Their goal to "win the room"—to be the best presentation that any one panel of judges saw—is analogous to winning the bid for the construction project. But steeped as I currently am in the process of submitting a novel to agents and helping other writers develop their manuscripts, I saw another analogy.
Like glancing over a clean manuscript, slick presentation was easy to assess. Dressing nicely, speaking with confidence, and organizing the material well created a great impression right off the bat. The first group in our room quickly racked up points in these areas.
Another presented well enough but left a memorable impression with the originality and cohesiveness of theme: to bring the beach to Boyertown, which is a good 120 miles inland. They incorporated sand boxes under balconies in their 3-D rendering of the facade, painted the building in peach and seafoam green, and carried through all of their elements a unified theme of stress reduction. The marketing director was full of ideas of how to get the word out about their new facility.
When the presentations in our room were over and it came to deciding who had "won the room," the score sheets for these two groups were tied. Moving to a more subjective vote—who should win—the judges' tied again, 3-3. We considered declaring the tie, but since there were only three presentations in our room, that meant that while no one would "win" the room, one team would definitely lose. The judges did not feel comfortable with this result.
We haggled for a while over details. Both groups had worked hard on their presentation materials. The first group forgot to include a required element in their presentation, the second went above and beyond expectations in that same element. Yet this alone didn't seem enough to decide the outcome. (We tried to let the fact that the first group handed out homemade chocolate chip cookies stay out of the equation.)
The question we ultimately had to ask ourselves is, if we were truly thinking about investing in one of these facilities, where would we put our money? Which would we want to have in Boyertown?
When posed that way, the question was pretty easy to answer—the money element often has a way of clarifying things. We eschewed the slick presentation and went with the solid, original idea that had an integrated marketing plan. Years down the road, when the faces of those slick presenters had long faded from memory, it would be the idea that really mattered anyway. I am writing this just three hours after leaving the junior high and I frankly have already forgotten the theme of the other facility.
I think there is a great lesson for us in our writing here. Especially for someone like me, who can easily spend an hour crafting, deconstructing, and reforming a paragraph: sometimes beautiful words won't be enough to get someone to invest money in your project. You need that great, memorable idea with a solid marketing plan to reach your audience.
Therein lies the great mystery of writing: what the heck comprises a "great" idea? The uncertainty can drive you nuts. But the yearning to find that special idea that grabs you and doesn't let go is the thrill that entices writer, agent, editor, and reader alike.
Now. A good idea AND beautiful sentences? Throw in a good chocolate chip cookie and I'm in heaven.
1 comment:
heck, make it two chocolate chip cookies. amen.
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