A Dagger in the Gut

Last weekend I went to the Pikes Peak Writers Conference, also known as PPWCon, in Colorado Springs.

I participated in a "Read and Critique" session.

A Read and Critique, according to a non-writing friend of mine, is kind of like sticking yourself in the gut with a dagger, slicing sideways, twice, then letting your guts spill out all over the place and all over everyone nearby.

Fortunately it isn't actually *bloody*.

A writer takes the first page of their manuscript to the session, then either reads it themselves, or it is read anonymously. The reading is done to an editor or agent who signed up for this gory hour. This person responds to the reading by saying whether they would turn the page -- or not.

This is The Test. Is that first page written well enough, or intriguing enough for the editor or agent to continue reading?

Editors and agents see hundreds of manuscripts each week. Yes. Hundreds!

How many of you thought that seeing hundreds of stories would be a Fab Job? Still think so?

It's overwhelming, I think. But then, I'm a slow reader.

Over time, these professional readers have learned to tell quickly whether a manuscript is worth reviewing. The first page tells whether the person is amateur or professional, just by whether they use correct spelling and grammar. Also, the first page shows the writer's facility with language, or whether their story is trite.

I attended several Read and Critique sessions at a conference of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). An eye opener was the number of stories that were the same: kid gets separated from Mom, kid goes on adventure, favorite pets, etc. I could see why editors would be tired and bored of the same ol' thing, and looking for something original.

At the session where I read my First Page, the agent gave a 3 minute critique to each writer. This was definitely an added bonus -- except that I was so nervous I don't remember a lot of what she said. All of us were shaking like Jello, wishing we were in one of those anonymous reading sessions. Maybe no blood all over everything, but certainly fear-drenched sweat seeping onto chair seats and along the carpet.

I read my first page, listened politely to the critique, then sat down. I turned to the lady sitting next to me and I asked, "Did she say whether she would turn the page?" The woman patted my knee sympathetically. "Yes."

Whew! I passed! One more gut wrenching experience faced and survived.