"No one knows who you are."
I was in New York for the Writer's Digest Conference in 2017 and decided to go to Pitch Slam. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, it’s like speed dating for writers. Before the conference, you’re provided with a list of agents and editors who will be there, looking for authors to add to their client list. You choose a few, based on how closely their interests align with your book.
When the day comes, you sit across the table from an agent or editor and tell them about your book in a very limited amount of time: three minutes. They tell you if they want a full book proposal or if they’re not interested. A bell rings, and you move to the next agent/editor. It’s stressful and at times completely demoralizing. But there have been many success stories.
I wasn’t looking for an editor or an agent that day. I just wanted to get feedback on my book I was working on, about straight women in the AIDS community.
I started with a woman who listed women’s history as one of her top areas of interest. She was, however, not in the least bit interested in my book.
Then I sat down across from a young-ish man. I began with the title of the book and he burst out laughing. I’ve had a lot of reactions to the title, before and since, but never laughter.
“Should I go on?” I asked as calmly as I could.
“Yeah, sure. It just wasn’t what I expected you to say.”
No, honey, I don’t write cozy mysteries set in the Cotswolds. Don’t worry, I didn’t say that. I continued with my pitch.
“This is very niche,” was his first comment. I already knew that.
Then, before I could explain why I was the best person to write the book, he said something that was both surprising and not surprising at all. “No one knows who you are. You need a famous gay man to write the foreword for the book.” He offered a couple of suggestions, including Larry Kramer. I did not tell him that Larry was in the hospital. Nor did I say that people in my niche already know who I am. I thanked him for his time and walked away.
Was this a lesson in irony? A man telling a woman that she needs a man to validate her book about women? Or just a somewhat creative example of misogyny?
I never did get a gay man to write the foreword, or anyone else for that matter. I survived, and so did my book. Now and then I need to remind myself of this story. Because I know who I am, and I’m happy in that niche.
