Thursday was Agent-Author Day. That means that I showed up at the Radisson with 25 copies of my query letter, my first two manuscript pages, and a piece of paper that now looks like a paranoiac’s last will and testament. That would be my pitch, fully revised four times while sitting in the back row of Bella Stander’s pitch workshop yesterday evening–because never again will I be caught with crickets-to-say when three agents ask me what my novel is about in front of 25 other writers.
The agents were smart, gracious, and helpful; and what impressed me was how quickly they could articulate what worked or didn’t work in the material. As as editor and book reviewer I understand what it’s like to put a slippery emotional reaction into a coherent and useful response, so I can appreciate quick thinking when I see it. (I even had some great examples scribbled down on the hotel’s complimentary notebook, but a volunteer spirited it away during break and replaced it with with a fresh one. Ah well.)
The writers deserve the biggest kudos, though. If it takes a lot to share your work in a hometown workshop, it takes some adamantine nerve to stand up and read your work to literary agents who don’t know you from Adam. To listen quietly, and take notes, and say thank you–even when they cut you off after a few paragraphs. Even when you hear, “The writing just didn’t grab me,” or, “It’s a thriller, but I’m not thrilled,” or, “That’s a hard story to tell well.” That takes not only professionalism, but courage.
The day went well, and I got some offers to submit my novel. I also met some really cool writers, and I’m looking forward to a low-key day of attending panels with them today. I’d also planned to start the day with a rainy run in Central Park, but ohmygoodness, look at the time.
