! What you want cleaned?" she barked—ever the charmer.

I slung my clothes onto the counter and Mrs. Lee pawed through my suits as if looking for buried treasure. She sat back on her creaky metal stool with a grunt.

"Big Samoan girl like you won’t find a man wearing clothes like these," she told me.

"When can I—"

"You gotta dress like a woman," she said, interrupting my doomed attempt at ducking the usual life lecture. “You gotta show him what you got. Hips." She put her hands on hers, which were very obvious beneath her shiny, spandex-style red top and matching pants. "Hair." She ran her fingers through her frizzy black waves. "Hoo-ha."

She pointed between her legs and gave me a wink and a smirk. 

I gave her a tight smile back, reflecting on the irony. Visiting the drycleaner really was the dirtiest part of my week.