No nose rings. I once heard a pitch from two women who had so many tattoos and piercings I couldn’t concentrate on their story. The rule is, if you’d set off an airport metal detector, or if you look like a human graphic novel, you’re going to scare the buyer.
Don’t go topless. Unless it’s important for the integrity of your pitch.
Bathe. Preferably the same day as the pitch fest. And comb your hair.
Pop a Tic Tac. It’s hard to revive a pitch when saying the word “Hi” makes your buyer’s eyes water.
Props
Story boards, illustrations, toys, weapons and photos of stars who’ll be perfect for the parts might add to the emotion of a pitch meeting. But be very wary of using anything that will distract your buyer in a 60-second pitch.
If you truly believe that your papier-mâché dinosaur will knock ‘em dead, try it out during your rehearsals, and ask your mock buyers if it added to the emotional experience or if it got in the way of your pitch.
Business Cards
Carrying business cards with your name, address, phone number and email address is a good idea, just in case someone you meet — a buyer or a fellow writer — asks, “How can I get in touch with you?”
But I think automatically handing out business cards to everyone you meet at a book fair or pitch fest is a waste of money. If you give one to a buyer during your pitch, what’s she going to do with it? Unless she takes the time to write your story points on the back right after your pitch, by the time she gets to her office, there isn’t a chance in hell she’s going to remember who you were.
I also think cards that say Writer or Author in the space where your job title goes (or which give the title of your project) are kind of cheesy. One of the few perks of being a writer is that you can avoid corporate trappings like long commutes, neckties and pantyhose. So why make it look like you want to give your profession some kind of status by slapping it on a bunch of business cards?
When you’ve given a successful pitch, follow it up with a professional letter reminding the buyer of your story. This will contain all the information a business card would, but because the buyer receives it at her office, she’ll now have something to file, and to remind her who you are.
On-the-Spot Submissions
Don’t ever try to hand your manuscript to someone at a pitch fest or conference. Even if he’s said yes to reading your book proposal or screenplay, he doesn’t want to lug it around for the rest of the day. It’s better to mail it to him with a cover letter, as described on page 99, so he’ll be reminded of your session, and so you’ll have a written record of the submission.
It’s okay to have a couple copies of your project with you, on the remote chance that a buyer will ask if you have one he can take. If that happens, send him a letter as soon as you’re home, reminding him that you gave him the script, and saying how much you look forward to getting his response.
Leave-Behinds
Organizers of pitch fests often ask you to bring synopses of your screenplay to leave with the buyers you pitch to. I hate this idea. I’ve been reading (and I used to write) synopses and treatments my entire career, and I have yet to encounter one that’s emotionally involving. They’re a valuable tool for the agents and executives who want summaries of books and scripts, so they can avoid a lot of unnecessary reading time. But synopses are anathema to a novelist or screenwriter.
Here’s my suggestion. Prepare the best, most powerful synopsis you can of your story. Get coaching or feedback on it just as you would on your other work, to make sure it conveys the emotion of your story as effectively as possible. Make lots of copies, and take them to the conference. But don’t offer them to anyone.
Don’t even tell the buyer you have one. Instead, make your pitch, and then ask if you can send her the script as outlined on page 99. If she asks if you have a synopsis, say, “Look, there’s just no way a synopsis can do justice to my story, or give you a sense of my abilities as a writer. So how about this? Read just the first ten pages. If you’re not immediately hooked — and I know you will be — just throw the whole thing away. No harm, no foul.”
Some buyers will be impressed by your confidence and belief in your screenplay, and will agree to do this. Other buyers won’t. If they insist on an outline, then you can pull out your synopsis and give it to them as requested.
Often you can’t avoid leave-behinds, because the person at the pitch fest doesn’t have the power to choose what his company will consider. He’s been instructed to get synopses of everything he hears, so others at his company can decide which projects they want to see.
Even if you’re unwilling to challenge a buyer’s synopsis request in the way I’ve just described, don’t ever pull out your synopsis as you begin your pitch. It will lie on the table between you and the buyer, creating a big distraction, and keeping the buyer from total involvement in your story. Instead, give your pitch, then wait for him to request it.
Anathemas
If “anathema” is a noun, shouldn’t you say, “A synopsis is an anathema to a writer?” Why is it just “anathema”? I mean, you wouldn’t say, “Synopsis is problem for writer,” or, “Synopsis is pain in ass.” Was it once a shorter word, “athema,” and when people said “an athema,” they kept running it together so it just became one word?
Sorry. I’ve just always wondered this.
Unnecessary Worries
I’ve now given you the essential steps for preparing your pitch. But there are additional issues that lots of writers fret about as well. I want to ease your mind about these needless fears:
Nervousness. At the pitch fests I’ve participated in, you’d think the writers who lined up to pitch their stories were waiting to testify before Congress or get the results of their biopsies. I know pitching your story is a big moment, but it’s not going to change your life one way or the other. It’s not a once-in-a-lifetime shot — you’ll have lots of opportunities to pitch using the methods in this book. Nor does the buyer hold your fate in his hands — there are lots of other agents, producers and publishers looking for stories. And though it may feel otherwise, there are no recorded cases of death by pitching.
