The Other Side of the Pitch

What a Literary Agent Hears When an Author Pitches Their Book

A book editor walks into a hotel bar.

A writer recognizes the editor from a panel given earlier in the day.

Hi, the writer says. Can I pitch you my novel?

What you want to do, the editor says, is to find the right agent to represent your work. Then tell that agent to put me in their list, OK?

The writer is disappointed but hopefully hopeful. The editor enjoys a drink in peace.

This is the essence of conversations I had at writers conferences for twenty years. But last week I went to a conference not as a book editor but as a literary agent. And as my agent friends warned me, it’s really different to go to a conference as an agent. Because you’re there not just to network but to find authors. And maybe, if the stars align, to offer them representation.

Which led me to PitchFest.

If you’ve never participated in a pitch session, it’s precisely what it sounds like: speed dating for agents and writers. Agents sit at a table and writers line up to pitch their work. In this case—last week, at the annual gathering of suspense writers known as ThrillerFest—it was a three-hour session and each author was given three minutes to make their case. There were no breaks, but there were breath mints on the table, which was a very good idea for all involved! And there was also, just to make the writers as nervous as possible, an egg timer that I was instructed to re-set after each pitch. You can picture the moment of heartbreak, right?

This is the work of my life, I have toiled over this for decades, if you could just—

Ding!

The pitches I heard last week were impressive and the authors were prepared. Some were chatty and funny. Some were well rehearsed if a bit rigid. Some admitted their nervousness and read the pitch from a printed page. Any of which was fine with me.

What I thought about, though, is that it’s probably hard for authors to guess what I’m thinking about while they talk. What I’m listening for. Many of them mentioned advice they got from fellow writers beforehand—some of it useful, some of it beside the point, some of it contradictory—and they were clearly trying to use that advice in the moment. I was an actor in college and the most amateur of musicians in my early years in New York, so I love an audience. But most authors are introverts and pitching in person is particularly difficult for some. One author was so nervous while trying to type my email address into his phone, his hands shaking so violently, that he asked me to type it in for him.

So I’m writing this in the hopes that it demystifies the process a touch. I have no idea what other literary agents think about while they receive pitches. Maybe they solve grand mathematical theorems as they nod; maybe they wonder if they left the iron on. But to explain how it breaks down in my brain, here are six things I’m thinking about while you’re talking.

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Preliminaries: Do I want to connect with the author sitting across from me? I do! If we’re to work together, this will become a relationship—and if there’s an organic connection, it helps. If I ask where you’re from or what kind of last name you have or which college you went to, that’s why.

Place in the Market: What category does your work fit into? What does it compare to? Is it part of a trend, or is it bucking one? This information tells me two things. 1) It helps me figure out if your work is something I can optimistically pitch to publishers. 2) It tells me you’ve done your homework—and consequently, if your commercial expectations will be realistic. Authors shouldn’t obsess about categories the way publishing folk do—if you did, you’d never write anything that isn’t color-by-number—but you should know something about the market and where your project fits. So tell me the basics: category, at least a couple comparable titles, word count, and if you’ve been published before.

Promise: I want to know your project’s promise—its hook. What is the what if of your story that will captivate the reader right away? Picture you’re suggesting a new show to a friend. What you won’t tell your friend is the entire 8-episode structure of the first season. What you will tell your friend is the show’s hook, that wild, attention-grabbing what if that set the show’s plot in motion. Tell me that.

Plot: I want a sense of plot—but not much! I mean, does your story have a plot? That’s pretty much all I want to know. Just tell me it does and leave it at that. What I would rather not have is a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of the story. If you’re pitching an agent and you find yourself saying something like, So then, Janice leaves the room, but in the hallway she bumps into Travis—remember Travis, from chapter 3?—and then she… you’ve said too much.

Person: I want to know about the person behind the project. Why must you write this? And why are you the best person to write it? Is there something unique in your career that allows you to write in your chosen world with unparalleled authority? Is there something in your family history that inspired you to tell this specific story? Tell me!

Platform: The question of platform is dreaded, I know, but it’s not always what it seems. If you have a true platform (Oh, you host a popular podcast? Fantastic!), say so. If not, tell me your story. The story of why or how you write might be one an agent can use to intrigue editors—and an editor can use to engage publishers, publicists, sales directors. An author I worked with for many years got great publicity for the fact that, before being published, he was rejected 85 times. In other words, his failures—which seemed the opposite of a platform—fueled his success! Anyway, I love to hear something more than, Well, it seemed like an idea I could sell.

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If you can cover these points while emanating enthusiasm for your work, it might help. Good luck out there!