The 2nd-floor promenade was long and wide, decorated by browns that blended into each other. I knew I was in the right place because of the huge, curved screen partway down the long wall on the left. It displayed the teal-colored, sans-serif header of the Writer's Digest Conference, so similar to the graphics on their website. It was the brightest thing in the room and drew the eye.
At the registration table, I got into chitchat with the person in front of me in line. I'd get into similar talks with other authors throughout the weekend -- an exchange of names, where we came from and what we wrote and wishing good luck to each other. I signed in and got my name badge and a tote of goodies, including the latest issue of Writer's Digest (yay!) and a conference booklet.
I was so excited to be there. A previous year, I may have felt out of place. Not this time. This time, I'd paid for the trip with my own money. I'd made the plans. I'd had two months to prepare and look forward to this weekend. I was ready to be there, and I was going to enjoy every minute. (And I did.)
The first thing on the schedule was the Pitch Perfect session. It addressed the number-one thing on my mind and what was on mostly everyone else's minds, too. It was the only session scheduled for that time slot on that first day, and the room was packed with conference attendees.
I'd guess there were a thousand people there. I knew from the website that only 24 agents were here this weekend for Saturday's pitch slams. Having a thousand other authors here felt a little intimidating. Did it hurt my chances to get an agent this weekend? Maybe it wasn't actually 1,000. Maybe it was a few hundred — better odds.
The Pitch Perfect session answered a lot of questions about what to expect in tomorrow’s pitch slam. There was no competitive atmosphere here, not that I could detect, just friendliness and a lot of well wishes to everyone. That would continue throughout the weekend. I began to relax and enjoy myself for the rest of the day.
After the Pitch Perfect session, 55 hour-long seminars took place that weekend, with 5 seminars held at a time. Friday and Saturday ended with keynote speakers, and Sunday began with the third keynote speaker. The conference booklet had a schedule, 1-paragraph descriptions of each seminar, and a map of the hotel, making it easy to find each room. One seminar ended up being cancelled last-minute, but the electronic sign set up outside its scheduled room announced that clearly. There were 15-minute breaks between each time slot – enough time to walk down the long hallways, go to the restroom, and find my way to various rooms. Breakfast foods, tea and coffee were offered on Friday morning, set up on tables in the first corridor. Coffee and water were available throughout the weekend. Some of the water coolers had motion-sensor dispensers, which were tricky to operate.
I'd signed up ahead of time for seminars, but more had been added to the schedule since then, and I'd learned on Friday that one of my workshops had moved and was now in conflict with another session I wanted to attend. I heard a couple of attendees talking about what sessions they should attend, and I went to a few different ones, myself. No one stopped me, and I didn't seem to take away anyone's seat in any of the smaller conference rooms (I hope).
I went to four more workshops that Friday and more on Saturday and Sunday. Every session was led by a published author. Some authors had gone the traditional route involving an agent and/or publisher. Others had self-published. One session I attended was about pitching nonfiction articles to periodicals. Each workshop teacher had great advice and lots of advice about craft, pitches and the publishing industry.
I didn't expect so many members of the Writer's Digest editorial staff to be present, running the conference personally, running the registration/info table and bookstore, introducing speakers, facilitating Q&A panels, and making sure every single seminar in all the conference rooms ran on time. I wish I had thought to ask for their autographs! They even gave us a free copy of the magazine; it could have been possible!
It was so much fun being around writers again. I get bite-sized pieces of that in my writer's group at home, but nothing compares to spending several hours a day, several days in a row talking about craft. The last time I'd had that was in my graduate Creative Writing program, 10 years ago now.
I took so many notes that weekend my hand hurt by Saturday afternoon. I also took what amounted to hundreds of photos, capturing every slide of every presentation, for easy reference later on.
After Friday's keynote speaker, I ventured out to do some shopping. But that night, back in my hotel room, my anxiety flared up again. I spent time, yet again, going over my notes about the agents I wanted to pitch to. I reviewed, yet again, my pitch.
LEADING UP TO THE PITCH SLAM
On Saturday, my anxiety came back in full force and built as my pitch-slam slot approached at 11:30. I enjoyed the morning's sessions, but the pitch slam hovered in the back of my mind.
One session I attended was a Q&A panel with an agent. She wasn't participating in the pitch slam but, nonetheless, was very enthusiastic about answering our questions about pitches, publishing and the role that agents play. I was very glad I went. She answered questions I didn't even know I had. She was from the same agency as a couple of agents at the pitch slam. She mentioned one of her colleagues wasn't accepting my genre at the moment, which took care of my uncertainty over which of them I should pitch to. That was not the only helpful bit of advice I got from that session, either.
There were four pitch slam sessions. When I'd registered, there'd been only two options, which means they'd had to add two extra later on. The pitch slams took place simultaneously with seminars scheduled that day.
I knew from a helpful article by Julie Bogart (https://www.writersdigest.com/getting-published/how-i-landed-my-literary-agent-at-the-annual-writers-digest-conference-pitch-slam) what to expect. Writer's Digest had also published info about pitch slams (https://www.writersdigest.com/publishing-insights/how-to-prep-for-pitch-slam and https://writersdigestconference.com/pitch-slam/). The Pitch Perfect session at the conference had told me more about what to expect.
Each pitch slam was in the Rhinelander room. A long line had already formed down the carpeted hallway leading to the Rhinelander's closed door. I don't know why it struck me as strange to wait in line surrounded by all these people dressed in professional clothes, all waiting for the same exact thing. I wasn't anywhere close to the front of the line. I wasn't at the end of it, either. My anxiety built and built as I waited.
The agents had already been through one pitch-slam session already that day. They'd have to go through two more that afternoon. I didn't envy them for that.
