Elevator Pitch Critiques

Elevator Pitch Critiques How about some critiques of those elevator pitches? I’m impressed and amazed at how many of you contributed them in the comments to my post last Wednesday. Obviously I won’t be able to critique most of them, but hopefully you’ll get something out of these few that I’m going to address. A couple things before I start. First, some of you acknowledged that your book is something that I might not represent—that’s fine, and it’s okay to mention that in your conversation. But don’t use it as a reason to avoid pitching—you never know, you could change my mind! If you’re asked what you’re writing, by all means talk about it. Second, length is an issue for some of the pitches. Keep in mind it takes roughly 30 seconds to deliver about 100 words, which is a nice length for an...
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First Page Critique #3

Things were going along just fine until the miracle fouled up everything. At least, that’s what Bill kept telling himself. Over and over again. What right did God have to step in and make a mess of things? He slipped on his boots and grabbed his coat, heading out the door. He paused just long enough to grab the extra clip for his gun. Outside, the snow was falling lightly. The air was crisp and dark but for the pallid glow of the streetlamp. Bill could hear it humming above the soft crackling of the snow fall. He zippered his coat and fumbled with his keys before unlocking the police cruiser. The vinyl seats protested his two hundred pound frame as he climbed in and started the engine. He wanted to shift the Caprice straight into gear and rush on down to Molly’s house, but he knew...
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First Page Critique #2

“The Miracle” Things were going along just fine until the miracle fouled up everything. A miracle. That’s what reporters on TV call it when a boy who has been missing for 15 years suddenly turns up alive and well. I guess I understand their point. It must look like a miracle from their eyes. But they weren’t there to see the tears of my little sister, or at least the girl who I thought was my little sister, make tracks through the sticky syrup stains on her face as police handcuffed the woman I had called “Mom” for the last 15 years. The reporters weren’t there when Sheriff Walker told me that my mom wasn’t really the woman who gave birth to me, that my biological mother had a nervous breakdown after my disappearance, and that my real father...
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First Page Critique: The Healer

Here’s the First Page entry: Things were going along just fine until the miracle fouled up everything. As usual, I was checking last-minute details. Never leave anything to chance. “Got the stiffs lined up for tonight?” “Sure, Rev. Don’t you trust me?” Did I trust Randy? No, that ship had sailed long ago. “Don’t call me ‘Rev!’ My name is Brother Bob.” I finished the last half-ounce of Scotch in my glass and drowned my cigarette in the dregs. “Looks like the tent’s going to be pretty full. Be sure we use the big offering baskets. Don’t want any money to spill over and fall into the pockets of your ushers.” If he caught the veiled warning, he showed no signs. Good old Randy. Maybe he still halfway believed in what I was preaching. Then again, his belief might...
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