Kristin Bair O'Keeffe: Writer. Mom. Teacher. Traveler.

A Novel: Writing the Pitch

When I posted on Facebook that I was working on the 1-sentence pitch for my next novel, two friends came up with great suggestions:

• Just read me!

• International bestseller!

Good god, I wish it were that easy.

Instead I've been holed up in my tiny office for the past six days rolling sentence after sentence around in my noggin, on a piece of scratch paper, and on the computer screen. I've written possible 1-sentence pitches on receipts from City Shop, my left hand, yellow stickies, a menu (while out to dinner), the inside cover of The Best American Travel Writing 2009, and other sundries.

For all you non-writers out there, the 1-sentence pitch is your "elevator pitch." You know, you find yourself in an elevator with a top editor at a top publishing house who can make or break your career and you've got, oh, 15 seconds or so to pitch your book. (Of course, this is an absurd and highly unlikely scenario in today's publishing world, but go with me.)

You can also think of the 1-sentence pitch as what you tell a fellow mom you meet at the playground and with whom you have a quick conversation while your kids are climbing the monkey-bars. As her two-year-old runs off in the direction of the street, she hollers over her shoulder, "What's your book about?" and you've got about 15 seconds before she's out of earshot.

Soooooooooo...how's it all going?

Well, while being tortured by the 1-sentence pitch, I've also written a 1-paragraph pitch and a 2-paragraph pitch (getting it all done in one fell swoop). According to my husband, the 2-paragraph pitch is (hee hee) "pitch-perfect."

Whoo-hoo!

But, he went on to tell me, the 1-sentence pitch isn't.

UUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I wish he were wrong, but I know he's right.

So it's back to the scribbling pad.

Wish me luck. Cause you know, since I am going to moving halfway around the world in about five weeks, there are just few other things I should be doing.

___

Pencil Photo Credit: Francesco Marino / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Film Clip Photo Credit: Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Big, Sad, Happy, Crazy News...We're Leaving China

Okay, folks, here's the scoop.

After spending 4 1/2 years in Shanghai, China, we are repatriating. We'll be moving back to the United States at the beginning of October.

Wow...did I just say that out loud? Cause you know, saying it out loud makes it real.

Let's listen again.

After spending 4 1/2 years in Shanghai, China, we are repatriating. We'll be moving back to the United States at the beginning of October.

Holy cannoli.

I said it out loud. It must be true.

How do I feel?

Damn good question with no easy answers. To help clarify the three main emotions I've been experiencing since making this life-changing, boom-da-da-boom-da-da-boom-da-da-boom decision, I drew a few pictures. Let's see if this helps us sort it out:

I'm happy. Very happy. I can't wait to have family and U.S. pals within hugging distance. Get ready...I'll be hugging BIG!

I'm so so sad. I'm gonna miss many things like Mr. Chen (our driver), the Chicken Man, my writing pals, my writing students, lots of very special friends, Out Loud! (the reading series I run), kick-ass jiaozi (dumplings), an incredibly diverse multi-cultural life, easy access to tropical paradises (i.e., Borneo), having an ayi to clean up every single mess my two-year-old makes, my daughter's bilingual school, the monks at the Longhua Temple, the view of the Pearl Tower from my 23rd floor apt, and...and...and...

Oh me gosh. Y'all know that moving is crazy even if you're only moving a few blocks down the street, but moving to the other side of the world is even crazier. It's a completely insane journey that (as you can see) is already making me just a wee bit loony. And guess what? I'm only going to get loonier. 

Sooooo...anyway...I imagine I'll be doing a lot of writing in the next 6 or so weeks about China and change and all the crazy stuff that happens during this process. Pop in often to witness the happy-sad-loony tales (a.k.a. the yippee-boohoo-OMG tales) of my next around-the-world move.

How (Not) to Talk to Adoptive Families: Part III

Yep. Part III. (Haven't read Parts I and II? Click here and here respectively.)

Yesterday I was at a kid's birthday party with 2.5-year-old daughter in Shanghai and I met a woman from Eastern Europe. A seemingly smart woman who has lived in Shanghai for five years, is married to a guy from a different country than her own, is mom to a one-year-old daughter, and will give birth to her second in September.

Pretty savvy, right?

So we were chatting. The normal expat chatter: "How long have you lived here? Whose job brought you here?" Yadda, yadda, yadda. A few kids raced past. The woman said, "Which one is yours?"

I pointed to Tully as she screeched to a halt in front of me. "That one."

The woman jolted upright. "That one?" she said, pointing at Tully as if there was no way in hell that one could be my daughter.

"Yep, this one," I said, once again indicating Tully who was by then wrapped around my legs.

Because I'm very familiar with the "big-crap-is-about-to-come-out-of-this-person's-mouth-about-adoption" tone of voice, I knew I should have scooped Tully up in my arms and headed home...or at least hightailed it to a different room.

But before I could move or speak, the woman tossed back her head and laughed. Then she said, "Who is her father?"

"Excuse me?" I said. But then somehow instead of punching this obviously-not-so-smart woman in the face (which is what I really want to do), I ended up explaining that my husband was from Ireland and that we had adopted Tully from Vietnam.

All while Tully was standing there, looking up at me, hugging my legs, and listening.

Then the woman said, "Oh, my god, how did you feel when they plopped a one-year-old in your arms?"

I wanted to say, "In love. Peaceful. The happiest I've ever been in my life. Glowy. Thankful. Totally overwhelmed. Frightened. Just like every other mom in the world--birth or adoptive," but instead I sat there fighting back the tears because all I could think was "Tully is listening to this nincompoop."

Of course, the woman couldn't leave well enough alone. She studied us for a few minutes, then said, "You know, she kind of resembles you. Thin. Long face. She could almost be your daughter."

"Uh, dumb-ass," I should have said, "she is."

But instead...I sat frozen in my seat, confounded by this woman's brazen insensitivity. My face flaming with anger and mortification.

To be fair, the woman's husband looked a little embarrassed as she spoke, and I believe he actually sensed my discomfort. Maybe his wife is a nincompoop all the time. Maybe she's just one of those people who, no matter what the circumstance, sticks her big foot in her mouth.

Today?

I'm pissed at myself...because I didn't handle the conversation better...because I haven't yet gotten down a smooth response to people like this...because I feel like I didn't protect Tully properly.

But don't worry. I'll be fine. My hubs and I have an ongoing conversation about how best to respond to intrusive questions/comments about our family. It's a process...like everything else in life.

___

Photo by Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net