As some of you know, I recently finished a novel and had the amazing opportunity to pitch it to a New York Editor at a recent writing conference—wonderful lady whose name I won’t divulge. The meeting went something like this:
I make my way to unknown editor’s table with a big frozen smile—not all squinted eyes and gums, but big.
“Hello, I’m Cassandra,” I say, extending my hand out to said Editor. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”
By looking forward to meeting her, I mean, I have been sick to my stomach for weeks.
Editor shakes my hand, and smiling reassuringly, says, “It’s very nice to meet you. It’s always fun to put a face with the work after imagining what the writer might look like.”
I’m not sure what she’s expecting me to look like, perhaps the gothic chick from Mean Girls? I push this thought to the far reaches of my mind and sit down.
“I read your manuscript,” Editor says, placing it on the table between us.
Side note: At this point, I feel like I’m standing under a flower covered alter at the ocean’s edge. A cool island breeze whips through my hair, ruffling the silky train of my one of a kind Vera Wang gown. The tropical scent of hibiscus fills my nose. Holding both my hands in his, the Bachelor stares deeply into my eyes. A single rose rest on a pedestal next to us. This is it—the moment of truth. Butterflies flutter inside my stomach. I tremble slightly as I await his decision. Will it be me, or the girl in the other limo?
“First of all,” Editor continues, “I found it very easy to get into your story.”
Yes, yes, do go on.
“It was very interesting. You set it up nicely. You have humor, sarcasm—nicely done”
OMG! Is it possible? Could she really like it?
“You do a good job of writing in first person. Your voice is strong, and your character’s are believable.” She pauses and smiles. “I think your book is sellable.”
Sellable? Did she just say sellable? She does like it! The excitement of this possibility claws its way up my throat. Mentally, I am already dragging my suit case out of the attic and bouncing it down the stairs. Where am I going, you ask? New York City, of course.
“However,” Editor says.
No, no. No “However.” Rewind. Go back. Remember my voice, my believable characters, and my humor? OK, just breathe. A little constructive criticism never killed anyone.
“There are a few things I feel need a little massaging.”
And out comes the beautiful girl in the other limo. For those of you who don’t know, massaging is a nice word for rewrite or change, and few, rarely means three. As you might guess, “Massage” no longer represents the same thing for me. However (not a fan of this word either), the conference was great. I met a lot of people and made a lot of connections. Now if you will excuse me, I’m off to rubdown my manuscript.