The Art of the Pitch

A few of you know that I've been working on a novel/story/thing. I really don't like to talk about it, not because I'm ashamed of the work, but because I've always indulged the stereotype of writers, like actors, as a narccisstic breed, only too happy to corner you and bore you to bits about their latest Important Work. It's a bit like getting stuck at the family reunion with your cousin who pulls out a brag book the size of a bible and proceeds to tell you in minute detail about the startling perfection of her precious angels. At least with your cousin, you're often bound by common decency and genetics to entertain her for five minutes; and if you're lucky, you have some embarassing old history on her that might stop her story dead in its inflated tracks.

So I usually just bored my closest friends when I began, but lately I've wisely dropped even that. There are many more important things in the world to discuss than whether my protag will survive her freshman year.

However, with the enthusiasm and naivete of a true neophyte writer, I pitched the story to an agent at a writing conference last fall, and--to my surprise--she asked for a sample. What this usually means is 'Send me the first fifty pages and a synopsis'. No problem, I thought. (Fool.) I'm already thirty-five pages into the thing, and it's getting great feedback--I can whip out those last twenty pages, no big deal, and revise my synopsis. It'll be done before Christmas.

Now look at the calendar. It's June. And, yup, the story is still in my hands. Caroline Coleman O'Neil gave me a great critique on the first 50. Not only did she motivate me with her encouragement, but the story is much better now. But that resulted in a major revision and rethinking of the story--another delay. Now my problem is I'm 225 pages into the story and I still haven't conquered my synopsis. I also don't have a finished story. Yes, I know where it's going, but no, it hasn't taken flight from my fingertips, in part because I'm mommying most of my days. Some of you may question the wisdom of sending the first fifty of an unfinished story, but I'm betting that a promise kept is better than a proposal hidden. Who knows? Perhaps I'll give her the best laugh she's had in years. (And you know how I value a good laugh.)

But synopses are tricky things. Mark Bertrand explained the dilemma, excellently, at Notes on Craft. In a word, it's a pitch. I used to think the idea was crass--the unlovely verbage of marketing, but after struggling with this thing for six months now, I have come to appreciate its nuances. It requires a skill that comes through hours and hours of practice--its perfect economy of expression, like graceful precision and kinetic strength in the strong arm of a pitcher, demands fluidity and accuracy in the same movement. It's all over in a moment, and TWAP! the ball nails the catcher's glove, leaving a solid impression of skill, or it's sent out into the high grass of the backfield, lost in the weeds and remembered by no one.

If you're the praying sort, or even if you have a good word to say on my behalf. Remember me as I try to finish my pitch. I'm working on the wind-up even now.