Finding Your Voice

In which we conclude our series of amazing insights into the pitching process . . . .

As a writer approaching a pitch session, I get keyed up, hoping I make a good connection with the editor or agent, hoping she’ll be interested in my project, hoping this meeting turns out to be the key to getting this project published.  I have a lot invested, in other words.  As an agent, I’m thinking it would be nice if I end up picking up a client, but I don’t expect to.  A lot of the time I’m wishing I had a refill on my cup of coffee, and some of the time I’m thinking about going for ice cream afterwards and occasionally I’m focused on how soon I can get to the bathroom (I know, I know, you were hoping I was desperately attentive to every word that falls from a writer’s lips.  And if I were a better person, I would be.)  Listening to pitches for hours on a Sunday afternoon, even if you’re on a cruise ship at sea, is grueling.

7.  Recognize that after a certain number of pitches, an editor or agent is not quite as fresh and focused as she might be.  The later in the day your pitch is, the more you should be aware of staying focused yourself.  Try not to overload her with details, thoughts and commentary.  Be specific and to the point.  The more you can engage her in give-and-take, the more likely she’ll pay attention to the conversation you’re having and the less likely her thoughts are to wander to happy hour.  Remember sixth hour in high school, when your math teacher droned on and on and you could barely keep your eyes open?  Listening to pitches is a lot like that late in the afternoon. 

I requested about twelve proposals or fiction manuscripts from the people who pitched me.  In the weeks since I returned home, only four people have followed up by providing the requested materials.  This did not surprise me: when I first started working as an agent, I was amazed that people would pitch me and then when I would ask to see the material, never send it.  Now it doesn’t surprise me at all.  Writers constantly pitch things that aren’t actually ready, although they represent them as if they were (note: because of the way I opened up these sessions, some of the writers I talked to did not have a proposal ready and I knew it when we talked; I’m not referring to them here).

8.  Don’t bother pitching editors/agents (whether in person or via a query letter) unless your project is ready to go out the door.  It’s a waste of everyone’s time otherwise.  I know you’re thinking that an agent’s or editor’s interest is a great incentive to finishing the project, but when I ask for materials, I’m asking for them based on what I’m doing now, not six months from now.  What I think I can sell today may not be something I’m interested in taking on down the road.  Like many agents, my workload constantly shifts, so sometimes I’m more open to taking on projects/authors and other times less so.  I certainly have less room for new clients now than I did three months ago.   Same goes for editors: slots on their lists close up fast, and much as we’d like to believe every worthy book will eventually find its home, that’s just not true.  Luck and serendipity play a not inconsiderable role in the publishing process.  Do your part when either of these ladies comes calling.

9. Following up is crucial, Part I.  Even if you gave me a business card, I’m not going to email you asking you where your project is.  If you’ve sent in your materials and you don’t hear from me in a reasonable length of time, nudge me with another email.  Things get trapped in spam folders, accidentally deleted, never arrive.

10.  Following up is crucial, Part II: I don’t make writers jump through hoops to get to me.  I don’t make them fill out a special submission form, structure their queries in a specific way or even spell my name right.  Unlike some agents, I get almost entirely good stuff in my inbox (not that I can take it all on).  I don’t have to find ways to screen it beyond, you know, reading it and deciding if I can sell it.  I don’t think hoop jumping proves anything about a writer’s potential, and I’m not yet so cynical that it amuses me to make people do it, so I don’t ask them to.  But I do expect writers to care about their work.  If I’m on the fence about a particular project, the writer’s ability and willingness to follow up matters a lot.  When I ask for a proposal or a partial/full manuscript, I always give a sense of when I’ll respond.  If that time passes, and the author hasn’t come back to me, I’ll wonder if he or she really cares that much about the project, or about having me represent it.   So in a situation where I’m wavering, an author who doesn’t follow up will probably get a rejection.  That doesn’t mean following up leads automatically to acceptance, but it does give me a sense that you care about the project and want to make it work.  That person is one who is more likely to listen to my suggestions and feedback anyway than the writer who has the attitude of, “eh, take it or leave it.”

Your turn: what have you learned from your adventures in pitchland?

In my previous post, I gave some thoughts about being an agent accepting pitches at a recent conference, and what I learned about pitching from it.  Here’s Part 2:

Because of the informal nature of the program and because a lot of the writers involved are colleagues, people I’ve known a long time, I offered to open up pitch sessions to include just talking about projects people were working on even if they hadn’t finished a proposal, or if they just wanted to know more about the book publishing process/agenting process.  A couple of people took me up on this offer and we had some nice conversations.  However: 

4.  There’s a reason agents and editors want you to pitch a project for which you have a completed book proposal (or a completed manuscript for fiction).  There’s nothing quite so hard as to offer advice about a vague project or an idea that hasn’t really coalesced into a concrete shape.  The people in this category I was most able to help were those who had started proposals and had questions about what direction they should take to make their books most marketable.  That is, they had a clear vision for their book and a good sense of who their audience would be, they just wanted to make sure their book would appeal to agents and editors and to be warned of any potential pitfalls they could stumble into.

5.  What I know about the market and what editors are looking for is very much fixed in the present moment.  If I say editors are looking for Scottish highlands historicals (and I’m not saying they are) and you happen to have that manuscript in your back pocket, then let’s make a deal.  But if you think that my comment means you should spend the next year laboring over a Scottish highlands historical because that’s what the market wants, you’ve already missed the boat.  By the time you get back to me with that, I’ll be hearing that editors are looking for World War II romantic suspense.

