Are You There Judy? It's Me, Nicky?..

I'm terrible at pitching. Not tents, not baseballs (hey US readers!) but ideas. Pitching ideas is how stories get told. Someone has an idea, they pitch it to someone else, and together they create a beautiful project. My inability to convince people of my fabulous vision is the main reason I chose the indie-publishing route. 

Tonight the roles of Nicky Bond and
 Steven Spielberg will be played by
 Jennifer Aniston and Ralph Lauren.

A few years ago I was on a course. Part of it was how to pitch and we were given a scenario. 'Imagine you get into a lift and standing there is Steven Spielberg. This is your one chance to tell him your story and interest him enough so he wants to make the movie. What do you say?'

If this happened to me, I'd smile politely, press the button I needed, and travel in silence until one of us got out. You see? I'm so terrible at pitching I don't remember to try! But back to the course. In pairs, we had to talk about our current projects (mine was Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say) and imagine we had one shot to intrigue our partner. It'd be accurate to describe everyone's attempt as garbled. Mine, however, was garbled, panicked, and incoherent. I waffled on about my diary of a ten year old girl. She's got younger brothers, she's fed up, she writes a year of her life, it's funny, she worries, she's got homework, her Mum and Dad are annoying... blah, blah, blah. You get it now? I can no more interest a stranger about my writing project than I can write it down here. Steven Spielberg can continue to move between floors, unbothered by my output.

We had another go. In our pairs, we were told to stop trying to share the entire plot, characters, and themes. They could come later. First you should explain how you came by your idea. Why are you writing it? What was the trigger that prompted you to put pen to paper? Here's what I said.

When I taught eight and nine year olds in the late noughties, my class would read something of their choosing, first thing every morning. Every day, the same thought occurred to me. I'd have never chosen the books that those children did. When I was eight or nine, I'd have walked straight past their choices in the library. They were all Harry Potter-lite. Wizards and fantasy, superpowers and spells. I'm made up for the kids that love that genre, and perhaps every child in my class did. But I felt there was a gap in the market. Where were the books about growing up? About divorcing parents, and dying grandparents? About sibling rivalry, and babies being born? Where were the books about puberty, angst, and friendship? I knew what the real question was. Where was the modern day Judy Blume? 

My partner seemed engaged. At one point her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. It seems she had been a Judy Blume fan too. Back in the day, when I had no money of my own, no space at home, and no sense of control over most aspects of my life, Judy Blume had littered the shelves of Rainhill library. First I loaned Superfudge. Then Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. It was only a matter of time before I found Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, Blubber, and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret? Written about fifteen years before I was reading them, there was a seventies haze over the stories. And with their US setting, they took me to another world. Not a world on a different planet, or a world with magic and potions. They took me to a world where everyday humans lived. (New Jersey!) Humans with whom I had lots in common, but with a whole range of different experiences too.

I finished my spiel by saying it was then I realised I wanted to be a modern-day Judy Blume. I'd done better that time. My partner immediately responded about her memories of those books, and how she loved the stories too. My pitch had worked! (Kinda. We were not in a lift and she was not Steven Spielberg. But still. Yay me.)

So why am I telling you this now?

Fifty years after the book was published, Are You There God, It's Me Margaret has been made into a film. (Watch the trailer here. Go on, click. See what you think.) To say I'm trepidatious is an understatement. I don't remember much of the plot, I never even had my own copy. But I remember how it made me feel. Seen. I was nine. It taught me loads - literally loads - about puberty. I borrowed it more than once. I even used for a high school presentation about my favourite book. What if the film's shit? What if I've misremembered how valuable it was? Or what if it's excellent and it makes me give up the Leeza McAuliffe franchise because there's no point?

From the upcoming film, Are
You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

I'm being silly. I know that. I'm sure I'll be logging into my Odeon app as soon as it's released here. But it's interesting how publishing trends ebb and flow. Perhaps the fantasy stories are taking a back seat these days. I'm also fascinated to see how AYTGIMM's audience looks. Will it be women my age, who are watching for the nostalgia? Or will a new generation of middle-grade children, stumble across it and learn about the world like I did?  Whatever happens, I'm so pleased that the stories of every day humans continue to be told. It's how we learn empathy. It's how we learn about the experiences of others. We need them now more than ever. Just don't rely on me for the pitch.

Have a lovely week, folks.