If I had deliberately wanted to flush out the people following us, and eventually lose them, I would never have thought of renting a car at a suburban shop. I had to wonder what James Bond would have done in similar circumstances.
But it worked.
Driving out of the carpark onto the main street, it wasn’t difficult to see several people caught unawares. And on their cell phones making calls.
And it was Emily’s last-minute brainwave to cover the car’s registration plates so if they were to take a photo, they would not be able to track it. Well, not straight away. It was she who said London had a lot of CCTV cameras, but on the way to the carpark, she had checked out where they were, those that she could readily identify, and we could avoid.
Something I learned about Emily that I didn’t know; she was a computer nerd, and a hacker of sorts, not one of those dark web experts, but she knew enough to dig around in places most people wouldn’t go looking.
That skill might just come in useful.
And, for a few minutes, maybe an hour, we revelled in the thought we may have outwitted them, whoever ‘them’ was.
It was late afternoon when we finally found a hotel with a carpark, a long way from Cecile’s flat in Earl’s Court, and on the other side of the Greater London region in Mile End Road, not very far from Stepney Green underground station, the result of Emily searching the web for a hotel with a carpark, and near public transport.
She also had our luggage delivered from the airport a little less than two hours from the moment she made the call. I think I may have remarked that I might just employ her as my travel agent when I started my European odyssey, but she had fallen asleep, way past exhausted.
I wasn’t far behind her. We had a long day tomorrow if today was anything to go by.
I woke to the smell of coffee and that more interesting aroma of burnt toast.
There were shopping bags on the table, and it looked as though Emily had been up and around for a while.
I looked at my watch, it was not much past seven, and not an hour I found myself up back home. I had an apartment in the city, and it was a ten-minute walk to the office, so early rising was not a necessity. My parents lived in the suburbs, and more than an hour by public transport, and two by car. It was the reason I moved. I didn’t want to spend a quarter of my life travelling to and from work.
Of course, London was so much larger than where I came from, and definitely not a place I would want to live, or work, despite the advantages that Cecile had tried to impress upon me. And don’t get me get started on driving around London. Yesterday had been harrowing, and left me, at times, shaken.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Emily put a coffee plunger on the table, two cups, a plate of toast, bowls, and the cereal that was my favourite, though how she knew was anyone’s guess.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I like to get some exercise every morning, so I combined it with a shopping expedition
I had not attended this type of domesticity in a long time, at least not since I left home. I had grown accustomed to being on my own, and that might have contributed to Cecile and I drifting apart. It probably also had a lot to do with my awkwardness with girls, and rather than try to get over it, I just avoided them.
But, somehow, Emily was different, perhaps because she was younger and hadn’t been blunted by the vicissitudes of life. She had finished school, and as far as I was aware, didn’t have a real job, preferring to spend her time pottering in her father’s office.
I had thought, much like in an 18th century romance novel, she was waiting for the right man to marry, but there were not too many of those running around these days.
Something else I just realised; how well I seemed to like being at ease in her company, much more so than when I was with Cecile, always on my guard not to say or do the wrong thing.
“I find going to a grocery store a trial, which is why I eat out a lot.”
She shook her head. “You’re just lazy, like everyone else your age. Convenience over practicality. And you should think about doing some exercise.”
I could feel the eyes of the appraiser upon me and shivered. It was good that I could not read her thoughts, but if I could, perhaps some might be considering those extra pounds that had found their way onto my frame after I stopped playing tennis and squash.
“I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Better still, I don’t think it’s all that safe to be jogging the streets in this neighbourhood early in the morning, so you can come with me as my protector.”
She saw my look of disdain, or was it the thought of having to exercise.
“Cheer up, I don’t go very fast.”
The sound of the phone vibrating on the table interrupted that thought, and conversation.
It was a private number, so I assumed it was the man from the day before.
“Yes?”
“Trafalgar Square, by the column, 12:30 pm today.”
It was the man’s voice.
“We’ll see you there.”
The call was disconnected. Short and to the point.
“We have a lunch date.”
Before I could reach out to pick up my cup of coffee, the phone rang again.
Also a private number, I assumed it was the man ringing back with a change of plans.
“Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
A woman’s voice this time, not one that was familiar.
“About what?” I was surprised and didn’t have time to work on a better comeback.