THE PITCH SLAM
When the doors finally opened, the line wasted no time, and I was inside in moments. I'd received a map of the room over email, so I knew just where to go first. But I soon realized that the map didn't quite line up with reality, so I had to adjust a bit.
Around the edge of the room, each agent, editor or publisher sat alone at a table. Their names and what they represented were printed on pieces of paper taped to the walls behind them. Lines had already formed in front of every table. I found one of the agents on my list, but the line was already several people deep. I decided to come back to her later and found another agent I wanted to pitch to who had a shorter line. (It wouldn't stay short for long.)
I watched the only person in front of me talk to the agent. I was a bundle of nerves. I knew what I needed to say, but I wasn't ready. When they called that the current round had 30 seconds to go, I was startled; I'd had no idea 2 1/2 minutes had already passed as I'd waited. Before I knew it, I was sitting down at the table.
And then a manic spew of words just fell out of my mouth.
I introduced myself, mentioned my master's degree, mentioned I was Cajun, mentioned my novel's title, word count and genre. Those were all things I was supposed to say. Then I started in on my novel's backstory before getting to my main character and her conflict. All of this sounds good on paper, but the truth was, I was talking incredibly fast. I couldn't stop myself. It felt like I had so much I had to tell him, and I couldn't say it at a reasonable pace.
When they called out the 30-second warning, I was horrified to realize I was still talking, and I was nowhere near done.
They announced the three minutes was up, and I finally, FINALLY, stopped.
The poor guy. All he had time to say was, "I'm sorry, it's not what I'm looking for."
I smiled, said, "Okay, thank you," and got up in the same flurry in which I'd sat down.
I immediately walked over to the other line. It was a few people deep. I was so jumpy. As I waited for my chance to talk to the second agent, I was appalled at myself. I was embarrassed.
The woman in line in front of me turned around and started talking to me. She'd just done her first pitch and also felt like she'd bombed it. I started to process, aloud, what I was sure I'd done wrong. I was already formulating a plan about what to do differently. I took several deep breaths. I knew I needed to be calmer and speak slower. She asked if I wanted to practice my pitch on her, and I balked at the idea of having to say it one extra time than I needed to. I asked her if she wanted the chance, and she said yes, she did. It was nice hearing her pitch. She writes YA scifi, as it turned out (I write YA fantasy). All I remember from her pitch was that an alien lands in front of a teenager named Frannie, which made me laugh. I loved the name and told her so.
Her turn came, and I tuned out most of it, but I caught the bit at the end when the agent asked her to send her pages. Delighted, I gave her a thumbs up as she passed me. And then I sat down.
I’d calmed me down significantly. I spoke at a more human pace. I introduced myself, mentioned the master's degree, the title, the genre, my word count—all the things I was supposed to lead with. Then I deviated from the first time: I started with my protagonist and her conflict, then dived into a little less exposition than the first time.
She said it sounded interesting and asked me to send her pages!
I saw the other author again in another line, and we happily talked about our better luck with the second agent. I spoke to three more agents in that hour, sticking to the pitch I'd used the second time. Each one asked me to send them pages! Eeeee!!!!!
Near the end of the hour, there were still a couple of agents I wanted to speak to. The last people in those lines had been given a "Last in Line" flier, meaning I'd missed my chance to join those lines. I knew from Friday's Pitch Perfect session that it was okay to contact the people I'd missed a chance to speak to, which was better than nothing. I talked to another author. We'd both spoken to all the agents we could.
AFTER THE PITCH
After that was lunch. I used that time to decompress and wander around the area outside the hotel. I was exhausted. Like Carla Hoch talked about in her "Writing a Fight" session on Friday, I'd built up a huge amount of adrenaline for my "fight" at the query pitch, and now that it was over, it was rushing out of me, leaving me ready for a nap.
I wanted to send the pages to the agents immediately. I also very much did not want to do that so soon. I knew I was too wired and tired.
The afternoon had more seminars. I got back to enjoying discussions about craft and other things, but I still wanted to sleep. I continued to feel that way until I was waiting for Saturday night's keynote speaker, Marlon James. I propped my head on my hand, eyes closed. An attendee sitting near me asked how I was doing, and I admitted I was tired cause of the rush of adrenaline leaving me post-pitch slam. He commiserated, since it was such a personal thing for both of us. He admitted to being a salesman but having trouble pitching his novel because it was so personal. But he had no trouble talking to me. He was charismatic, and I found I didn't mind at all that his book was apparently a true crime memoir about being a 1 percenter who committed fraud and went to prison for 10 years for it. He'd been out of prison for 59 days, which took me aback -- what a small amount of time! Apparently, he'd been looking forward to hearing Marlon James speak at this conference. He'd had an issue of Writer's Digest with James on the cover on his bunk in prison, and it had been a great facilitator for good relationships with black inmates.
After Saturday's keynote, I stayed long enough to eat some food and make some small talk at the cocktail party. Then I went out, wanting to get out and decompress a bit more from the events of the day. I wanted to enjoy my visit to New York, too, not just my visit to the conference.
Sunday started off with the last keynote from Tiffany Jackson and was followed by two workshop time slots.
I stopped by the bookstore table and snagged a dystopian at the same time the author had come by to collect unsold copies! I got her autograph and made small talk with her. (I didn't remember until later that one of the books I'd bought on Friday was one of hers, too!)
I left the Hilton that afternoon satisfied by such a fulfilling conference. It was a great three days. It didn't really feel like it was over, not with homework (emails to agents), photos and notes to sort through (for my own use and for social media), and my creativity sparked in new ways. It was an expensive venture to come to New York for this conference, but it was worth every moment. If I can afford it, I hope to come again.
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