Missing the pitch

Sometimes it happens: you see the perfect story for a publication you're familiar with, at a time that hits the zeitgeist in a way that's a touch provocative, completely relevant, and yet not so out-there that it doesn't have mass market appeal.

And yet, something holds you back. It's a busy week. There are other stories. Or worse, you develop the pitch but decide to look at it again in the morning, with fresh eyes.

And then, when the morning comes and you step out to the porch to get the paper, you see your idea on the front page (teased -- I'm a "lifestyle" writer, after all).

It's easy to curse these moments, and yet, with more thought the situation can be seen in a more positive light. While I missed the byline and subsequent paycheque, in this biz I have to be a bit of a Pollyanna. So I've developed a few ways to remain optimistic at the whole missed pitch:

1. Confirmation of news judgement: If someone else thought of it, and you thought of it, and the story ran, then you're doing something right. (Just not enough of it.)

2. Getting on with the 'geist: Sometimes a story/ issue engages the writer so much that they think it marks some pivotal moment in humankind. It's rarely true, and often leads to fruitless searching for new ways to explore the issue, so missing a story might just a be an efficient -- if not financially productive -- way of avoiding all that.

3. No need to wait for that cheque: OK, I'm reaching here. A late cheque is better than no cheque at all, right?

4. Motivation for the next time I'm up to bat: Don't let it happen again! Fire off that pitch, follow up if you don't get a response, but don't let it happen again.

Don't blame your gumption (or lack of). Don't analyze the freelance budget. Just pitch, and pitch often.
(And always take your own advice.)

Editors: Aim to please or stand your ground?

A comment made on my Facebook page today, made by a former journalism teacher, made me remember one of my favourite lessons of freelancing.

I was a fourth-year journalism student with a hefty assignment on green roofs. He was a senior editor who made quasi-promises about printing (and paying for!) said article.

But after weeks of sending him well-crafted, overly-polite emails -- one of which included the full 2,500-word article -- I started to get scared. In his first email he expressed sharp interest ... so why didn't he return any more emails?

Finally, I changed my tune. I wrote and said I was scared I'd made a mistake sending the article. Though I prefaced the note by claiming ignorance on the finer points of freelance ("they don't teach us this is J-school"), I ended with the aggressive "I hope I don't see this article, with the same sources but under a different byline, in a future edition of your newspaper."

Well, that got a response!

"I'll give you some advice about freelancing," the editor wrote, "don't go around accusing senior editors of stealing your story."

Whoa. Was i shut down or what?! I took his advice, and got more comfortable in my powerless freelancer position.

The thing is, just year later, I was on staff at that publication, and of course it wasn't long before I ran into that editor. Yes, he remembered me -- he even remember my article.

And a couple months later he recommended me for an article that dealt with some of the issues my original assignment had schooled me in. Because I was a copy editor at the time, I was able to earn some extra cash writing it, put my knowledge gained from the previous article to use, and give my freelance hopes a boost.

So did I make a mistake that day when I made such an accusation? I'm still not sure. I think I'd rather be remembered as someone who stepped out of line than forgotten among the heap of freelance pitches. And it remains a favourite story ... 'cause it helped lead me to give up the copy desk and write many more stories.

On Rewrites

Life's been pretty good in the freelance game, wiht editors regularly sending me quick-hit type stories and cheques coming in a few weeks after. I was getting into fashion writing, to the surprise of my rubber-boots-and fleece-wearing mom, and I was never short of work. I even took a month off!
(Well, sort of. On my honeymoon I wrote on the opening of a new Michael Kors store in Ottawa and contributed to KMKK radio/ MolokaiNews on Molokai).

And maybe it's true that "if people don't shop, people lose their jobs," but I was starting to feel like I shouldn't be placing all my eggs in one basket (no matter how fashionable that basket may be).

So I'm looking to health issues. I love physical activity, and I enjoy writing about that stuff, but medical issues are a bigger challenge, and probably a bigger market.

I should have known that this noble challenge I was taking on would mean going back to J-School, if just in terms of CP stylebooks and asking big questions about what the heck I'm really writing about. Yes, I got a big, overwhelming note from an editor saying that I hadn't answered some big questions and, worst of all, was writing in a promotional style. Maybe it was the year of fashion writing, because in J-school I think I was more inflammatory than promotional, but I took her comments to heart and ripped the article apart.

So last weekend, Saturday morning no less, saw me jotting down the gist of each point I wanted to make, then arranging them, then taping this arrangement to the wall in front of my desk. Of course, once I got my steam going I hardly glanced at this arrangement, but it helped me ask important questions about the subject at hand: the T-Zone machine, and exercise device that uses vibration technology to strengthen muscles.

And I still wasn't 100 per cent satisfied -- but my editors were. And I got more satisfaction out of answering basic questions about anaerobic exercise and muscle atrophy than I did finding the right descriptor for silk dupion (which I understand is made with double cocoons!)

PS -- I'm also hoping that rewrites lead to a better, more collaborative relationship with my editors. I know they're busy, but if I were an editor I'd try to make the time for this sort of thing. A springboard, a writing coach, a person to vent to. Once trust is there, it will make me work faster (and even for less. shh).