This is a long post. Grab your favorite beverage, put your feet up, and settle in…

I came to the conclusion that most writers who were pitching agents thought of their appointment as though they were speed dating the entire Spanish Inquisition. After all, we believe that agents sit in judgment upon us, poke us with sharp questions, and ultimately condemn us to a fate worse than Hell – rejection. All they need are those nifty pointy hats. Somebody call the Monty Python Props Department.

This year though, I reached an epiphany – the insight kind, not the Spanish Inquisition kind. I wouldn’t want their job. It’s dang tough when you think about it. Look at it from their point of view. They have to winnow countless pitches for the one kernel they can nurture into something sellable. And, if the actual, living, breathing, author can’t articulate the essence of their beloved work of literary art, how can they?

I’ve pitched agents since my first conference back in 2002, but this was the first year that I made myself truly think like an agent. God, that’s frightening when I see it in Times Roman. But seriously writers, what makes your particular work different and strong enough to merit the kind of labor agents have to do to get things published? “Aye, there’s the rub,” said the sailor searching for some Ben Gay. Once I did that, my pitch became focused and simple. Yes, simple. Hook, vital statistics, and why I’m the person for the job. Voop. Simple. And scary.

Simple contradicts our basic nature. We writers want to spill our metaphorical guts to the agent. We want control for all ten minutes lest we leave out the back story to some schmuck we kill off on page 27. A few minutes worth of pitch seems inadequate. But it is. It’s actually much more time than a reader takes to decide to buy a book. So, what’s the rest of the time for? Conversation - that give and take among human beings that lets us get to know one another. It gives you, and the agent time to ask questions about you, your work and your aspirations – not just about this book, but the next and the next and the next. After all, this is two people deciding if they can work together.

With that in mind, I got appointments with three agents who represented Speculative Fiction/thrillers and went before the Inquisition.

I met with Colleen Lindsay of Fineprint first , a fellow geek who worked with LucasArts (among others) when she was on the marketing side of things literary. How did I find this out? Conversation. I wove my pitch for The Gospel of Matthias Kent into our talk. She posed a few questions for me along the way. Before you know it, my 10 minute appointment went 25 minutes. Needless to say, we each had a good vibe about the other and she invited me to submit a sampling. Victory. Well, at least in the sense that I made it to Round 2. Now, my characters & story have to get me to Round 3 - Manuscript Submission.

My second appointment stayed closer to the classic form, 10 minutes end-to-end with Becca Stumpf, a savvy and personable agent from Prospect. I delivered my spiel and we spent the rest of the time talking about possible markets. Good. Productive. Promising. Victory. Pages to be submitted. On to Round 2.

My third appointment with Lucienne Diver lasted less than 4 minutes. Deservedly so. I sputtered out my pitch and basically floundered. To be honest, she should have dismissed me in under a minute. But, being the professional she is, Ms. Diver offered up the names of other agents who might be interested in my novel. Loss? Nope. Victory. Why? Because I have new leads to pursue. In spite of my delivery flaming out on takeoff, my pitch worked well enough to garner interest to a few more agents.

The epiphany I reached also insulated me from the perception of rejection. You see, Ms. Diver didn’t reject me, or my idea, personally. She thought of what she can sell and recognized that my book wasn’t a good fit. Business, plain and simple. And that, fellow writers is the key - business.

As a part of that business, I emailed my submission materials out to Colleen Lindsay and Becca Stumpf within the hour they made their request. And yes, that’s some of that epiphany, too. I wanted to demonstrate that my work was complete and ready for review now. It meant that they can trust my professionalism should they like my sample and want to see the manuscript.

So, now the waiting game begins – that uneasy time between query and response. Waiting is something I admit I’m not good at, but it’s the way it is. Until then, I’ll be doing the best part of the writing business – writing.

Hmmm, maybe I should do something on the Spanish Inquisition…