“Your Cecile. She is over her head.”
Aside from stating the obvious, who was this woman, how did she know about Cecile, and more importantly, how did she know my cell number?
“Who the hell are you?”
“The London end of the team that recruited her. Time is of the essence, so we’ll come to you. We’ll be there in half an hour.”
That line went dead before I could ask another pertinent question, how did she know where we were?
“Who was that?” Emily had been oblivious to the turmoil I was feeling.
“Someone else who wants to talk about Cecile.”
“Who?”
“No idea, but the word reruited popped up, whatever that might mean.”
“Here? No one knows we’re here.”
“Exactly.”
“Perhaps we should leave, like, right now.”
“No. I have a feeling that we might find out what Cecile is up to.”
And, in the back of my mind, several small, associated details clicked into place. At the time they didn’t make any sense, but now, in a bigger context, and given the circumstances, I think I knew now why she had come.
And, more importantly, I realised she had been dropping breadcrumbs for me to follow long before she had left.
As some may be aware, but many are not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mouse catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.
Recently, I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits, I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. We have a major discussion coming up.
He knows I’m not happy. We had a discussion about claws and furniture a while back, where it was clearly understood that the scratching post was where he worked on his anger management issues.
And for quite some time, I thought it was working.
More fool me.
The trouble is, there are certain parts of a room you don’t venture very often, and one of them is that small space behind the chairs in the lounge. We have a cleaning lady, so we don’t venture there very often.
But it’s where we keep our DVD collection, not that we look at DVDs anymore, but someone else was looking for one. That’s where I noticed the damage. Near the scratching post, on the corner of the lounge chair, clear evidence of the cat’s work.
He thought if he did it out of sight, we wouldn’t notice. He would be right, except for exceptional circumstances.
Now I’m looking for him. He knows. Perhaps that was the reason for the fearsome attitude the other day. Where’s the tiger now?
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
An unlikely ally?
The bar in the hotel was tucked away in a small area behind the dining room, or perhaps it was part of the dining room, I wasn’t quite sure. There were indoor shrubs blocking the view from the front entrance, so we could feel safe enough, and less strenuous in watching the continuous comings and goings of the hotel’s guests and their friends.
For a small hotel, it was quite busy.
We were lucky it was not yet dinner time, so the restaurant was still being set up for the evening dinner service. I had a look at one of the menus, and the Shepherd’s Pie looked good. It was mostly hearty British staples like Bangers and Mask and Toad in the Hole. I guess by calling sausages by their real name sausages, no one really wanted them.
Three drinks down, and looking for the restroom, it ended up an exploration of the passage that led to a rear door, one that could be used by guests, but was mostly used by smoking staff. When I went outside, there were two housekeepers and a concierge boy talking about the couple in 506. I hope Jan and I were not labeled an ‘interesting couple’.
“Let’s go outside and make some calls.” She finished her drink and slid off the barstool.
I joined her and we went out the back entrance, along an alley to the next main street, then along the busy road to an underground station. There were two other hotels I noticed along the way, so we would not be making it easy for them if they could track us.
I called Nobbin first using the card he left under the name Wilson, leaving the phone on speaker.
“Yes.” There was no ring on the other end of the line.
“Wilson?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Sam Jackson. You said to call you if anything happened. I have managed to track down an address for O’Connell. I went there and found two women, one named Josephine, who was definitely not a resident or his friend as she claimed. Then I met another, whose name I can’t remember, but I suspect she’s not who she said she was, nor a friend.”
“Were they looking for the USB?”
“I don’t know. One was on the floor when I arrived, and I assumed she had been rendered unconscious by someone else. I roused her, but she had nothing conclusive to say. I think she was one of your operatives.”
Silence, then, “Why would you say that?”
“I followed her out onto the street.”
More silence, then, “She was asked to search the flat.”
“For what?”
“Anything that would be useful in telling us what he was doing.”
“I’m sure I told you that Severin was after a USB, so I thoroughly searched O’Connell’s flat and didn’t find it, or anything else.”
“Neither did she, which is unfortunate, but not unexpected. O’Connell must have been worried about the information he’d uncovered, enough to not be carrying it with him.”
