just $30 and three minutes ...

Every Saturday, my published author friend Denise, and I write each other long and - we think - interesting emails about the week that was for each of us.

Here is this morning’s offering to Denise - shortened somewhat. Denise and I do like to blather on. I’ll just write enough for you to get the gist.

Its 6.30am, dark outside with no promise of daylight just yet. I’m sitting on the lounge which is in a different spot due to the fact that yesterday I felt the need to reconfigure the furniture in the living room. Mainly in a bid to expend some nervous energy associated with failure.

So, my favourite rug over my knees and a cup of tea perched nearby - I’m rather pleased with the way I designed my particular resting spot in this shared room. My friend Fiona - also published, would say I am self-soothing and that is exactly what I am doing.

So … the story …

A month ago, I paid $30 as registration to pitch my seocond novel - CROW to an unknown person named Caitlin from the literary agency Curtis-Brown - one of the top agencies who represents Jane Harper.

This was the last time I would be able to pitch CROW - having pitched this work three times previously. I wasn’t sure at the time if this was the path I wanted to pursue - getting an agent rather than fast tracking the pathway to published fame via a publisher. But I decided to step outside my comfort zone. I’ve been writing for nearly five years now - I’ve completed three books and am 10,000 words into my fourth - and nothing is happening! I guess I’m trying to avoid living out the definition of insanity.

So … the session was scheduled for yesterday at 2.48pm. I threw myself into the process - researched Caitlin (thank you linkedin) and read about Curtis-Brown values, to write a pitch that would knock the socks off Caitlin’s feet.

I then practiced the pitch several times a day for three weeks to achieve near word-perfection so I could focus on looking straight into the camera at the top of the computer, get the intonation just right, and smile in all the right places. I have learnt quite a lot, having zoom pitched seven times previously and completing two courses on how to pitch successfully.

My pitch was written into a word document in size 18 font with all the tricky bits bright with yellow highlights. The plan - which I thought was quite brilliant, was to use my laptop strategically placed next to my husband’s (known as man on the couch - MOTC) as an auto-cue type arrangement. You know - like the ABC journos do so successfully.

I practised this set-up several times, sweeping my eyes to the right only momentarily and this seemed to work a treat.

2.15pm arrived and I put my face on - one of the things I learned from previous pitches was that I looked a little pale on screen, as if I was suffering from Covid - which in fact, for one of my pitches, I was.

The man on the couch was decamped to the bedroom (electric blanket on as an incentive). The dog went too as in one pitch, Rueban started barking at the voices coming out of Dad’s computer.

I fired up the man on the couch’s computer and couldn’t access my email account. While the MOTC was rectifying this and mumbling under his breath about why I couldn’t manage this task when I can write 80,000 words in six months - I decided to print out the script. Just in case.

I took a sip of water to calm my nerves and man and dog deployed again to the back of the house, I clicked on all the appropriate buttons to get myself into the zoom room.

To no avail.

While I’m not a whizz at all things very technical, I am good at pivoting, so decided to move my pitch to my laptop on the kitchen bench. I took a moment to regret the carefully curated background of shelves containing writing books and Jane Harper’s books. I glanced behind me - taking another sip of water - to see that my background would be a wine rack and several family photos, sticky-taped with curling edges to the pantry cupboard.

Another sip of water to further calm the nerves which were considerably jangled by then. I placed my cheat sheets precariously up against the fruit bowl and hoped for the best.

Action - Caitlin appeared on one screen and someone form the Australian Society of Authors jumped up on another screen. I took a deep breath, offered what I hoped was a confident smile and launched myself into the pitch. A writer only gets three minutes in the zoom room and my pitch was 2.46 minutes long.

Well, the air conditioner on full-blast - this is Tasmania after all - flapped at the script and the three pages danced about on the bench, landing in a non-consecutive heap. I plowed on however, knowing I wasn’t giving my best, and tried to push my disappointment down to a dull roar.

Caitlin graciously told me that obviously I had been working hard, and asked me a techy publishing question. I blathered on, making it up as I dug myself into a deeper ditch. Awash with adrenaline, just past peaking levels, I mentioned that I had done a lot of public speaking and could sell this book.

BIG MISTAKE - after delivering a pitch that was riven with nerves, pauses and ums and ahs.

Caitlin thanked me and said she hadn’t known about the public speaking. Well, of course she wouldn’t have had that information prior to the pitch, and she would have had to be a genius to work out that I was a confident public speaker, based on the offering she’d just heard.

SO, the MOTC, Rueban and I sat down for afternoon tea, and I decided to move furniture.

So, what have I learnt?

That I CAN manage disappointment, that I now know what USP is and will use this to affect in future pitches of Thicker than Water.

And also - that yesterday was just three minutes and $30. Hardly life challenging.