Gambol of Words

I hate the salesmanship of writing. I mean, I get the necessity, I just wish somebody else did the work. You know, a designated pitcher.

"Step right up! Come, marvel at Rob and his magical Morlocks!"

I left sales to create worlds—not create sales. Selling a TV to Ray Parker Jr., that's just a bit-o-stress in a day's work; selling two-years of my soul to an agent? That's an emotional twerk in a rejection minefield. I'm begging experts to love Steamtopia based on thirty seconds of verbal illusion.

It's more than Steamtopia Rising, I'm risking that they'll love me! I'm one junior high dance floor away from getting published.

"Here dear agent, would you care to twirl an ungainly tangle-tango with 125,000 of my favorite words? No? That's okay, it didn't work with a seventh-grade Gina Robbins either. sigh..."

Obviously, like junior high, I need to start with confidence. Time for big boy panties. I wore them to my first dance, I can wear them now. This time,  I'll put them on, one leg-hole at a time, and  inside my pants.


The other thing that makes this tough is translating the pitch from written to verbal. It's common practice to open a letter with, "Steamtopia Rising is a 125,000 word YA alternate history, fantasy novel. As Harry Potter introduced the wizarding world to muggles, Steamtopia Rising introduces steampunk Morlocks to ELOI." Try leading a conversation with those words. They'll only confuse, and Gina Robbins still won't want to dance.

So that's where I am this week: perfecting the conversational query. Working words of character and charm, so that next Saturday I'm my Friday-night best.

"Would you like to dance?"