“Well, I don’t think it was his primary residence. Still too many price tags on the furniture. He had somewhere else to go, and that might be where the USB is. I’m surprised you don’t seem to know very much about him or what he was doing given he was one of your operatives. Unless, of course, he went off-book.”
“I assure you that isn’t the case, and O’Connell’s activities were on a need to know basis. All I can say is that he was using a Journalist cover, investigating cyber currency being used to purchase weapons. We were scheduled to meet for a report on his progress late afternoon on the day he was killed. Are you sure there was no one else near the alley where he was killed?”
“It was empty except for Severin and Maury.
“And you.”
“Are you implying that I took it?”
“No, but there’s a compelling case that might fit you in the frame. Do you know who the other woman was in O’Connell’s flat?”
“No. Like I said, she gave me a name, but I don’t think it was real. She claimed to be his neighbor, but so did Josephine, so it’s likely she wasn’t. Other than that, she could be anyone. If he had another place, you might want to try and find out where it was. I’m going to take up the search tomorrow morning.”
“Are you sure there was nothing to point you in that direction lying around in the flat?”
“The man was a neatness freak. I doubt it. And now he’s dead. The only possibility I can see is that he found out what Severin and Maury are about to do, and by now they will be far more desperate to find it. We need to get to it first, so perhaps if you have some analysts looking for something to do, see if they can find that second residence. I’m sure you can get a hold of any CCTV there is. You might be able to find him that way. If you do and you get an address, let me know and I’ll go straight there.”
“Yes, of course. Keep in touch.”
The line went dead.
“Interesting man,” Jan said, “but not a trustworthy one. You listen to the modulation of his voice. That’s a man who wouldn’t know the truth even if he fell over it. And if he does find that address, you will not be the first person he calls.”
I shrugged. “Probably not. As for Nobbin, isn’t that the very nature of our business, to tell endless lies in order to get to the truth?”
“Remind me, one day, to tell you about pathological liars.”
From Spark to Submission: Unearthing Your Story’s Soul & Crafting the Perfect Publisher Pitch
You did it. You poured your heart, soul, and countless hours onto the page. You wrestled with characters, built worlds, shaped narratives, and perhaps, finally, typed “The End.” That’s a monumental achievement in itself. But for many writers, the real work, or at least the most daunting, begins after the last word is written: the journey from manuscript to published book.
This journey often involves two critical questions:
What is your story really about?
How do you pitch it to a publisher (or agent)?
Let’s dive in.
What is Your Story Really About? Beyond the Plot
This might seem like a simple question. “It’s about a wizard who goes on a quest!” or “It’s a memoir about overcoming a difficult childhood.” But a publisher (or agent) wants to know more than just the surface plot. They want to understand the heart, the hook, the unique selling proposition of your book.
Think of it as distilling your entire manuscript into a potent, irresistible essence.
Here’s how to dig deeper:
The Core Conflict & Stakes: What is the central problem your protagonist faces? What will they lose if they fail? What will they gain if they succeed? The higher the stakes, the more compelling the story.
Example: Instead of “A wizard goes on a quest,” try: “A reluctant wizard must retrieve a mythical artifact to prevent a shadow realm from consuming his world, even if it means confronting the darkness within himself.”
The “So What?” (Theme & Message): Beyond the events, what is your story saying? Is it about resilience, love, the corrupting nature of power, the complexities of family, the search for identity? This is the underlying universal truth that will resonate with readers long after they’ve turned the final page.
Ask yourself: What do I want readers to feel or think about after reading my book?
The Character’s Arc: How does your protagonist change or grow throughout the story? What emotional journey do they undertake? Readers connect with characters, and compelling character arcs are the backbone of great narratives.
The Unique Hook: What makes your story stand out from the thousands of others? Is it a fresh take on an old trope? A never-before-seen world? A voice unlike any other? A surprising twist? This is what will make an agent pause.
The “Elevator Pitch” (Logline): Can you summarize your entire book in 1-2 sentences? This is a crucial exercise. It forces you to identify the core concept, protagonist, conflict, and stakes. Practice saying it out loud. If it doesn’t immediately grab attention, refine it.
Template Idea: “When [inciting incident happens to protagonist], [protagonist] must [goal/quest] before [stakes/consequences].”
Why is this important for pitching? Because an agent or editor needs to quickly grasp what your book is, why it matters, and who it’s for. If you can articulate this clearly, you’re halfway there.
