Pitched a Book Yesterday

For those of you unfamiliar with "pitching a book," I'll tell you that it does not mean picking one up and heaving it across the room, although it can sometimes leave you feeling like you'd like to pick up a book and heave it across the room.

Book pitches most often occur at writer's conferences, and I attended one this weekend. Generally you get 10 minutes to pitch the book you have either already written (fiction) or plan to write (non-fiction). You sign up for the appropriate agents and editors based upon what you find out about them and who/what they like to represent on their company websites. And then you stand around with a bunch of people who are also pitching books, looking pale and wan and fidgeting, licking their lips, clearing their throats, shuffling paper, etc.

I looked no different. I attempted a nonchalance that I didn't feel, propping my elbow on the pay phone ledge as if it was a bar. And I wish it had been a bar. A quick beer would have been great.

Anyhow, these pitches were running about a quarter of an hour late, and after a time I was ushered into Waiting Space Number 2. I could see the layout from there, and at least there was some privacy. I'd pitched in a high school classroom with no place to hide, where 5 or 6 other people were pitching at the same time. But this was a large room that had been separated into little curtained spaces with a table behind which the agent/editor sat, and a chair where we would all eventually plop our excited and nervous butts.

As a fallen Catholic, I must say that they looked a little too much like confessionals to me ...

Anyhow, I pitched to a nice agent lady who agreed to take a look at it, and I confessed to her that although I had made my living pitching paper and managing people who sell paper, and marketing, that selling my writing was like starting anew. Listening to me or watching me, you would have never known that I'd spent twenty years of my life negotiating, ingratiating, presenting, placating, apologizing, confirming, justifying, and convincing, all with a big smile on my face. During a book pitch, time stands still. So does my brain. And I must come off about as polished as a sandpaper floor.

Oh, well. Since she said she'd take a look at it, it doesn't matter how bad I was.

Wish me luck!