Pitchin' from the Hip
B.O.'s 476 word-pitch for Geezer Magazine ; pay $300
Welcome to 2026,
What’s this? The owner of the club has featured … himself? I reserve the right. I’m in the mud, too! Gotta be one of those hogs who looks delighted to be in the mud, caked in grime, sending off pitches.
Ok, enough, of that nonsense.
This essay I pitched has been accepted, but it hasn’t run yet. It’s for Geezer Magazine, a very Gen-X, print-only (yes!) magazine. And the essay should appear in Issue 2 (title TBD), that is, of course, if it doesn’t get killed1. I don’t think it will. If it does, it will discredit the entire Pitch Club enterprise, and we will be forced to shut down the club and blow it up like the island in Squid Game 3.
The backstory of this pitch: I subscribed to the magazine ($120 a year, it’s a BIG-ass zine. I love it.) and I read an essay by Laura LeBleu, the founder of Geezer, in a section called “That Thing I Love (that I can’t shut up about).” I had recently, for whatever goddam reason, gotten into finding old, rusty, woe-begotten cast-iron skillets from thrift stores and restoring them to their showroom shine. It wasn’t just about the act of restoring the pans but what they symbolized that made the essay a good fit for the magazine.
I pitched Laura2 — from the hip. I wrote this pitch in about 20 minutes, not usually good practice, best to let things marinate a bit. And I heard back from her — I shit you not — 26 minutes later.
It’s 476 words and will the final 800-word essay will pay $300.
Below you’ll find the pitch that had Laura saying, “Two words: HELL YEAH.”
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Opening Thoughts
Dear Laura,
I tell you, “something I love that I can’t shut up about” — and subsequently tweaking out my YouTube algorithm — is refurbishing cast-iron skillets.
Of all the middle-aged hobbies, this one is pretty benign and not too big of a drag on the wallet mainly because you can find a cast-iron skillet in desperate need of TLC at a thrift shop for 25% of its brand-new value.
OK but so what?
A cast-iron skillet has a way of showing its age, but it also has a way of being ageless. With the right attention, the right process and care, a cast iron skillet that has seen better days, perhaps is past its so-called prime, can reclaim its former vitality. It’s never too old to be young again, but with a greater sense of perspective because some of these pans have seen some shit. Turns out, that cast-iron-skillet life is something of a metaphor: It extends to our own view of our lives as we crest into life’s second half and final third. It’s never too late to get back into shape, to rub off the rust.
And a well cared for cast-iron skillet is seasoned. What are we now, at this juncture, but seasoned? Even weathered and worse for wear. Seasoning leads to resilience, but without careful tending, the pan can fall into disrepair the same way every damn time I pick up a bag of dog food wrong my back blows out, or if I grab the pizza stone from the oven with only one hand, suddenly my wrist feels like an ice pick was driven through it. Be it our bodies or a skillet, with great attention to detail and attention paid to its seasoning, it often gets better with age and remains nonstick, which is skillet language for running out of fucks to give.
After I read your “My Hot-and-Cold Love Affair,” my weird little obsession with finding old cast irons and the symbolism they revealed to me, it struck me as an essay that might fit within the covers of Geezer, a short little riff about the mighty cast iron and how, like humans, they get better with age.
I’m the author of two books of nonfiction, the latest being The Front Runner: The Life of Steve Prefontaine. My work has appeared in Longreads, Short Reads, Creative Nonfiction, Writer’s Digest, and Trail Runner Magazine, among others. I’ve long hosted The Creative Nonfiction Podcast, the show I started (and still operate on my own with no outside help) in 2013 and have interviewed more than 500 people including Mary Karr, Susan Orlean, Laura Hillenbrand, David Grann, and John McPhee, just to name a few.
Thanks so much for taking time to review this little pitch. I understand the onslaught editors are under, so your attention is greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
Brendan O’Meara
Closing Thought: Batting Averages
Find Geezer Magazine Issue No. 2 on select magazine stands or subscribe to read my cast-iron essay (assuming it doesn’t get killed between now and then. That’ll be wicked embarrassing.) I don’t get kickbacks or commissions for linking out to the subscription portal.
I hang out on social media @creativenonfictionpodcast on IG and @brendanomeara.bsky.social on Bluesky.
Happy pitching in 2026,
Postscript
Hey, OK-but-listen-though: Pitch Club will always be free. I will never paywall a learning resource and gate-keep someone’s capacity to learn and improve. That said, this takes quite a bit of time and if you want to support me, buy copies of The Front Runner: The Life of Steve Prefontaine (Mariner Books) and subscribe to The Creative Nonfiction Podcast (wherever you get your podcasts). By selling books and growing my platform, that gets me paid. So a book purchase (and requisite rating and review) or subscribing to Pitch Club or the podcast is a form of currency. Platform = payment.
You may also pledge support for Pitch Club should I elect to take payment through here. I doubt I will, but it’s validating to see people telling me that they’d pay for it. I do take money over at Patreon, but if I link out to that, I think Substack can freeze your account.
Leah Sottile, said of Pitch Club, “Honestly, Brendan O’Meara is providing a full master class on being a successful freelancer for free, and we should all be paying him for it. Pitch Club is brilliant.”
I’ve been assured it won’t be killed! Huzzah!
Geezer has a submission email, but that bounced back to me, so I pitched Laura after that email rebounded. Follow the rules.
Thrilled to have you in issue #2 of Geezer! (And, yeah...don't worry about the piece being killed. It's delightful.)
I was so intrigued I just subscribed. I miss huge magazines and getting lost in a huge volume, which I realize is ironic to be typing into a little box on my laptop at 1:49 a.m., but so be it.