Mastering the Publisher Pitch: Your Gateway Document (The Query Letter)
For fiction, and often for memoirs, the primary tool for pitching is the query letter. For non-fiction (like self-help, business, cookbooks), you’ll typically need a more extensive book proposal. Here, we’ll focus on the query letter, which serves as your book’s literary dating profile.
The Goal: To intrigue an agent (who will then pitch your book to publishers) or a publisher directly (if they accept unagented submissions) enough to request more of your manuscript.
Key Components of a Killer Query Letter:
Personalization (The Research is Key):
Address the agent by name: “Dear Ms. Smith” or “Dear Mr. Jones.” Never “To Whom It May Concern.”
State why you’re contacting them: Mention a specific book they represented that resonates with yours, an interview where they expressed interest in your genre, or a conference where you heard them speak. This shows you’ve done your homework and aren’t just spamming everyone.
The Hook (Your Logline in Action):
Start immediately with your compelling 1-2 sentence logline. This is your chance to grab their attention within the first few seconds. Make it punchy, intriguing, and hint at the core conflict.
The Brief Synopsis (2-3 paragraphs):
This is not a chapter-by-chapter breakdown. It’s a concise, engaging summary of your book’s main plot points, character arc, and central conflict.
Introduce your protagonist, their world, and the inciting incident.
Detail the main rising action and the core struggles.
Crucially, do NOT reveal the ending. End on a suspenseful note that makes them want to read more. What is the climax the protagonist must face? What’s at stake?
About the Author (The Credentials):
Keep this brief and relevant. Mention anything that lends credibility to your writing (previous publications, awards, relevant professional experience that informs the book).
If you have a significant author platform (large social media following, relevant professional network, speaking engagements), mention it, especially for non-fiction.
If you have no prior publications, that’s okay! Be honest and professional. Focus on your passion and the book itself.
Comparable Titles (The “Comps”):
Suggest 2-3 recently published books (within the last 3-5 years) that are similar to yours in genre, tone, or target audience.
DO NOT compare your book to bestsellers like “The next Harry Potter” or classics like “War and Peace.”
Choose books that agents sold successfully. This shows you understand the current market and where your book fits.
Example: “My novel will appeal to readers who enjoyed the intricate world-building of [Book A] combined with the emotional depth of [Book B].”
Word Count & Genre:
State your manuscript’s exact word count (e.g., “This standalone novel is complete at 85,000 words.”)
Clearly state its genre (e.g., “Young Adult Contemporary,” “Historical Fantasy,” “Literary Fiction”).
The Professional Close:
Thank them for their time and consideration.
Reiterate that you’ve attached/included the requested materials (e.g., “Per your submission guidelines, I have included the first ten pages of my manuscript below.”).
“Sincerely,” or “All best,” followed by your full name.
Include your contact information (email, phone).
Common Pitfalls to Avoid:
Typos and Grammatical Errors: Proofread endlessly. Get others to proofread. This is your first impression.
Being Overly Familiar or Demanding: Maintain a professional and courteous tone.
Pitching an Unfinished Manuscript (for Fiction): Unless specifically requested, your fiction manuscript must be complete and polished before querying.
Revealing the Entire Plot/Ending: You want to entice, not summarize everything.
Too Long: A query letter should ideally be one page, 300-500 words maximum. Every word counts.
Begging or Desperation: Confidence in your work, not desperation, is attractive.
Not Following Guidelines: Every agent has specific submission guidelines (e.g., paste into email, attach as PDF, query form). Follow them exactly. Not doing so is an instant rejection.
The Road Ahead
Getting published is a marathon, not a sprint. It requires patience, resilience, and a thick skin. Expect rejections – they are a universal part of the process. Use them as motivation to refine your pitch, improve your manuscript, and keep learning.
Your story deserves to be heard. By understanding its true essence and mastering the art of the pitch, you’re giving it the best possible chance to find its way from your heart to a reader’s hands.
Now, tell us: What’s the very core of your story? And what’s one thing you’re most nervous about when it comes to pitching? Share in the comments below!
I’m currently sitting in my car waiting to pick the grandchildren up from school wondering where that dream of the glamorous life of an author went.
Can it be said that any author leads a glamorous life, except for maybe J K Rowling, James Patterson, and a handful of others?