You’re going to be nervous. There’s really no way around it. It’s an unfamiliar situation; the person across the table, or on the other end of the telephone line, does have more power that you do (at least in this particular situation); and it’s important to do well to increase the chances of selling your story.
But here’s the big secret about nervousness: Nobody gives a shit.
I’ve heard hundreds of agents and editors and executives talk about the stories and pitches they’ve heard, and never once has one of them said, “I heard the greatest story the other day. It was exciting and funny and romantic and sexy, and it could make a fortune. But I had to pass because the writer was so nervous.”
Nor have I ever heard a buyer say, “The other day somebody pitched me the worst piece of crap I’ve ever heard. But we went ahead and optioned it because the writer was so calm….”
Your buyer wants you to do well. He knows you’re nervous, and you have his sympathy. More important, he’s desperate for good material. So you can be stuttering, shaking and dripping with sweat, and your buyer will disregard it all if he thinks your story might make him rich.
So instead of worrying about your anxiety, simply allow it. Stop trying not to be nervous, and tell yourself, “Of course I’m nervous — so what?” Then concentrate on breathing and relaxing as best you can, and focusing on your story instead of on some imagined outcome.
Finally, keep in mind that fear and anxiety are at their peak before you begin your pitch. It’s the anticipation of what’s going to happen that’s scary, not the pitch itself. Once you’re talking about your project, your focus will be on that, and your nervousness will diminish greatly.
This is why it’s so important to get in touch with your passion for the story. Passion is the greatest antidote there is to fear.
Performance. When panelists at conferences talk about great pitches, they often describe some hilarious writer who got a deal because he had them in stitches as he acted out all the characters in his screenplay. Writers
hear these stories and think they haven’t got a chance because their pitch doesn’t play like a Cirque du Soleil show.
First of all, these stories are almost always about pitch meetings, not 60-second pitches. And I guarantee, no matter how great his dog-and-pony show, no writer ever got a deal in a room unless the buyers had already read his work, and knew he could deliver the goods.
More important, performance is not the critical component of a good pitch. Emotion is. Some of the best pitches I’ve ever heard were told very quietly, forcing me to listen more attentively, and pulling me into the story. I don’t mean you should mumble or whisper, but you don’t have to resort to trumpets and cymbals, either.
As with nervousness, buyers see past attempts to dazzle with style. This isn’t American Idol.It’s your story they’ll appreciate, not the way you belt it out.
Interruptions. It’s almost a certainty that you’ll be interrupted if you’re in a full pitch meeting. But it often happens during telephone pitches as well. So prepare for them by rehearsing interruptions when you try out your pitch on friends and family.
During some of your rehearsals, have your mock buyers stop you mid-pitch to pretend to take a phone call. Then when it happens for real, you won’t be upset or shaken by it.
When the interruption ends, go back and repeat the last important thing you said before you were stopped. If this means starting over, that’s fine. Your pitch is only 60 seconds, so no big deal. Just return to the beginning of the step you’d reached when you were interrupted.
So if it’s your acknowledgment that gets interrupted, repeat that. If you’ve already revealed how you came up with the idea, then go back to the segue from that into the story: “So I was just saying that because of my love of baseball cards, I came up with a story about a ten-year-old boy who. …”
Even if the buyer was being rude by taking the other call or listening to his assistant while you were talking, do your best not to let it upset you. And if, after all the interruptions, the buyer passes, be thankful. This inconsiderate person wouldn’t be right for your project anyway.
Rejection. As my friend, mentor and father-in-law Art Arthur used to say, “If you want to be a writer, you’ve got to reject rejection.”
You can’t take NO personally, and you can’t let it stop you. If a buyer passes, fine. But don’t fold up your tent and go home. Just because one person wasn’t interested in your story doesn’t mean others might not love to read it.
Discouragement is responsible for as many unpublished novels and unproduced screenplays as bad writing is. You’ve got to keep dogging away until you find the buyers who respond to you and your material.
There are a dozen reasons buyers decline to read scripts and book proposals, and a weak pitch is usually far down the list. If a buyer passes, it’s probably because she already has a project that’s similar in genre or market, or even subject matter and plot. So she has to pass, or she’ll end up competing with herself. Similarly, an agent may already represent too many romantic comedy or science fiction or horror writers, and he doesn’t want to take on yet another client who’ll be up for the same jobs.
A buyer might also have been told by her boss not to consider horror stories, or romance novels, or R-rated films, or women heroes, or any story set in a blue state. You just never know.
I talk more specifically in Chapter 9 about how to respond when a buyer passes. For now I just want to remind you that the more you pitch, the less important any one rejection will be. If your story is truly commercial, you’ll find a buyer.
