The most harrowing experience of my trip was the
Pitch-A-Palooza. In this event, all of the editors and agents attending the "Love is Murder" conference sit behind tables with their names posted above them, and prospective authors queue up in front of them to "pitch" them the idea for their book, hoping their audience will eventually publish or represent their work. As a potential first time novelist, this was a big deal for me - I wanted to see if my "literary theatrical mystery" would be a hit or not, if my talent was worth a dime or not.
Before even coming to the conference, I was preparing for this thing. I researched the agents and publishers I might meet, weeding my list of targets down to the ones I thought would be interested in my project - the conference was not just for mystery writers, but for romance, thriller, suspense, etc. as well. I also practiced my pitch, getting advice from my professors in the process as to what I needed to say to make a good impression. I planned to talk about genre, the basic plot (who, what, when, where, why, how, etc.), what other books currently in the market it reads like, how it's different (and better than!) those already published books, a word or two on theme, estimated word count, and how long until completeion (this was where I was worried, because you're supposed to pitch a finished product and not a work in progress). I said what I was going to say a dozen or so times in front of a mirror at home and thought I was ready.
Then I went to that seminar at the conference on how to pitch a novel and changed half the thing. Not the topics about which I was speaking, but the content of those, I realized, would have to change a bit for each person I pitched to. If one agent liked family dramas, then I would have to play that aspect up a bit more, for example. It threw me off a bit, to say the least.
Finally, the time for the event came. I did all the personal stuff to prepare, popping three breath mints, checking my teeth in the bathroom for remnants of lunch, wiping my sweaty palms on my carefully selected "business casual" attire and hoping they didn't leave wet marks, and so on. I waited, pensive, in line - eavesdropping on the other writers in front of me as they gave their pitches, assuring myself I was better than them, and running my speech in my mind on endless repeate. Then my turn came.
I sat down, greeting the seated agent by first name, giving her mine, and accepting her hand with a dry one (thank goodness!) of my own. I remember trying to crack a lame joke I hadn't planned on saying before I began, though now I try to forget it. I started out pretty shaky in my pitch, but the agent's eyes were kind and her head tilted to the side in curiosity at the only writer at this conference under 30 and what he had to say - yeah, I stood out in this way, praying it didn't come off in an immature fashion. With about half my pitch done, I started warming up to the nice lady and knew I'd picked a good person to give my first, horrible, and inexperienced pitch.
When I was done we both smiled. She asked me a few questions that I supposed my mouth answered as my brain was thinking of a thousand other things to say or do. In the end, she scribbled a few submission guidelines on the back one of her business cards, telling me not to rush myself to get the book done, to finish it on my own terms. She said to send her a synopsis and a complete copy of the manuscript whenever it was done, be that five months or a year from now, referencing in the cover letter that we met at this conference.
I accepted the card, shook her hand, and got up in a benign air to let the next person to take my seat and run the gauntlet. My body felt as if it were on some kind of crazy heroin trip - I was on cloud nine. Gradually, my mind started screaming silent exclamations of joy and laughing itself hoarse. I had to go and get a drink of water before I pitched to the next person on my list. My mouth was soo dry. But I was successful! My project had potential. And I had potential, too.
My excitement only built as I continued to pitch to the other agents and publishers I wanted to meet. I got better at the pitch each time, selling it with more energy and less nervousness during each successive performance. When the
Pitch-A-Palooza was over, every single person I pitched my book idea to gave me a business card and requested a copy of the manuscript. I couldn't believe it!
Even though the book wasn't done yet, I knew this experience would give me the fire and energy to get it done and get it submitted. I had taken my first big step to becoming an author, and I hadn't tripped too badly doing it, either. Probably the best thing I got out of this conference came to me during this event, and it wasn't even a business card: it was the self-confidence I gained for myself as a writer and my work as a whole. I knew now I had what it took to make it. All I had to do was take another few steps.
"One cannot disarm destiny, merely seduce her." - Oscar Wilde