That dream is of course only a dream. I did not start this writing caper to become rich and famous or live a glamorous life. I started It, and it continues in the same vein, that I have a lot of stories in my head that I want to get on paper.
If anyone else wants to read them, then that’s a bonus. If I happen to make enough money, rather than live high on the hog, an expression my father often used to describe the rich, I would happily invest in programs that get young people reading more.
It also strikes me that it would be difficult to write a literary novel in the vein of Jane Austen or the Bronte sisters, to name a few because modern-day life has no real meaning like it did then.
Instant news, instant communications, and the rest of the country, as well as the world, do close, we can go anywhere, and communicate instantly. In the days of classic literature, the protagonist’s exchange of letters, and the arduous traveling to another part of the same country would be enough to generate a chapter, or the visit itself could generate several.
But those tales of life were always about people of means, not the ordinary people. Stories that have the minutiae of daily life do not appeal. No one wants to read about their lives, they want to be transported to another world where there is no such inanity like cooking, cleaning, washing, and picking up children.
I’m using this time to write another episode or chapter, or, in this case, a blog post.
As any parent will tell you, it is the calm before the storm.
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
From Spark to Submission: Unearthing Your Story’s Soul & Crafting the Perfect Publisher Pitch
You did it. You poured your heart, soul, and countless hours onto the page. You wrestled with characters, built worlds, shaped narratives, and perhaps, finally, typed “The End.” That’s a monumental achievement in itself. But for many writers, the real work, or at least the most daunting, begins after the last word is written: the journey from manuscript to published book.
This journey often involves two critical questions:
What is your story really about?
How do you pitch it to a publisher (or agent)?
Let’s dive in.
What is Your Story Really About? Beyond the Plot
This might seem like a simple question. “It’s about a wizard who goes on a quest!” or “It’s a memoir about overcoming a difficult childhood.” But a publisher (or agent) wants to know more than just the surface plot. They want to understand the heart, the hook, the unique selling proposition of your book.
Think of it as distilling your entire manuscript into a potent, irresistible essence.
Here’s how to dig deeper:
The Core Conflict & Stakes: What is the central problem your protagonist faces? What will they lose if they fail? What will they gain if they succeed? The higher the stakes, the more compelling the story.
Example: Instead of “A wizard goes on a quest,” try: “A reluctant wizard must retrieve a mythical artifact to prevent a shadow realm from consuming his world, even if it means confronting the darkness within himself.”
The “So What?” (Theme & Message): Beyond the events, what is your story saying? Is it about resilience, love, the corrupting nature of power, the complexities of family, the search for identity? This is the underlying universal truth that will resonate with readers long after they’ve turned the final page.
Ask yourself: What do I want readers to feel or think about after reading my book?
The Character’s Arc: How does your protagonist change or grow throughout the story? What emotional journey do they undertake? Readers connect with characters, and compelling character arcs are the backbone of great narratives.
The Unique Hook: What makes your story stand out from the thousands of others? Is it a fresh take on an old trope? A never-before-seen world? A voice unlike any other? A surprising twist? This is what will make an agent pause.
The “Elevator Pitch” (Logline): Can you summarize your entire book in 1-2 sentences? This is a crucial exercise. It forces you to identify the core concept, protagonist, conflict, and stakes. Practice saying it out loud. If it doesn’t immediately grab attention, refine it.
Template Idea: “When [inciting incident happens to protagonist], [protagonist] must [goal/quest] before [stakes/consequences].”
Why is this important for pitching? Because an agent or editor needs to quickly grasp what your book is, why it matters, and who it’s for. If you can articulate this clearly, you’re halfway there.
Mastering the Publisher Pitch: Your Gateway Document (The Query Letter)
For fiction, and often for memoirs, the primary tool for pitching is the query letter. For non-fiction (like self-help, business, cookbooks), you’ll typically need a more extensive book proposal. Here, we’ll focus on the query letter, which serves as your book’s literary dating profile.
The Goal: To intrigue an agent (who will then pitch your book to publishers) or a publisher directly (if they accept unagented submissions) enough to request more of your manuscript.
Key Components of a Killer Query Letter:
Personalization (The Research is Key):
Address the agent by name: “Dear Ms. Smith” or “Dear Mr. Jones.” Never “To Whom It May Concern.”
