Notes from the Conference

Some of you have asked about my experience at the writer’s conference in San Diego this past weekend (and thanks for that interest and support, by the way), so here it is. Even though it cost me a pretty penny to go and I had a pounding headache for two solid days from information and sensory overload, typical for me whenever I am around large groups of people for long periods of time, it was totally worth it. To summarize, I learned some very valuable information from the workshops, I got to meet some really interesting people, and I have an editor and agent who are interested in reading my work.

To break things down into more detail, the conference felt a little bit like an episode of The Bachelor. I have only ever watched about twenty minutes of that show, but it’s what came to mind during the first night’s reception, where all of us were holding drinks and mingling. The editors and agents, all bearing a special red label on their nametags, were the eligible bachelors, and all of us hopeful writers were the breathless women clustered around them, batting our eyelashes and thrusting out our chests in hopes of being noticed. Beneath the surface smiles and bright laughter was the nervous edge of desperate longing—“please, oh please, make my dream come true!” One of the agents I had an appointment with the next day sat next to me at the table where I was seated and we had a nice chat (along with the rest of the table) overall, the fly-in-the-ointment being that I found out my manuscript is significantly longer than the typical Young Adult manuscript. By about 15,000 words. Uh oh.

The next morning, I went to a workshop about Perfecting Your Pitch, which I thought was appropriate given that I had my first appointment with an editor scheduled almost immediately. The woman running this workshop kicked things off by pointing at random people and demanding, “Give me your pitch.” Um, aren’t we here to learn how to do that? So, of course, about the third person she pointed at, despite my attempts to avoid eye contact and become indistinguishable from my chair, was me. I stammered and hemmed a bit as all of the oxygen sucked out of my body and finally managed to mutter a couple of flat sentences. “Huh,” was her clearly disappointed response, so naturally I felt terrible, especially as the next person she pointed at gave such an engaging and sparkling pitch that the leader threw back her head in joyful laughter and got us all to applaud. Five minutes after that, I had to leave for my first appointment.

The appointments are 10-minute sessions with editors and agents that you request (and pay for) in advance. You can also submit the first ten pages of your manuscript for one appointment in advance, and fortunately for me and my terrible pitching skills, the advance-reading came first for me. I gathered to the side of the entrance with a bunch of other nervous writers until the staff member ushered the prior group out. She then led us into a room set up with numbered tables, and we all scrambled to find our editor/agent. Apparently, we had gone from an episode of The Bachelor to a type of literary speed-dating, complete with ringing bells to warn us when our time was up. As soon as I sat down and we got past introductions, the editor across from me whipped out my pages and began talking at hyper speed. When I could finally get myself to focus, I realized that she was saying really nice things about my manuscript. She “loved” (true quote) the opening pages and my writing, was very interested in the story, and asked me all kinds of questions about where it was going, which I found myself answering surprisingly easily. I guess knowing from the start that she liked it helped me not keel over and die. That, and I was so shocked at how closely what she was saying matched what I had fantasized she would say (but didn’t expect—hence the “fantasy” bit) that I was jolted out of my nervousness. By the time the bell was ringing, she had written her e-mail address across the top page and told me to send her the entire manuscript, reassuring me that even though her company wasn’t currently acquiring YA works, she was excited to read the rest and knew a number of good agents who would be interested in my work that she could pass it along to. The word count didn’t even phase her. I walked out dizzy with jubilation.

More workshops, and then I had my afternoon appointment with the agent who had told me my manuscript was too long. This was the time for some hard-core pitching since she hadn’t read any of it and didn’t know anything about it (other than it was too long) or about my writing ability. As I began to speak, I felt a wave of heat travel up my neck, through my face, and lodge as a pulsating fire in my left ear. So while I was talking, I was also thinking, “Oh my gosh! My ear is killing me! Can she see that it’s super red??” I wish there were a way to turn off the “stupid thoughts” part of my brain, but unfortunately that occupies such a large space that all thought would probably collapse if the stupid parts were removed. At any rate, her enthusiasm was more in check than the editor’s (all she had was my verbal summary and red ear to go on), but she was still very interested and asked me to send her the first three chapters—after I had cut it down as much as possible first.

In an industry where agents get 300 query letters a week and end up requesting chapters and/or full manuscripts from only a tiny fraction of that number, the interest and willingness of the editor and agent to read my manuscript (or at least part of it) is definitely exciting and significant. It’s a foot in the door that I would have had a much harder time getting into had I not attended this conference and met with them face to face. At the same time, to extend this whole dating metaphor, all I’ve gotten at this point is the promise of a first date (full dinner with the editor, and drinks with the agent if I can lose some weight first). There is no guarantee that I’ll get a call after that, no matter how nicely they say goodnight. Out of those approximately 15,600 query letters the agents get per year, they typically only end up representing about 10-11 works. Those are sobering numbers.

But knowing that I have somewhere to send my work has lit a fire in (or under) me, and I am now working like a maniac to put the new editing skills I learned in the workshops to good use in polishing my novel and removing all the “rookie” mistakes (like the overuse of adverbs) that skilled agents and editors can spot in a second. Hopefully, I’ll be able to send something to the editor by the end of the month. Wish me luck…