America's Next...

In November 2018—four very long years ago—I attended the Kauai Writers Conference. As part of the activities on offer, I signed up to participate in a Pitchapalooza hosted by The Book Doctors, a couple of married publishing gurus who literally wrote the book on how to get a book deal. Arielle Eckstut is a former agent and entrepreneur; she has a nurturing yet firm manner, much like a kindergarten teacher or school librarian. David Henry Sterry is an author and performer; his energy is that of wacky impresario. What both of them possess is the uncanny ability to listen to writers blurt out ideas for books of virtually any genre, then distill that information down into stronger, more coherent, hook-laden pitches. Plus, they know great pitches when they hear them and aren’t shy about helping worthy would-be authors pursue their dreams of publication via referrals to well-connected publishing industry folk.

At the time, I had a janky first draft of a chick lit novel and was using NaNoWriMo to shore up and spit-polish it. I also had an elevator pitch people seemed to respond favorably to:

DIRTY is the story of two thirty-something women living in San Francisco who lose their dot-com jobs when the tech bubble bursts in 2001. Nora is a buttoned-up, straight-laced Stanford MBA, who is engaged in a tame relationship with Scott, a shifty venture capitalist. Katie is a flirty yet feminist bohemian artist, who prizes people over product. The ladies decide to leverage their internet experience and severance to start a softcore porn website for women called YourFantasyMan.com, featuring men in various stages of undress doing household chores. When the successful enterprise—and Katie’s heart—are targeted for takeover by Balthasar, a local strip club owner, the ladies must take a page out of each other’s professional and personal playbooks in order to survive and thrive. DIRTY is Sense & Sensibility set in the porn industry.

 So when I learned what the Pitchapalooza entailed—essentially standing up at a microphone in front of a panel of critical judges and a roomful of competitive strangers to recite that previous paragraph in 60 seconds or less—I went for it. Now, I’m no actress. I’m what’s known as an extroverted introvert on the Myers-Briggs scale, which means I can behave in an outgoing fashion under select circumstances, but I’ll need mucho time alone to recover my equilibrium after that kind of social exertion. And while I was calling my novel “mostly done,” I had doubts it was ready for primetime. But I figured nothing ventured, nothing gained. I practiced my memorization and inflections the night before. I lined up at 9 AM. And, when it was my turn, I delivered DIRTY to Arielle, David, and agent Andy Ross…and knocked it out of the park. I freaking WON!

The minutes immediately following the announcement were a blur: I received many congratulations from fellow participants. Andy asked me to send him 20 pages. And David gave me his card along with instructions for sending The Book Doctors my novel so they could introduce me to an agent or editor, asking me, “The book’s done, yeah?” For some reason, despite knowing in my heart of hearts, despite hearing my Muse whispering warnings in my ear, despite not even believing I could wrap a necessary substantive polish within the next few weeks thereby circumventing the potential loss of an incalculably valuable opportunity, I told him yes. I didn’t quite lie, but I wasn’t 100% truthful, either. Sigh.

I then flew home to the Bay Area from Hawaii and set that manuscript aside for a solid three years. I mean, I pumped out a dozen half-hearted query letters. I got a “not for me” email from Andy Ross, form rejections from five other agents, three cones of silence, and one partial plus two full requests. Those are actually pretty decent stats. But I knew DIRTY required some concentrated love if I weren’t simply to shelve it and stop wasting people’s time.

I took a developmental editing course in Summer 2022 through Stanford Continuing Studies, which offered four weeks of instruction on and editing of synopses and opening pages by the biting and brilliant Shirin Yim Leos. I found three more beta readers amongst my classmates. I used a four-day Lit Camp retreat in Bell Valley to flesh out (forgive the pun; it’s semi-intentional) several sections that were screaming for elaboration and to line edit the rest. I have my book coach, Ammi Keller, lined up to read the whole shebang by the end of this year.

