On Monday, I went to hear The Book Doctors (Arielle Eckstut and David Henry Sterry) do their Pitchapalooza for the second year. Last year, I just went and watched, not really sure what was going on. This year, I took along my reframed novel pitch to see what they would say.
It was monsoon pouring that night, and the temperature inside Unity Temple ranged somewhere between moist and sauna. I am terrible at estimating crowds, but I'd say the auditorium was about half full -- and it appeared every one of those people had a book to pitch. I got lucky and was selected as one of the twenty-five people who got to read my pitch and get some feedback on it. (This was really, really lucky, because Arielle and David and the people they pick to be on their panel are always nice. I've been to pitching/querying sessions at writers' conferences in which the panel brought "vindictive" to a whole new level.)
As I waited to see if my name would be called, I studied my audience mates. I was there alone, so I had nothing to do but look around. I myself kept rewriting my pitch over and over in my notebook, changing a few words here and there. It wasn't fully baked and I knew it, but I hadn't had much time to spend on it and when you get a chance to get feedback on your writing, you take it. I saw the man in front of me had his pitch all typed out. He was staring a hole through it. The woman beside me was scribbling in a notebook.
If you could've bottled the collective angst in that room ...
I felt a tremendous sense of empathy toward every person in the room. Even though I got one book published, it doesn't get easier. I don't feel any less angsty about my current pitch than I did about my Sleep Is for the Weak pitch. One thing I am able to do better is recognize that the feedback you need is the feedback that sucks the worst to hear. Identifying the problems is their job, fixing them is mine.
I hate fixing. I wish it would just come out right the first time.
Then again, if it did, I wouldn't know what to do the first time it came it wrong.
It's sort of a vicious circle.
Some of the other writers had shaky voices. One commented about how nervous she was. Even in such a friendly atmosphere, it's terrifying to say out loud what you've been typing and whispering over and over to yourself for weeks or months or years.
I got the feedback I needed, went back to my seat and waited for my heart rate to return to normal. I looked over at the woman next to me, and she smiled. I smiled back.
I knew she knew exactly how I felt.
Speaking of authors, check out my review of longtime reader Shannon Hyland-Tassava's new book, The Essential Stay-at-Home Mom Manual on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!