... speed dating. really?

No, I’m not seriously considering whether to swipe left or right. I have a perfectly suitable man on my couch. Oh, that’s tinder, isn’t it? I’m mixing up my metaphors.

So, speed dating … I have embarked on a literary speed dating event with the Australian Society of Authors. The ASA offers these opportunities for writers to pitch - via zoom, to publishers or literary agents a few times a year.

For those who know me well, it will come as no surprise that I jumped right into this, writing a pitch that had at least 23 drafts, and practiced zooming my piece with a trusted friend, the man on the couch and my sister Carol, who has self published two novels, so knows a thing or six about distilling a whole book into a three minute spiel.

Researching which publishers to choose to best suit my genre and voice took up a chunk of time, and then considering the two publishers I eventually decided on - chewed up another bunch of hours. In fact, during the last week - this over-kill activity provided a thin thread to holding onto my sanity while isolating after finding TWO pinkish-red dashes on a RAT test window,

I developed a visual aid to hold up during the two pitches, in a bid to offer my two publishers of choice something fresh and original from the other pitchers, taking up their three minute time slots. I’m just hoping that I’m not seen as the mad woman with the pink book. Maybe a desperate bid to be remembered?