But let me hitch back a bit, to tell you how I felt when Arielle called my name in Kauai. I felt powerful in an almost masculine measure. I felt as if what I’d known since the age of four to be my birthright—to be called a writer—was finally within the grasp of fingers misshapen by decades of scribbling and scratching, false starts and falser finishes. I grinned—a lot. I was perhaps a touch high on a speedball composed of adrenaline and arrogance. I felt feverish…or maybe that was the tropical humidity? And I was positive I was on my way; this was my Big Break.

I’d love nothing more than to fast-forward through the next three years, past the Impostor Syndrome, the grinding self-doubt, the burnout of an insane day job, and the ever-present sensation I was squandering my good fortune. By not contacting The Book Doctors, I’d blown my best chance at getting DIRTY in front of the eyeballs it deserved. Not only would this book gather dust bunnies in a cardboard box beneath my bed, but my writing career was obviously doomed. No one gets this kind of chance twice, right?

Wrong.

When I heard about the America’s Next Great Author reality TV show, I initially died a little inside. That the program was the brainchild of The Book Doctors brought the failure to exploit my previous success at the Hawaii Pitchapalooza event into the present. I knew I couldn’t resurrect DIRTY for this competition; it is well past the pitch stage and sauntering toward Query Hell. I was instead pecking away at a literary novel with a strong moral center and some pretty hateful characters—not exactly fodder for The New York Times Bestseller List in its current incarnation. Truth be told, I was struggling to bring that story to the page. But I did have this decade-old idea for a thriller that might have mass appeal. Maybe it could capture the collective imagination, if only I could find my way into the troubled protagonist’s voice?

Well, I decided to fiddle with it and throw together an application package for ANGA about a week before it was due: 150-word author bio. 250-word written pitch. First ten pages of the manuscript. 75-second video pitch. I hit upon the idea of recording that clip in first-person, in character, as it were.

Here’s the transcript:

I’m not going to lie to you. Not yet, anyway. My name is Claire Clement, and I’m a bipolar, bisexual Gemini. So I’m well aware there are two sides to every story. Here’s what you need to know about mine:

Two days ago, I was released from my latest stint on the ward at San Francisco General.

One day ago, I was waiting to see my shrink when another patient flipped out, telling me not to take the silver pills. And damn if Nurse Ratched didn’t force a shiny capsule down my throat.

Today, I woke up feeling rested and composed. Then the rumors in group therapy started. Richard died. Mae committed suicide. Bethany seized outside the conference room.

It’s turning into One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest meets And Then There Were None.

I need to figure out what all of us have in common. To find out what the silver pills have to do with our symptoms. And do it before I break down again…maybe for the last time.

And ultimately, it clicked—for me and apparently for the judges, since I was selected as a Semi-Finalist for ANGA!

Me and David Henry Sterry of The Book Doctors and America’s Next Great Author

I’ve just returned from a whirlwind journey to Newark, New Jersey, to take part in the taping of a special Pitchapalooza that will be edited into several sizzle reels. The idea is to use a cross-section of pitches and the judges’ reactions to demonstrate how much potential the concept of an American Idol for writers holds. It was 48 fast hours of meeting other creative souls, bonding over late-night practice runs and strong cocktails, sitting in a grand hall at the Newark Public Library surrounded by rolling cameras and hot mics, and cheering for our new BFFs as they slung their words to the rafters. It was edifying and emotional. It will make for compelling television.

Newark Public Library on shoot day

And I loved every minute of the experience, despite not being selected to deliver my pitch for this episode. It was worth the time, effort, and cash layout just to have had the forcing function of getting my thoughts composed enough to submit the requisite materials. This, in turn, helped me convert multiple non-viable attempts to write COMPLIANCE into an actionable plan, one I am undertaking for National Novel Writing Month 2022.

Thus, my mission (which I’ve chosen to accept) is, between shenanigans at work, health checks, too-long deferred home maintenance issues, and Thanksgiving travel to write 50,000 words in 30 days. I’m inspired and motivated to the point where I’m canceling appointments and foregoing sleep so I can have a first draft done by December 1st. I know it won’t be perfect—far from it. But it will be a step in the right direction. It will give me something to revise, to build off…and to pitch when America’s Next Great Author opens for series auditions, as I am sure it will.

Stay tuned!