One of my favorite things about editing is finding new voices, and helping support them so they can do their best work. I like hearing what other people have to say. I like considering angles and takes that I wouldn’t necessarily think of or argue — that’s why I’m assigning the piece out to you, the writer, instead of taking it on myself. But in finding new voices comes what is easily the worst part of the entire writing process: The pitch.
And it’s something that nobody really teaches you how to do.
This is, in part, because English courses at colleges can vary widely in their usefulness — like, seriously, that poetry workshop I took junior year where we talked about the color of clouds for half a semester?!?! — and also because no two editors like to be pitched the same. It takes time and effort to nail down an all-purpose formula that is the least offensive to the greatest amount of editors, but in my experience on both the writing and editing sides, there are a few things that help.
1. Take a stance. It doesn’t have to be the hottest take this side of the sun or even the most novel spin on the same tired subject everyone is writing about, but it does have to be a stance. Have an opinion. Pick an angle. Find a catchy way to worm your way in. And don’t be afraid to back it up, no matter how absurd it may seem.
2. Flesh it out. A headline is all well and good, but signing up for that could be a recipe for disaster. You could go literally anywhere with a headline, and I might need to kill a piece if I take that risk. Send me a paragraph instead explaining what it is you want to talk about and why. Hook me in. Make me want to know more. Cite a few studies if you feel like it helps, or provide links to pieces people have already written on the topic and explain how and why you’ll push the conversation forward as opposed to offering more of the same. As long as you explain your stance fully enough to convince me to ask for the rest of it, we’re good.
3. Please don’t ask me what kind of pitches I’m “looking for.” The short answer: I don’t know. The long answer: I don’t know, but I’ll know when you tell me what it is! Really. It’s often as simple as a gut feeling. I will know what I’m looking for when you tell me what it is I’ve been looking for all along.
I used to do this all the time as a writer, and would reach out to editors blindly, introducing myself and asking if they’d give me a little insight. They are often too busy to give you insight, though kind editors may take the time to clue you in a bit if they can. Take a look around at the website, and things they’ve published lately. Draft up a few pitches about… anything and everything, really. Even if they’re all wildly off base, I can at least give you a reason why. I can’t give you a reason why off of nothing. Trust me — I’ll appreciate a wild stab in the dark more than an open-ended inquiry any day.
4. Remember that I might not always be able to provide feedback. I try to. I really like providing feedback, partially because that’s how I always grew as a writer, and that is usually how I edit. When people would ask me questions and back me into a hole where I had to explain my way out and really stand by my ideas, that’s when I’d create the most fully-formed argument. The main way I measure whether I’m a good editor is if I help you become the best writer you can be in that piece and in that moment.
… but still, sometimes I might not be able to explain why I made changes to a piece, or why pitches aren’t the right fit. Please understand that I might not always be able to give you my insight, so sometimes just taking another stab at another pitch later in the week or month is for the best. It never hurts to ask why (but pressing the issue too much isn’t a cute look, either).
5. Ask yourself if the angle you’re taking is the strongest one. Seriously, go back to step 1 and ask yourself this again. If you’re working on an evergreen story, does it have a timely peg? If it’s a more time-sensitive piece, would you read this a month or even a year from now? See if you can expand it. The longer a piece can live on, the more I like it.
It’s also worth asking yourself why you are the correct person to write this story right now. Sometimes, you aren’t, and it’s worth making space for other people who can and should be doing that work. But if you are the right person for the story, consider why that is. How can you tell this story in a way no one else will? Write down the answer on a post-it and keep it somewhere visible while you work, if you need to.
6. Make friends. This is by far the most useful thing I’ve ever learned how to do. Engage with people on social media, and with the stories they post. Some of my strongest ideas have come from random Twitter conversations and threads. Good stories often don’t exist in a bubble, away from a broader cultural context. As a writer, I would also often build up a rapport with editors before pitching them, but it worked in my favor because then they already knew who I was, and they had a better idea of my humor, my stances, and what I was capable of.
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