Winding up to Pitch

Everywhere you look these days, you see American Christian Fiction Writers practicing their elevator pitches on their family, friends--and enemies, for that matter.

Okay. Not really. But if you happen to wander across my path, I will buttonhole you to hear my pitches for Up the Rutted Road and The Second Cellar. Practice may not make perfect, but it sure can't hurt. The more familiar one is with the pitch, the easier (theoretically) it will be to deliver with confidence to agents and editors.

In just over five weeks (EEK!), hundreds of us, representing myriad genres, will gather at the Hyatt Regency in Indianapolis for the biggest event of the ACFW year. Hugs, squeals, and jitters will abound, as will clusters of writers practicing those pitches right up until the last minute. We've been testing our one-sentences and one-paragraphs online for nearly a month now.

Finally, my elevator pitches are honed and toned to where I can live with them. (I'm not sure that a writer ever is totally satisfied with his or her work.) It's nice to know that the editors and agents understand our angst, since many of them also write.

A multi-pubbed writer friend told me that she read her pitches. "I knew I'd be too nervous to do them justice," she said. "I'd forget something important." Makes sense to me.

I've given up on the one-sentence pitches. My first manuscript is essentially an episodic-narrative hybrid (think Little House on the Prairie, Mary Poppins, The Wind in the Willows, Huckleberry Finn, and many other classics of children's lit). The second has a plot and sub-plot. A paragraph pitch consisting of three or four sentences that can be presented in 15 - 25 seconds works well for me.

Gotta run! I see someone who . . .

Excuse me! Excuse me! Could I have a moment of your time? Sure. Go ahead and order your grande bold. Sugar? Two percent? Two pitches?

Why the Tough Skin?

The safest thing for a writer to do would be to protect her manuscript from all of those prying eyes and "Track Changes" buttons. Keep it pressed tightly against her bosom, as she would a newborn baby, with her arms crossed over it. That action guarantees that the baby will never be examined, never be critiqued, never be published.

Undoubtedly, the writer already has edited, revised, and edited again, but when she sits in front of the computer screen with her finger poised on the mouse, ready to click "Attach," her breathing becomes shallow, her pulse races, and the palms of her hands drip sweat. Sending an MS to a critique group is risky business. The writer can stake her life savings that those heartless critiquers will delete this, change that, add a comma here, yank an exclamation point there, and scream, "Show! Don't tell!" [Delete those two exclamation points, Sharon. You've already said 'scream.'"] At the end, they'll add a soothing comment and tell you how much they really like your story and look forward to the next installment. Thing is, they mean it. Just as the writer does when she's in critiquer mode.

One must develop a skin as thick and tough as a rhino's--get used to critiques, embrace them, discern which comments will improve the work, and be grateful that someone cared enough to be honest.

Once the MS is as good as the writer can make it, she sends it out. That rhino skin will come in handy again because agents and editors will critique the work from their perspectives. If they accept the work, it will undergo more editing and revision. To read how three agents regard such, visit the following links:

BookEnds, LLC  A Literary Agency

Rachelle Gardner, Literary Agent

Janet Reid, Literary Agent

The Evolution of Rejection

Admit it. You've done the same thing--licked your finger and swiped it across a signature on a rejection letter to see if the the ink smeared, to see if the editor really did put pen to paper to sign. Or was it just another form letter that sounded more personal.

Through the years, I've noticed a steady progression in the quality of rejection. First came the post cards paper-clipped to the cover letter I had so painstakingly typed. Next was the form letter that bore an unsmearable signature. How thrilling to finally get a rejection that brandished a personal note scribbled at an angle across the bottom. . . one that passed the spit-finger test! The most recent rejection letter was all personal and encouraging, saying, "Our middle-grade list is full right now, but I have no doubt that you will find a market for this manuscript." That's progress.

Through the years, I've noticed a steady progression in the quality, determination, and intensity of my own efforts, seeking always to hone my skills. I recently joined a critique group through ACFW, and that has made a difference that even the members of my local writers' group, Southern Indiana Writers' Salon, have noticed. I will continue writing and honing, looking forward to the day when I receive that first acceptance.