Saturday, May 22, 2010

NYC Pitch & Shop

Debating the notion of applying to participate in the NYC Pitch & Shop conference. It's competitive just getting in the door, only 60 spots are available to writers who want to participate. The conference is billed as an intensive event to meet with acquisition editors from publishing houses.

Deadline to apply is coming up quick and before you say "just do it", here's the caveat: This could be an expensive way to hear your work is drivel.

If you get selected to participate, the entry fee is about $600. While the chosen writers will probably be pretty solid and the opportunity is great, it still makes me hesitate dropping such cash. No, I'm not being cheap. Just practical.

I know you have to put yourself out there and connect with people to get a real shot at publishing. I could consider it an investment in my future (and possibly claim it as a tax write-off) but I guess I still need to justify the upfront expense.

Running around to conferences really doesn't matter if your writing isn't up to par. It still comes down to solid prose that hooks the reader. That's what you sell.

Then again, I could make a big fuss about this, apply and not get chosen.

In the meantime, I've got pitches to send out.

Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away