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Literary conference. Man grabs agent by the sleeve. 'My book — it's about loneliness, the human condition, three generations of women in postwar France!' Agent: 'Sounds compelling. Send me the first three chapters.' Man: 'There are no chapters yet. But the FEELING is all here.' Taps chest. Agent: 'So... you haven't written it.' Man: 'Writing is a formality. The SOUL is ready.' Agent: 'Sir, this is the fourth year you've pitched me the same soul.' Man: 'Fifth. And the women are now in postwar Spain.' Agent: 'What changed?' Man: 'Flights to Paris got expensive.'

A debut author finally lands a meeting with a prestigious literary agent. The agent places an hourglass on the desk and says, 'You have three minutes to pitch your novel.' The author begins: 'It's a multi-generational saga spanning—' The agent flips the hourglass upside down. 'Two minutes.' The author speeds up: 'There's a family curse and—' Another flip. 'One minute.' Panicking, the author blurts: 'Dragons!' The agent smiles, shakes his hand: 'Congratulations, you've just described the entire fantasy genre. I'll take it.'