Today I mentioned to my sister I was working on a new book idea. Before she could even ask the time-feared question, “What is it about?”– the thing every author has probably hid beneath a table from at least once in their writing career– I elaborated. And in about two sentences, I delivered Who, What, and Why in a compelling package.
Not only that, but when she wanted to know more, I could expand off the cuff without a single er, um, or ah!
Me: (Reflecting a moment) Well that’s never happened before.
With my first book, ANY TIME someone asked what it was about I would start to explain, realize after a minute that I was rambling, trail off, get awkward, and quickly jump ship with “Pitch needs work” or “It’s still coming together.” Granted, that’s probably because the story was inferior (first novel = learning experience– I know worlds more about storytelling today), but regardless: because of that initial faltering, my body sort of learned to fear the question “What is it about?” early on. I’d clam up whenever asked, and if I could, avoid the topic entirely.
Which is why it was such a marvel to me to realize today that Hey, I just described a book premise with the ease of describing a movie, and not only that, but I lied: Today wasn’t the first time that’s ever happened. I’ve been quick-pitching the book that got me an agent to people who’ve asked about it for ages.
I’m getting better at this.
What’s the word?