Pitch Day

Last Thursday I met with my lovely agent Natasha via zoom in order to get ready for today, January 20th. This is Pitch Day, the day she starts pitching my book to a long list of publishing houses who might be interested in sending it out into the world.

The chances of this actually happening are infinitesimally small— memoir written by a non-celebrity is extremely hard to sell, especially without some fantastic story like, “I survived for three months hiking the Himalayas in pumps as I processed my co-dependent relationship with my recently-dead mother,” or “I was kept in a drawer underneath my kidnapper’s bed for eighteen years until a plumber found me.”

I don’t even have a car chase in my book. In hindsight, had I known I’d someday want to write a memoir I definitely could have initiated a car chase at some point in my twenties. For all I know there was one and I just don’t remember it. Let this be a lesson to all you younger writers out there: Create as much chaos as you can, and take notes. You might need it for the material.

Though the odds are low, Natasha’s excitement was infectious. She showed me the spreadsheet of publishers, which ones she’d send to first, second, third round and so on, and explained how the process would likely go¹. It is not a quick process: first she sends the pitch letter, then, if yes, the book proposal, then, if yes, the manuscript, then, if yes, some not-really-a-contract document I can’t remember the name of that does something gets sent to me by the publisher, then, if yes, a contract. Then editing starts with the publishing house’s editor, who hates chapter twelve, wants chapter three to have more scene, less narrative, and thinks the whole thing should be in third person. Or whatever.

At the end of our call Natasha gave me an assignment.

“When we hang up I want you to take a real pause to think about what you’ve accomplished, and celebrate the moment. Not everyone gets to where you are, not everyone does what you have done, and it’s very important that you sit with that and appreciate it with chocolate or wine or ice cream, or whatever makes you happy, and don’t let go of it for a little while.”

I would not have done so without her prompt, but I did indeed take that pause. I called the boys and thanked them for allowing me to tell our story. I thanked a couple of people who have supported me in this writing thing (“you helped a hack writer with not a single clue become a hack writer with many clues. So many clues! What the fuck do all these clues mean?!”). I thanked a friend who threw out the life saver when I was drowning and needed it most, and helped me get started. I had wine and chocolate and ice cream, because I will never understand people and their “either/or” nonsense.

I have been roiled and unsettled lately, feeling aimless and like I’m desperately late for some appointment I’ll never make. I’ve been having trouble buckling down and writing, and those two terms should never go together, really. One should write, and “buckling down” to do it is like resenting an itch that needs scratching. But there’s this feeling of insecurity and impending change, or doom. We are living in a country being destroyed with glee, living on a razor’s edge as the Trad Gorgons dance for their primordial gods, all gorging unfettered on everything fragile, precious, and rare.

Hard to focus with all that going on. Even harder to remember to take the time to appreciate good fortune and exciting moments.

So today begins the cascade of, “Thanks but no thanks,” which honestly lots of people never even get to hear. Weirdly, that makes this whole thing seem much realer, existing far beyond my own brain and computer. A song written that maybe, just maybe, someone will hear.

And that’s pretty cool.

1. She also talked about what a contract might entail, including film, TV and merch rights, so obviously I immediately demanded bobble head dolls of all characters be included in anything I sign.