Write Better — How to Pitch an Editor; 7 Things to Keep in Mind

Honest tips for writing better, stronger stories and content, according to an editor.

[Here’s where the stock image of a typewriter or some bullshit goes.]

You want to get hired to write. But there’s someone you have to impress first — the editor. The troll under the bridge.

As an editor, I see an ever-flowing stream of pitches, and most them are underwhelming in quality.

So, in an effort to spare you some embarrassment (and me some uncomfortable let downs) here are things writers should keep in mind when pitching editors, particularly me. (If you want the TL;DR version, it’s this: Keep it short. Pitch a lot.)

1. Keep it short. Everything I receive is far too long, which says more about your writing than your actual writing. I don’t have time to read the short story that describes your short story. I care about three things: Who are you? Where would I recognize your work (if anywhere)? What’s your idea?
   No big words. No lengthy explanations. Frankly, I skim your email to get to the last part anyway — your idea. Don’t spend 90% of the email telling my why you’re awesome. Just be awesome. Show me.
2. Don’t be self-important. Meaning don’t write every fucking small publication you’ve ever been in ever. Christ. Some pitches read like a table of contents of mediocrity with 20 hyperlinks. Send me a link to one good story, or put the text at the bottom of the email. “See text below.” And don’t make me download a word doc. Gross.
3. I’m not more likely to accept your pitch because X.Y.Z. There is nothing you could say that would make me more likely to accept your pitch. I don’t care if you were valedictorian. I don’t care if you’re an accomplished artist. I don’t care if you’re James fucking Franco. I don’t even care if you were recently published in The New Yorker. (I mean, of course it’s great you were published in The New Yorker. But the mere fact you were published there isn’t more persuasive to me other than for the fact it shows you’re a good writer. And still…) I will only accept your story if I want the story.
   I repeat: I will only accept your story if I want the story.
4. I’m a person. I receive many emails in a day. I enjoy going through emails as much as anyone — meaning I don’t. I’m between meetings. I haven’t eaten lunch on time in 3 weeks. I… I don’t know how else to say this. Think of pitching me, a total stranger, like you’re approaching someone at a party. If you ramble on about how great you are at this, and how many accolades you got for that, and start showing me all the stories you ever wrote — I’d excuse myself for a drink and find anyone else to talk to. Instead say, “Hey, you’re an editor? I can get an interview with a guy who milks cows for the Amish. Is that something you’d be interested in?” Then I’d say yes or no, and we’d move on. (But also, please never pitch me at a party. I mean, Jesus, context.)
5. I’m probably going to say no. Yeah, that’s the way of the world. It’s not personal. Maybe I don’t want the story. Maybe I don’t trust your writing skills. Maybe I have a similar story in the works. Maybe my budget is gone. Honestly, half of what it takes to be successful is dumb fucking luck. (Like any endeavor.) The other half of course is persistence, which leads me to number 6.
6. Hound me. If I don’t get back to you in two days — try again. Keep emailing me. Say this and nothing more: “Just checking in to see if you still wanted to do this story.” If I still don’t get back to you then…
7. Keep pitching me. Try a different story. I can’t ignore you forever. Eventually something you pitch will be good or the timing will be right and I will ask you for a story, you will write it, and I will pay you money. And you’ll think “finally”. And it will not be as satisfying as you’d hoped. Like losing your virginity.

Here’s an example of a phenomenal pitch:

Hey Nathan,

I heard you were looking for stories that related to summer. I have 500 words on what makes a perfect summer barbecue. I’d include a memory of eating hot dogs with my grandma when I was 5 on Independence Day, and a recipe for potato salad. Let me know how that sounds.

I’m also going to skip the bullshit outro.

Share it if ya want, ya jerk.