The one-page pitch, in the order a publisher reads it.
A publisher at a convention gets handed a one-page pitch between meetings and reads it in the order they always read it — which is not the order most designers write it. They read top to bottom looking for reasons to stop, and the page that survives puts the answer to each question exactly where their eyes land next. Here is that order, with the invented Tidewrack pitch from the sample page as the worked example. The ten questions are what the page is answering; this is where each answer goes.
The title line: name, players, age, time
"Tidewrack · 2–4 players · ages 10+ · 45 minutes." Before the hook, before anything. A publisher has slots on a list — a 45-minute family-weight game is a different slot from a two-hour euro — and the first thing they do with your page is see which slot you are. Print the time your timed playtests gave.
What it is, in one sentence
The hook you would say across the table: the situation and the pull. "Beachcombers salvaging after storms — every tile you take pushes the tide in for everyone." One sentence that could only be your game. A sentence that could sit on any box tells the publisher you have not found yours yet.
How a turn goes
One short paragraph: what a player does, what it costs, how the game ends, who wins. Written as actions — take, push, score — not as mechanisms. The publisher is checking there is a game under the theme, and a turn they can picture is the proof. This is the paragraph most designers write first and place last; it goes third.
Why it sells, in the publisher’s terms
The one thing this does that the shelf beside it does not: the shared tide timer everyone pushes. Said plainly, without naming another game — the publisher knows the shelf better than you do, and a comparison that is slightly wrong closes the folder. One difference, stated as a fact of the design, beats three stated as enthusiasm.
Where it sits
Weight, audience, table feel: "family-plus; teaches in five minutes; plays as fast with two as with four." This is the publisher placing the game in their line — next to what, for whom, at what price point they will work out themselves. Your job is the shelf-feel, not the price.
The numbers they can check
Playtests as logged ("31 blind tests, rules v0.9"), finish times as timed, the print-and-play downloads if public. Labelled as reported, never rounded up. A publisher can smell a rounded number, and one wobbly figure costs the page the benefit of every other one.
Components, as counts
"64 tiles, 48 cards, 4 player boards, 40 tokens, 8-page rulebook." The publisher prices the box in their head while they read; counts let them. "Beautiful wooden pieces" prices nothing and promises an argument about art direction.
Status, honestly
Rules final or not, art placeholder or not, open to their art direction or not, other publishers seeing it or not. The last one is the question designers most want to dodge and publishers most remember being dodged on — a plain "two others have the sheet" reads as a designer who will be easy to work with.
Contact: one line
Name, email, city, one link. The email on the page itself, not behind a form. If the page has done its work, a way to reply is all a publisher needs.
Three questions.
Is the one-page pitch the same as a sell sheet?
Close cousins. The sell sheet is the page you hand anyone; the one-page pitch is written for the meeting you already have — it assumes the publisher will hear the hook from your mouth and keeps the page for what they check afterwards. Same facts, different order.
Should the one-page pitch carry an image?
One, if it earns its space: the table mid-game or the key component, captioned. Art direction is the publisher’s job; the image is there to show the game has a table presence, not to fix the look.
Do I bring the rulebook to the pitch?
Have it ready, never lead with it. The page carries a link; the publisher who wants the rulebook after reading the page is a publisher the page has already won.
Get the sample pitch pack first
The invented Tidewrack pack: the designer’s email and the finished pitch as a PDF, and our one-page list of the ten questions a publisher asks and the order the one-page pitch goes in.
Your 15-second hook, two-minute script, one-page pitch and the ten answers, written from your own notes within two days, $39 / £31 incl. VAT / A$59 / C$55. Nothing added that you did not give; we contact no publisher for you.