Fever Pitch - A Survivor’s Guide to Pitching
This article first appeared in Romance Writers of Australia’s
official journal, HEARTS TALK, in 2005
They say we all learn from our mistakes. Analyse what went wrong, what went right, then you’ll know how to handle the situation next time. Speaking of mistakes, I’ve made a few. Boy, did I do them my way. Learn from my doozies to help fine-tune your editor or agent pitch.
About a year ago, I’d bombed out on my pitch so badly that I doubted there would even be a next time. I was sure word would get around the publishing world: Hey, everyone in New York, you’ll never believe this awful pitch I heard today.
Friends were very kind in saying it couldn’t have been as bad as I thought. Deep down, I knew it was.
So what went wrong?
High Anxiety
A couple of energetic butterflies in the belly are OK. But my two butterflies were more than just friends, because soon five thousand (at least) were beating their wings in there.
How did they reproduce so quickly?
I talked them into it. Not with sweet nothings, though. My internal dialogue went something like this: I can’t afford to mess up one syllable. What if I forget my main plot line? What’s my heroine’s name again? I hate my book. I can’t do this. I’m a writer, not a pitcher.
While the what-if game is a great writing tool, it’s not so effective two minutes before a pitch.
Basement instincts
I’d written the final draft of my speech a fortnight before the conference, punchy hook and all. I’d agonised over every word after researching articles and following advice from people who’d been there before.
Then I changed my pitch just before the appointment. Whether it was the influence of too many well-meaning advisers or those butterflies had attacked my brain, I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have ignored that voice inside screaming, “Noooo! Stick with Plan A!” Listen to your instincts. They know what’s good for you.
Oh, What a Tangled Web…
Instead of opening my mouth and letting that fabulous memorized speech flow out, I stumbled, babbled and fell apart. My snowball of nerves rolled into that dark place where plots are lost. I wanted my own cocoon to hide away in. Yes, I’d become a walking magnet for mixed metaphors.
I tried to back-pedal and refer to the wrinkled sheet on which my initial pitch was written. Time, though, had run out. I was being ushered to the door without being asked to even send in my manuscript. At the last second I asked which editor might be interested in my genre, hoping she wouldn’t say, “Please don’t waste anybody’s time.” It was only then that she invited me to submit a partial. Then the door closed.
Sounds like a nightmare, right? It’s worse, friends, because I was wide-awake. I couldn’t take back any of it. I walked out feeling like a buffoon.
Ten months later, the shame has worn off and I’m ready to throw myself into the pitching pit. I’ve learned a few things since then.
Preparation
I’d done weeks of research and rehearsal. All the information I needed was in my head (and on my cue card). I just had to relax enough to let it come through.
Experience
If you want to publish your book, you have to learn how to sell. Although I wanted to erase that ten-minute ordeal from my memory (not to mention the editor’s), at least I can now think of it as a part of my writing journey. Maybe I’ll get the hang of pitching by 2010.
Know yourself and your book
Corny as it sounds, confidence comes from knowing and believing in your abilities as a writer, as a person. Editors don’t just sit back and nod during a pitch – some ask questions too. Lots of questions. So to increase your chances of formulating satisfying answers, put some thought into what makes you tick. And make sure you know your book inside out. Have a clear vision of who, what, where, when and why.
Net Worth
I’m not going to lie to you, first-time pitchers. Selling your manuscript to an editor or agent face-to-face is scary. Think about what has worked for you before in similar situations – deep breathing, affirmations, wearing your lucky socks. Acknowledge those butterflies, but keep the focus on why you are there in the first place. And if things don’t go to plan, you will survive to write about it.
official journal, HEARTS TALK, in 2005
They say we all learn from our mistakes. Analyse what went wrong, what went right, then you’ll know how to handle the situation next time. Speaking of mistakes, I’ve made a few. Boy, did I do them my way. Learn from my doozies to help fine-tune your editor or agent pitch.
About a year ago, I’d bombed out on my pitch so badly that I doubted there would even be a next time. I was sure word would get around the publishing world: Hey, everyone in New York, you’ll never believe this awful pitch I heard today.
Friends were very kind in saying it couldn’t have been as bad as I thought. Deep down, I knew it was.
So what went wrong?
High Anxiety
A couple of energetic butterflies in the belly are OK. But my two butterflies were more than just friends, because soon five thousand (at least) were beating their wings in there.
How did they reproduce so quickly?
I talked them into it. Not with sweet nothings, though. My internal dialogue went something like this: I can’t afford to mess up one syllable. What if I forget my main plot line? What’s my heroine’s name again? I hate my book. I can’t do this. I’m a writer, not a pitcher.
While the what-if game is a great writing tool, it’s not so effective two minutes before a pitch.
Basement instincts
I’d written the final draft of my speech a fortnight before the conference, punchy hook and all. I’d agonised over every word after researching articles and following advice from people who’d been there before.
Then I changed my pitch just before the appointment. Whether it was the influence of too many well-meaning advisers or those butterflies had attacked my brain, I don’t know. But I shouldn’t have ignored that voice inside screaming, “Noooo! Stick with Plan A!” Listen to your instincts. They know what’s good for you.
Oh, What a Tangled Web…
Instead of opening my mouth and letting that fabulous memorized speech flow out, I stumbled, babbled and fell apart. My snowball of nerves rolled into that dark place where plots are lost. I wanted my own cocoon to hide away in. Yes, I’d become a walking magnet for mixed metaphors.
I tried to back-pedal and refer to the wrinkled sheet on which my initial pitch was written. Time, though, had run out. I was being ushered to the door without being asked to even send in my manuscript. At the last second I asked which editor might be interested in my genre, hoping she wouldn’t say, “Please don’t waste anybody’s time.” It was only then that she invited me to submit a partial. Then the door closed.
Sounds like a nightmare, right? It’s worse, friends, because I was wide-awake. I couldn’t take back any of it. I walked out feeling like a buffoon.
Ten months later, the shame has worn off and I’m ready to throw myself into the pitching pit. I’ve learned a few things since then.
Preparation
I’d done weeks of research and rehearsal. All the information I needed was in my head (and on my cue card). I just had to relax enough to let it come through.
Experience
If you want to publish your book, you have to learn how to sell. Although I wanted to erase that ten-minute ordeal from my memory (not to mention the editor’s), at least I can now think of it as a part of my writing journey. Maybe I’ll get the hang of pitching by 2010.
Know yourself and your book
Corny as it sounds, confidence comes from knowing and believing in your abilities as a writer, as a person. Editors don’t just sit back and nod during a pitch – some ask questions too. Lots of questions. So to increase your chances of formulating satisfying answers, put some thought into what makes you tick. And make sure you know your book inside out. Have a clear vision of who, what, where, when and why.
Net Worth
I’m not going to lie to you, first-time pitchers. Selling your manuscript to an editor or agent face-to-face is scary. Think about what has worked for you before in similar situations – deep breathing, affirmations, wearing your lucky socks. Acknowledge those butterflies, but keep the focus on why you are there in the first place. And if things don’t go to plan, you will survive to write about it.