State why you’re contacting them: Mention a specific book they represented that resonates with yours, an interview where they expressed interest in your genre, or a conference where you heard them speak. This shows you’ve done your homework and aren’t just spamming everyone.
The Hook (Your Logline in Action):
Start immediately with your compelling 1-2 sentence logline. This is your chance to grab their attention within the first few seconds. Make it punchy, intriguing, and hint at the core conflict.
The Brief Synopsis (2-3 paragraphs):
This is not a chapter-by-chapter breakdown. It’s a concise, engaging summary of your book’s main plot points, character arc, and central conflict.
Introduce your protagonist, their world, and the inciting incident.
Detail the main rising action and the core struggles.
Crucially, do NOT reveal the ending. End on a suspenseful note that makes them want to read more. What is the climax the protagonist must face? What’s at stake?
About the Author (The Credentials):
Keep this brief and relevant. Mention anything that lends credibility to your writing (previous publications, awards, relevant professional experience that informs the book).
If you have a significant author platform (large social media following, relevant professional network, speaking engagements), mention it, especially for non-fiction.
If you have no prior publications, that’s okay! Be honest and professional. Focus on your passion and the book itself.
Comparable Titles (The “Comps”):
Suggest 2-3 recently published books (within the last 3-5 years) that are similar to yours in genre, tone, or target audience.
DO NOT compare your book to bestsellers like “The next Harry Potter” or classics like “War and Peace.”
Choose books that agents sold successfully. This shows you understand the current market and where your book fits.
Example: “My novel will appeal to readers who enjoyed the intricate world-building of [Book A] combined with the emotional depth of [Book B].”
Word Count & Genre:
State your manuscript’s exact word count (e.g., “This standalone novel is complete at 85,000 words.”)
Clearly state its genre (e.g., “Young Adult Contemporary,” “Historical Fantasy,” “Literary Fiction”).
The Professional Close:
Thank them for their time and consideration.
Reiterate that you’ve attached/included the requested materials (e.g., “Per your submission guidelines, I have included the first ten pages of my manuscript below.”).
“Sincerely,” or “All best,” followed by your full name.
Include your contact information (email, phone).
Common Pitfalls to Avoid:
Typos and Grammatical Errors: Proofread endlessly. Get others to proofread. This is your first impression.
Being Overly Familiar or Demanding: Maintain a professional and courteous tone.
Pitching an Unfinished Manuscript (for Fiction): Unless specifically requested, your fiction manuscript must be complete and polished before querying.
Revealing the Entire Plot/Ending: You want to entice, not summarize everything.
Too Long: A query letter should ideally be one page, 300-500 words maximum. Every word counts.
Begging or Desperation: Confidence in your work, not desperation, is attractive.
Not Following Guidelines: Every agent has specific submission guidelines (e.g., paste into email, attach as PDF, query form). Follow them exactly. Not doing so is an instant rejection.
The Road Ahead
Getting published is a marathon, not a sprint. It requires patience, resilience, and a thick skin. Expect rejections – they are a universal part of the process. Use them as motivation to refine your pitch, improve your manuscript, and keep learning.
Your story deserves to be heard. By understanding its true essence and mastering the art of the pitch, you’re giving it the best possible chance to find its way from your heart to a reader’s hands.
Now, tell us: What’s the very core of your story? And what’s one thing you’re most nervous about when it comes to pitching? Share in the comments below!
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
It’s a part of a book or film which covers a single event, and predominantly with a set group of characters.
It could also mean it might relate to a particular genre that you like, as in,
I’m part of the jazz scene or the symphonic scene, though I think it had a more sinister context back in the late 60s early 70s.
A scene could also be a landscape (especially in art)
Then, of course, the last thing you want is a child to make a scene in front of others, in a display of temper, or bad manners
This is not to be confused with seen, as in, you should be seen and not heard, an oft used expression by a parent.
You could be seen, especially in places where you were not meant to be, or, conversely, make sure you are seen by the ‘right’ people in the ‘right’ places
Have you seen my dictionary, it’s quite large and heavy
I have seen his bad qualities
I have seen better days, though at the moment I can’t remember when
I have seen them all, sometimes seemingly impossible, but it is generated by exasperation, and generally more like I’ve seen everything now!
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
