Most of you know by now that I spent last weekend at a writer’s conference. I’d been planning to attend the Conference for the past two years, but I was not ready last year.
This year, I was ready and prepared with a folder of information I planned to present to two agents and one editor during my non-fiction book pitch. The folder included my business card, my thirty-second verbal pitch, my one-sentence book description, the synopsis, and two sample chapters.
It’s no secret that I suffer from serious anxiety that can be rather debilitating, and I’ve been both blessed and cursed with extremely vivid dreams. Of course, I didn’t sleep well the night before I left for the Conference, and had a first-class nightmare to send me off on my big weekend.
In the dream, my first agent appointment had been moved from 11 a.m. to 9 a.m., but nobody told me. Fortunately, I had arrived early for the appointment, so I was ready. Unfortunately, the agent took one look at me, decided I was lame, and told me she didn’t want to hear my pitch. She talked with me for five minutes and then sent me on my way. I convinced her to take my folder of information, which she grudgingly accepted.
Later that day I was sitting in a chair at the Conference and looked up to see a movie mockery of my pitch playing on a big screen, which the agent had put together. Other Conference attendees sitting around me were watching the movie, laughing about how stupid an idea my pitch was!
Next in the dream, right before my 3:20 p.m. appointment with an editor, I somehow ended up in a taxi that took me far from conference center. I begged the taxi driver to turn around so I could make my appointment, but she refused.
I called everyone I knew to come get me and take me back to the Conference, but of course couldn’t reach anyone. And to make matters worse, during the course of the Conference, I couldn’t get on any elevators, had my make-up all screwed up, and bought a new car in the middle of it all.