6.  Pick one project to pitch – your best/most important one.  It’s okay to pitch a second project if the editor/agent passes on the first and you still have time in your session, but don’t sit down and say, “I have five ideas, which one do you think I should focus on?”  That’s something that you have to decide, not me.  Even if I can give you some market information to help you make the decision, see #5.  That market information is quickly outdated.  The thing is, if you can hook me with one idea, then at some later date you can introduce the other ideas – you already have entre, you know?  You don’t have to lay everything on the table right this minute.  Plus, book publishing is really a one-step-at-a-time business.  Take it a step at a time, and you’ll be fine. 

Stay tuned for Part 3. . . .

A while back I wrote a blog post about how to prepare for pitch sessions because as a writer I’ve done my share and learned something useful from the experience.  Recently, though, I was on the other side of the table, accepting pitches, and the other side of the table always offers a different perspective, one I think may help writers who are planning to attend a conference where these sessions are available.

First, some background.  Earlier this year, Jennie Phipps, the brains behind Freelance Success, decided that while the time wasn’t right for a traditional writer’s conference, there was something to be said about arranging a three-day cruise to the Bahamas where writer types could talk about the business and possibly come up with a tax deduction. 

I like the way Jennie thinks.  I mentioned that I’d be interested in hitching a ride, and eventually we arranged for me to wear my agent’s hat and take pitches from writers on a beautiful Sunday afternoon at sea.

From my previous experience with pitch sessions, I decided that instead of three or five minute increments, I would set aside ten minutes for each pitch.  That would give people a minute to say hello and arrange their thoughts and for us to have a conversation.  Still, by the time I was on the fourth pitch, I was already behind.  By the time I reached the middle of the afternoon, I was forty-five minutes behind.  Because the program was so informal, this worked out okay and no one had a hissy fit, or at least not within my hearing, but it made me realize why at other pitch sessions, organizers have little bells or other methods of signaling when the time is up.  It may seem obnoxious but there is a valid reason for it.  Even with my trusty pocket watch open on the table, it was hard for me to wrap things up quickly, especially when I had to do it over and over again.

Which leads me to a couple of points:

1.  It doesn’t matter if you have three minutes, five minutes, or ten minutes, that time goes fast.  The more prepared you are to explain what you’re working on and why, the better use of the time you’ll make.

2.  A couple of people pitched me, I said I’d look at their stuff, and then they sat there as if there were a next thing.  There isn’t.  When the editor or agent you’re pitching to says, “That sounds interesting, send it along.  Do you have a card?  Thanks, it was great meeting you,” that means it is time to scoot along.

Almost all of the people on this cruise were established freelancers who’ve been writing professionally for a long time, so no one was trying to pitch me in the bathroom or during dinner (as you hear happens at conferences sometimes) but I was surprised by the number of people who were visibly nervous about talking to me during their sessions.  I’ve been a writer for a long time and I know a lot of these people just from being their colleague, and becoming an agent didn’t suddenly make me someone with the power of life and death over their careers.  But you wouldn’t know that looking at ‘em.  I acknowledge that I’m a fairly direct person, but I’m also a very nice person, and I have a fairly clear understanding of my place in the universe.  I also know that I only just sold my first book as an agent, which makes me not exactly Curtis Brown.  Which means there isn’t anything to be afraid of when you pitch me.  I’m not your last shot before jumping overboard.  Or I sure as hell shouldn’t be.   

3.  Keep things in perspective.  Yes, it’s nice if turns out we can work together.  But it’s not the end of the world if we can’t.  Most of the time, agents and editors at pitch sessions will ask to look at your project unless it is clearly outside their range of interest, so accept that as an opportunity, but don’t read too much into it.

More coming in Part II . . . .

Those of you who’ve been following along for the past couple of months know that my very first client (after I joined the Salkind Agency) was Carole Moore, a former cop turned journalist.   I’ve been fortunate enough to have signed a number of other wonderful clients, but I will always have a special appreciation for Carole, because she believed in me right off the bat.  

So there’s something especially delightful in the fact that her book, The Last Place You’d Look, a true crime book dealing with missing persons investigations, is the first sale of my agenting career.   We recently accepted an offer from Rowman & Littlefield, and couldn’t be happier.  I’ll be sharing more news about the book as I’m able.

A couple of key things contributed to the sale.  Most important, Carole wrote an excellent book proposal.  She worked very hard to make her proposal shine, including compelling sample chapters that showcased her writing ability.   She also had a clear vision for her book.  She was willing to entertain feedback and suggestions, but she knew what she wanted the book to be and that was clearly communicated in her proposal.  Because I worked with Carole on the proposal, I know how many drafts it took for that to be accomplished, but like the pro she is, she never complained about the work.  She was only interested in getting it right.  In the final version of her proposal, there was absolutely no sense of hesitation or uncertainty or “If you don’t like A, I can do B.”  Editors know that if they don’t like A, they can suggest B and see what happens.  And in fact several editors did come back with counter-proposals: “Could Carole do the book this way instead of that way?”  (Ultimately, Carole chose the publisher who didn’t want her to make changes to her concept. ) 

A book proposal is not a menu where you offer all kinds of possiblities for an editor to chose from; it’s the document you use to showcase your vision for your book.  Believe me, editors are not at all shy about making suggestions if a project doesn’t fit their needs exactly.  But you can’t make them do all the work.  You have to give them something clear and compelling to respond to.  That is exactly what Carole did.  

I know I see a lot of proposals that are basically lumps of clay with the author suggesting it can be shaped in whatever way pleases the agent or editor.  But I’m the agent, not the potter (author).   It’s not my job to shape the clay.  That’s your job.  Once you’ve done it, I can make suggestions on how it might be more marketable or more aesthetically pleasing, but there’s nothing I can do to improve a lump of clay.

Okay, enough with the bad analogies.  In sum: write well and write confidently and yours may be the next book that sells. 

And let me just say congratulations to Carole, and thank you for taking a chance on me.