A year ago today I put myself through the emotional wringer and pitched my international thriller at ThrillerFest’s PitchFest.
It was New York City. The event packed people into hotel meeting rooms in cattle-chute like fashion. I had some interest, some requests for manuscripts. Since, they’ve either been declined or never heard from.
I’m pleased I did it. I learned from the experience, gained some real know-how, and met a few people. I’ve spent the last year correcting my many mistakes (I’m sure there are more) and pursuing an agent for my novel.
What I haven’t done is write much. I did some, but not nearly enough. For all the good the event did me, my writing confidence cratered. And confidence, even if it doesn’t look like much, is the main ingredient in writing a novel.
I took this whole year too hard, I admit. Hell, I still am. I never gave up. I just sent out queries last week, and this week re-wrote my query and synopsis. Those two things are the hardest, most uncertain, and most painful pieces to write.
Those are all the necessary transformations I have to make for myself. They’re stubborn things to learn, and take their toll. But they don’t get me down.
The only thing getting me down is writing the next one. I’ve got a start on a novel, and another idea sketched out. I’ve been writing a couple short stories lately. I needed to do something to show myself I could. It sounds like taking my medicine, but it sure tasted good.
I’ve got to get back into the hard routine of writing the next novel. With everything I’ve learned, it can only be a better book, and probably also an easier sell.