Beware the snake oil salesman.

I’m a big fan of snakes, no kidding. We’ve raised corn snakes, even built our own incubators for the eggs. Snakes are so cool. They have a long and glorious history in mythology and legend, both famous and infamous. At times snakes been considered gods, symbols of infinity, fertility, rebirth and wisdom. I have a snake tattooed on my left wrist, an Ouroboros, a snake biting its tail, the symbol for eternal life. Judaism and Christianity equate the serpent with the devil. I must disagree. If you want to equate a creature with the devil, how about blood sucking ticks? I hate ticks. Nasty creatures. Blech.

On the other hand, I’m not a fan of snake oil salesmen. What are they? In the past, they were men who traveled from town to town in a medicine wagon trying to sell naive country bumpkins a remedy for all their ills. You must have seen this in Westerns. If the customer was lucky, the potion contained nothing worse than liquor. If the customer wasn’t…well, the cure might be worse than the presumed disease. That was the problem with snake oil salesmen - they promised something they couldn’t deliver - they sold false hope.

Today, I’d like to talk about two things as disparate as Groupon and three-line pitches. Wait, don’t throw your shoes at me yet! Hear me out!

Every year, high school kids come by selling coupon books for $25. Although I give a flat donation, I refuse the coupon book. Why? Because coupon books, and companies like Groupon, which allow you to print out daily discounts, encourage you to buy things you don’t need. My mother is a real sucker for coupons. There’s something about a 15% discount she finds irresistible, even if the discount for an item she doesn’t need and would never normally purchase. Even if it’s something awful. She can’t help herself; she buys crap she doesn’t need and then tries to pawn it off on me, or my sisters or my kids.

I learned my lesson when my kids were little. I followed conventional wisdom and clipped coupons to save money. I found myself purchasing items I didn’t need and didn’t even want simply because I could get them at a discount. In the end, I spent more money than I would have if I hadn’t brought the coupons.

I’m feelin’ the snake oil.

So how are three-line pitches like a snake oil salesman? Why is a raven like a writing desk? (Lewis Carroll) A three-line pitch is the printed equivalent of a sound bite. That’s exactly what it’s intended to do, tempt an agent or publisher to bite or buy. I don’t pretend to be an agent or a publisher, nor am I the queen of three-line pitches. If my history is any indication, I suck at ‘em.

So here’s my question. How does one know that what’s promised in a three-line pitch can be delivered? How many three line pitches tempt someone into buying that blue medicine bottle, but when the stopper is removed, the buyer discovers the bottle contains nothing but snake oil? I seriously doubt there are any statistics, but man, I’d love to see some. How many times does an agent ask for a full or a partial and all they get is that tempting three-line pitch? I guess I can answer my own question - you can’t know that you’ll get what’s promised. You make your best guess based upon past experience and what seems to be hot at the moment.

It’s a puzzle. I read pitches that sound to my ears like Mozart, and nobody bites; then I read other pitches that sound like the tone deaf, rhythm-challenged drummer who lives behind me. He bangs his drums late at night all summer long, off tempo - his entire repertoire consists of two songs which he mangles badly. Yet I’ve noticed that often those pitches get a bite. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you choose between the two…