It’s the bottom of the ninth. The bases are loaded. Babe steps up to the plate…
Here comes the pitch. It’s time to shine, writer friends.
Maybe you’re stuck in an elevator with your dream agent in this totally metaphorical situation. Or maybe you’re huddled in the back of a walk-in freezer in a Marriott hotel kitchen in Cincinnati, OH during an unexplained terrorist attack on the 2012 Aspiring Writers Anonymous Conference. (Also with your dream agent. Naturally.)
Sometime during the lull between bad Kenny G tunes and/or the staccato of machine gun fire, your ideal agent turns to you and asks, “So. What’s the deal with this book you’ve written?”
Suddenly, the mellow saxophone sounds like sweet relief. The gunshots might as well be a far off rendition of Nelly’s “In the Club,” instead of an audible harbinger of impending doom. In that moment, you could easily wax poetic on the aroma of frozen pork chops. But you can’t afford to waste the oxygen, or your last few minutes of glory-making time.
You’ve got exactly 30 seconds before you arrive at the selected floor and/or are taken hostage by someone who looks a lot like Alan Rickman. (Swoon.) What makes you think you’ve got what it takes?
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