After 500 days in quarantine, I have something scheduled to do today. I was supposed to attend a writer’s conference, but since COVID-19 is on spring break in our area, it is now a virtual event. Last year when I attended, my manuscript was only a fourth of the way complete, but I pitched it anyway. Pretty bold on my end, but I am quirky that way. Plus, I had no idea what I was doing. Anyway, it was well-received. Six months later, I sent the first fifty pages to one of the agents, and while she ultimately didn’t pursue it further, she wrote an extensive email on all of my strengths and some suggestions for improvement. Literary agents don’t usually take the time to do that, so I was grateful for her input. And, as it was pointed out to me by someone in the industry, literary agents will only send an critique, if they see a promising writer. That fueled my fire. Fast forward another six months, and I am five days away from sending my manuscript to my editor (she has been amazing and so supportive), for, cross your fingers, the final edit.
Today, I will virtually pitch to three agents. Am I nervous? Sort of. I mean, I am kind of like a car salesperson. Not a sleazy one, but maybe one of those at an upscale dealership where they sell Jaguars. Trying to get someone to invest their time in selling my book to a publisher is all about the delivery. Being my true self is imperative, and my book really has my personality written, (pun intended), all over it. But here is the deal, no matter what happens, I am proud of myself. This was a commitment that I never thought I would fulfill. Whether it is published by going the traditional route or self-publishing, this book will reach the masses. But, for now, I will stay in the day and see what unfolds.
I am wearing my “Write On” T-shirt hoping that it brings me luck. With the heaviness weighing us down, I am grateful for a little light in my corner of the world.