Pitching my literary tent

It's one day from go time.

I attended one writing conference in my life and I was a passive participant. At the time I didn't have anything to sell, and if I did I wouldn't know the first thing about selling.

Things have changed. At the Atlanta Writer's Conference that starts tomorrow, I get the opportunity to hobnob with fellow writers and a few agents that might have a home for my screed.

I signed up for this event a couple of months ago, which turned out to be a couple months too late. I was unable to submit my material for official review. I'm on a waiting list for a 10-minute pitch session with an agent. It sounds a lot like speed dating. I'm excited and nervous about the prospects.

I don't sell myself. I have never made an impassioned plea to earn a reward that is a longshot at best. I write my words and let them sit. Other people might read them from time to time. I take criticism better than your average politician. I take silence, lack of response, or the time it takes a person to clear their throat before responding as utter and complete rejection.

My attitude about my work needs to change. It feels stale because I've let it sit around for a while. I stopped submitting my work to an online critique group when there were no responses to my posted third chapter. The comments I received on the first two chapters were invaluable, in that it was the first review I had from actual writers. Writers are readers and know what to look for. They also don't let you get away with cheap tricks and adverbs. When I failed to get feedback, I took as rejection and an excuse to walk away.

If I want this manuscript to be something other than space on my jump drive or a pile of papers sitting in a box in a closet, I have to make it live. I have to share it with anyone who shows the slightest interest. Some say that what the world needs now is love. I say the world needs a story about a fantasy football league coping with a horrible tragedy by doing what they do best, ridiculing each other, attending games and acting like a bunch of juvenile delinquents. If there is a book like mine in the market, I haven't seen it. There are humorous books and there are sporting books and I know there have to be plenty of male bonding books. There isn't one with all of these elements. The 18 million fantasy football fanatics out there might not read fiction. I bet they would read this, and recognize a little of themselves and some of their personal experiences. There are certain experiences in this book that I hope very few if any people have experienced. Just a word to the wise.

I'm pumped. Pride of the Lions. Coming to a store near you.