The excitement around Pitch Wars has been bubbling, and I’ve been helping out with #menteeshelpingmentees. It’s strange (and wonderful) to be in a position to help, which is what I like doing best when I’m not writing fiction. All of it has me thinking, though.
So many people see Pitch Wars as a direct path to getting an agent. From personal experience, I can tell everyone this isn’t necessarily the case. I’m proof of that: I had plenty of requests in the agent round, but I’m still unagented. I haven’t given up hope, but the truth of my particular situation seems to be pointing to the big sign that says yes, you can write, you can tell a good story, but that one you had in Pitch Wars might not be the right one.
I’ve shelved manuscripts before. It’s never something I take lightly, and I’m not ready to give up on my Pitch Wars manuscript yet either. I still have fulls and partials out there and I would never pull it when it’s under consideration. But I have reached a very important milestone in my quest for representation.
I’m at that Zen point where getting rejections doesn’t bother me. I don’t take them personally. I sit here with serene confidence in myself and my writing abilities, and know that if I’m persistent enough and keep writing, I will write the manuscript that’s picked up. It might not be this one, and that’s okay.
This sounds like a lie I tell myself, but it’s not. Getting to this point has been a hard-fought battle, with plenty of frustration and tears and anger and disappointment thrusting up like spikes right into the soles of my writing boots all along the way. But every battle has its tipping point, and success can be described in many different ways. Getting to the point where I can shrug off a rejection from someone I queried six or eight months ago hasn’t been easy…but I’m there now. It’s a relief.
Of course I want to hear back from the agents who’ve requested pages. Of course there’s still a tiny tinge of disappointment. But I’m wearing my big-girl pants now, and understand this is only business. Despite the reminders of how subjective a business this is and the reassurances that the right agent will love my work, it’s still a business. Rejection is nothing personal. It’s a hiring decision, and so far my fun breezy behind-the-scenes rock & roll romance hasn’t applied for the right job.
In the meantime, I’ve written another book which is off being edited, and yesterday I started on a brand new one. That brings me to the second half of this post: why rock & roll?
I never set out to brand myself as a rock-&-roll-romance writer. The market is glutted with stories about hot tattooed bad-boy rock stars wishing for simpler quieter times with the shy but humble girl of their dreams.
I don’t write those.
Confession time, here’s what I’ve got: I used to roadie. I was lucky enough to see bits and pieces of this big beautiful industry from the inside out instead of the outside in. Did I go on the road with the Rolling Stones or anything like that? Hell no, ma’am or sir, but I worked with a variety of musicians in a variety of places, and did time with smaller bands. I worked everything from sound board to lighting console. I loaded and unloaded equipment. I climbed into cherry pickers to play with gels and lights. I stood security outside dressing rooms, kept fans from breaking into the backstage areas, cleared the front of house before and after shows… almost anything you can imagine. Met many famous people. Met many less famous people. I can’t say I never met a rock star I didn’t like, but I can say I never met a roadie who wasn’t secretly cool as f*ck.
The stories I write are the ones that take place behind the scenes. Honestly, how many people want to read a fictional version of a rock concert going smoothly? See, I didn’t think so. The small insights I had into life backstage were fascinating, though, and while I can’t write about rock & roll road life without everyone’s favorite tattooed super-rich bad boy rock star dreaming of simpler times (well, yes I can), I can focus on what makes all the people associated with this life into who they are. Focus on their drive, their passion, their skill, their abilities, and how it all blends together to make unique and unforgettable experiences once the lights go on and the show starts.
And as a bonus, I know just how much equipment and how many people can be crammed into an aging Ford Econoline van. (Note I didn’t say “safely.”)
That part of my life might be in the past, but my passion for it hasn’t diminished in the least. This is why I write what I write. I hope my love for it comes through on the page.