So now, at last, you’re face to face — or headset to headset — with your buyer. But before you go diving into the essential elements of your project, you must establish a relationship.
We all want to be in business with people we feel connected to in some way. I’ve seen or heard of many instances where buyers agreed to read material that sounded commercially weak, but which was presented by people they sensed would be fun or fulfilling to work with.
An agent or executive is more likely to consider your story favorably if she sees you as an individual, not just #14 in the line of people she has to listen to before she can go home.
More important, she’ll look upon you much more positively if she doesn’t feel like she’s just buyer #14 on your list of people to pitch to.
The challenge of establishing this kind of rapport with prospective buyers is that you’ve only got about 15 seconds to do it — and you may not have any idea who they are. But it can be done by using two powerful techniques for introducing yourself.
Common Experience
If you already share something in common with a buyer, you have a big advantage in creating rapport. This is where all that research you did in Chapter 4 will pay off.
If you heard the buyer speak at a writers conference, or Googled her name on the internet, and discovered she graduated from the same college you did, or came from the same home town as you, or used to work as a cab driver just like you did, you have a great way to open your pitch. Simply begin by saying, “Hi, I’m [your name] and I thought it was really cool when you talked about waiting tables while you were breaking into the business. Because that’s what I’ve been doing since I came to LA two years ago.” Or, “How do you do. My name is [still your name] and I’ve been eager to meet you, because I read that you’re a scratch golfer, and I worked my way through school as a caddy at Augusta National.“
You can even follow your introduction up with a related question to engage a buyer more deeply, like, “Have you ever been to the Masters?”or, “Do you have a favorite course here?” or, “How do you find time to play, as busy as you are?”But be careful not to ask something he can’t answer in 15 seconds. You don’t want to shell out money at a pitch fest and then spend your entire five minutes talking about golf.
You can also link your common experience directly to your story. If you mention that you share your buyer’s love of skiing, and that there hasn’t been a good ski movie since Downhill Racer, because no one has been able to capture both the serenity and the intensity that competitive skiing offers, then you can easily segue into your pitch with, “and that’s what I’ve tried to do with my screenplay.”
One of the many advantages of referrals is that they provide you with instant commonality. All you have to do is mention the person who recommended you, since you know the buyer has a relationship with her.
Better still, before the pitch, ask your connection if there’s anything specific you can mention when you meet the buyer: “Hi, my name is [you know who], and before we begin, Jennifer said to tell you that you owe her a lunch.” (Presumably this friendly message will be light and innocuous. Starting a pitch by saying “Hi, Jennifer says she knows you’re sleeping with her husband” probably won’t lead to a favorable outcome.)
Acknowledgment
Perhaps your most powerful method of creating rapport is by expressing your admiration or gratitude for something the buyer has done. No matter how cold, distant and businesslike a person is, no one is immune from compliments. We all like to hear that what we’ve done has made a difference to someone.
Again, this is where your research is essential. If you’re pitching to a company that produced one of your favorite films, then say that. If you heard your buyer speak, and he enlightened or inspired you, then acknowledge him for that. And if you’ve admired him for his charitable works, or for something he wrote, or for his reputation for helping newcomers, then those are the things you should open with.
But be specific. Saying, “I loved Titanic.Now listen to my pitch,” isn’t very ingratiating. Saying what you loved about it can be. Think how much more receptive an executive at Lightstorm Entertainment (James Cameron’s company) would be if you introduced yourself
by saying, “Hi, my name is [J.D. Salinger], and I know you must hear all the time how great Titanic was, and how somebody fell in love watching it. But I saw it with my mother. And when it was over, she told me something I never knew — that she had an aunt on the ship who died. And I spent the rest of the night hearing things about my family she’d never told me before. So the movie really means a lot to me.”
Now, unless you’re pitching to James Cameron himself, which is pretty unlikely, the person you’re talking to probably wasn’t even with the company when the movie was made. But the acknowledgment will still work, because she’s representing Lightstorm, and you’re acknowledging her company.
These acknowledgments must be sincere, however. Don’t say “The Dukes of Hazzard changed my life” if it really didn’t.
An acknowledgment has an added benefit: It shows a buyer that you’ve done your homework, and that you specifically chose him to hear your story. You’d be amazed at how few writers expend the little time and energy it takes to research potential buyers, and how many screenwriters just shotgun their scripts to every producer on the Hollywood Creative Directory Mailing List CD.
Setting yourself apart as someone who goes the extra distance to get your story produced or published makes you a writer buyers want to work with.
As with common experience, you can also segue from your acknowledgment directly into your story: “Hi, I’m [Marcel Proust], and I read that your agency represents Stephen King. I just want you to know that when I was eleven years old, The Shining scared the shit out of me. Ever since, I’ve wanted to come up with a story that would be that frightening. That’s why I was so eager to pitch to you — because I think I finally have.” And then you launch into the pitch for your horror novel.
Selling Your Story in 60 Seconds Page 10