Inadvertently (while learning how to post pictures on this blog), I deleted my last post about marketing my novel at the “pitch slam” in NYC. So for those who didn’t get a chance to read it, I was stressing over the fact that I had to distill ten years of hard labor into one tiny paragraph. . . And that it would have to be me that made the sale, rather than the novel itself, to the agents. . . I’ve really only ever sold things that sell themselves: records, grilled cheese sandwiches, flowers. . . my husband is the one that can sell ice to Eskimos. . . he’s the talker, I’m the writer. . . But I had to step up to bat and do the best I could this past Tuesday at the Writer’s Digest Conference, and I was surprised by how calm I was. . . I took the advice of many and just spoke from my heart. I believe in this novel. And I believe I conveyed it to the agents I spoke with. Time will tell now if they have the passion I do for the characters I’ve lived with for so long.