Here Comes the Pitch…

As the story goes, my sophomore history teacher, Mr. Chamberlin, singled out my mother and father on parent’s night to announce that I was, “an exceptional writer,” and “should be encouraged to write more.”

This was news to them. This was breaking news to me. Up to that point in my life, I’d only considered writing a skill employed periodically to complete school assignments. In 1987, writing was no more on my radar than death, taxes, or choosing a career that would result in a bland, even monochromatic, existence. I literally thought nothing of it [writing].

Then I met a girl. Then I had a smoldering summer romance. Then we both departed for colleges separated by three states. Back then, a long-distance call was a quarter per minute. Calling each other was a weekly (at best) prospect. Hence, I embarked on an epistolary campaign to keep her. Ultimately it failed. But it produced some of the most motivated writing of my early lifetime.

Amicably, we chose to set sail in opposite directions after a Valentine’s Day blow up. It was a minor miracle we lasted that long after the previous summer’s fireworks. Eventually, we both graduated, got jobs, bought houses, got married, I had kids (she didn’t), and lived our lives obliviously for nearly two decades on opposite ends of the country.

Today, we’re happily married (to each other). She kept those old desperate letters I mailed her a lifetime ago. I hung on to hers. But that’s a story for a different day. The point is, love made me do it all: writing hard, losing her, finding her again, rediscovering writing, becoming a writer, writing a novel, writing another novel, etc. It’s the cliché of clichés, but I did it all for love.

That’s not what this little rant is all about, however. Writing is a dubious craft and being a writer is an overly romantic notion. It just sounds cool to say, “Yea, I’m a writer.” It carries a certain gravitas for those on the outside. But if you’re on the inside, you know how tenuous the situation can be, you know how unstable the ground can feel, you know how daunting it is to lay bare your soul for others to critique, belittle, and mock. I doubt there is a group of artists as self-aware, self-conscious, and self-defeating as writers.

50% of Americans want to write a novel. 15% actually start it. 6% make it halfway though. No one seems to have stats on fate of those six-percenters, but if 1% cross the finish line I’d be floored. Assuming 1% though, and doing the math, that works out to ~1,500 people who wanted to write a novel and actually finished it. I’m one of those 1,500. And trust me, I was giddy to hack my way into the elite club. But that’s only half the battle.

You see, landing a literary agent to pitch your book is a slog of a different color.

In her seminal guide for would be writers, Bird by Bird, Annie Lamott paints an excruciatingly realistic picture of the publishing world. Her ultimate advice is to write for the sheer joy of it. Don’t worry about the business end. Because even if you ascend to the pantheon of the published, you’re guaranteed neither wine nor roses—headache and heartbreak are more like it. I highly recommend her book if you write or have any aspirations to walk among the published. Her cautionary tales are essential.

Despite her advice, I still crave publication.

I set out to write my first novel in 2015. In 2016, I caught wind of an online writing contest. It was sponsored by a magazine and the best-selling romance writer Lauren Blakley. The thing that struck me more than the contest itself was that a romance writer named Lauren Blakley existed. Obviously my name is Blake. That girl who co-starred in that hot summer romance, that girl who ultimately became my wife, that girl’s name is Lauren. Learning of this contest when I did seemed like some message from the universe.

There were a few problems, however. First, I discovered the contest 10 days before a 20-30K word manuscript was due. Next, it had to be a romance with a happy ending. Finally, the main character had to be a strong heroine. The book I was writing at the time was literary fiction about the struggles between fathers and sons. I was writing on the opposite end of the literary spectrum. But I figured I had to enter this contest. If for no other reason than to prove I could write from a feminine perspective.

The good news was that after ten days of relentless writing, I had amassed 22K words. The bad news was that my story was just getting started. I’d shifted myself into the lead female character. I explored my feminine side for her sake, for the readers’ sake. I’d crafted a cast of compelling characters doing interesting things. And every night when I sat down to further explore the alternate universe I’d created, I discovered more and more of it. Over the course of the subsequent two years I wrote 130K words. I had a fully formed novel that stood on its own but begged for a sequel.

The test readers, including my wife, confirmed what I’d believed all along: I’d written an actual novel that others might actually enjoy reading. I figured I’d arrived. I figured it would just be a matter of time until I’d have an editor and publisher. That was 2019. It’s now 2024. It’s not published. In the interim, I even finished that other novel—the one about fathers and sons.

When I began to research finding a publisher, I quickly learned that is not how it was done. You first need to get a literary agent to represent you. Most publishers no longer accept at-large manuscripts. Instead, they get all of their submissions directly from agents.

So, I needed an agent. I began to research that process. Needless to say, it’s not straightforward. After a lot of fumbling through Google search results, firing off what I thought were book pitches, and getting no response whatsoever, I decided I needed to learn more. I enrolled in one of the numerous online courses that promises, “You too can get a book deal!” This particular one was Kathy Ver Eecke’s Get a Book Deal 101 course.

The class was a week long with a 2-3 hour webinar each day on a different topic. She covered topics like: how to write a bio, how to format a query letter, and how to find agents to pitch. I did feel much more knowledgeable about the world of literary agents and publishers after completing her course. I felt equipped to make much better pitches to agents. I remember sending off my first pitch a week after her course. I had the highest of hopes.

That pitch was declined, as were the subsequent 25. Yesterday, I received declines #27, #28, and #29. The last was particularly enjoyable, as I had only submitted the pitch via QueryTracker just two hours prior. I guess getting shot down in a couple hours is better than no response at all. You see, just like all the other arts, writing (for publication) is ultimately a business. And if the music industry is any indication, it rarely goes the artist’s way.

As I researched more about the current state of literature and publishing, I began to see the roadblocks more clearly. You can research on your own to get the full picture, but let me boil it down—today would be a perfect time to be a twentysomething minority female in her 20s who specializes in writing YA fantasy novels with strong LGBTQ+ characters. Having an unnaturally bright hair color, or at least highlights, is a plus. Don’t believe me? Swing out to a few literary agency sites and read through the “What I’m Looking For…” sections of the various agent pages.

I don’t want to sound like a disgruntled boomer—I’m actually a disgruntled GenXer—but I don’t think there is any room at the literary table for middle-aged white guys. The irony is not lost on me. The irony of me pointing out the irony is also not lost on me.

Then in the meantime, the whole AI debacle was unleashed…

So I’m back at the beginning of my writing odyssey. I’ve technically finished three books. I have to finish editing the most recent. And I still have no agent. The next novel I want to tackle is the story of how my wife and I found each other 17 years after a shattering summer fling. That one will literally be a labor of love. And I’ll likely be writing it only for the love of storytelling. Even if the only one to ever read the story is me.

“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won’t really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we’ll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won’t wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

I’ve stopped worrying about landing a literary agent. It’s not likely to happen in this social climate, considering the stories I want to tell, with the decades I’m carrying, on this go-round. But I’m lucky enough to be that kind of person who revels in building sand castles with words. And I guess if I’m lucky enough to be that kind of person, I’m lucky enough.

—
Blake Charles Donley