Tag / agenting

by Matthew

The Long Road of Authorship

Buckle up, writers, you’re about to go for a ride.

That’s a picture of Foss Flats Road near North Sandwich, New Hampshire. Talk about your worldbuilding!

I took this picture in October of 2012, so it’s well over a decade old. But it’s still one of my favorite photos, because while encapsulating the simple beauty of fall foliage, it is also packed full of metaphors for life. And as I stare at it, metaphors for writing and writers.

Stories are beautiful. Writing undergoes a constant state of renewal. The road is long. The road is imperfect and potentially very long. There’s a lot of debris along the way. The path is lonely and a little off-center (or is it?). The experience is often done out of the spotlight. The destination is unknown. There is light at the end of the road (or is there?). I could go on, but you get the point.

Being an author is an endless journey.

Unless your goal is to fire off one book and then close your laptop/writing journal forever without worrying if anyone’s reading it and never think about it or another story again, publishing your first tale is just the very beginning of an endless slog. Merriam-Webster gives us three definitions for slog, and they all apply to the author’s path after publishing: a hard dogged march or journey, a prolonged arduous task or effort, and hard persistent work. All are true. But first, a word from our sponsor: the traditional publishing industry.

This is a (brief) aside on the state of the traditional publishing world. In 2022, all the tea was spilt in court when the US Government succeeded with an anti-trust lawsuit to stop Penguin Random House from acquiring Simon & Schuster (a $2.2B acquisition that would have reduced the quantity of bona fide big house traditional publishers to four, down from six in the 2010s and dozens in the 1990s). During the weekslong court hearing, publishing executives revealed how only a third of new books published are profitable, and 20% of those making up 80% of the profit. Almost all of that 20% are established, name brand authors like Stephen King, Lee Child, and Brandon Sanderson. There are a few younger upstarts that have recently driven strong sales like Sarah J. Maas, Colleen Hoover, and Rebecca Yarros, but for every one of those newer authors, there are thousands whose books are picked up by a traditional publisher and never reach any real measure of success. And they never get a second book deal. Plus, for every traditionally published author, there are millions more unpublished writers out there hoping to get a chance.

Publishers are, in the PRH CEO’s words, “angel investors in our authors and their dreams, their stories”. For the uninitiated, angel investor is a venture capital term. Incredibly wealthy people invest a very small amount of money for a large stake in something, because at that moment in time, the perceived value is very low, but has at least some potential to be enormous. Back in 2016, the Harry Potter franchise was worth around $25 billion dollars. Before the Philosopher’s Stone came out (1997), a short, off-the-wall, worldbuilding-heavy middle grade story about an orphan boy being sent to wizard school had almost no perceived value. For something that so greatly impacted pop culture, JK Rowling was paid a measly $2000 advance for the first book. Talk about a return on investment!

The publisher had no idea what they were getting.

Publishers guess as to what will be successful, mostly because they don’t know and have admitted it’s more or less impossible to predict how well a debut author’s book will do. Pretty sure a decade ago, no one would have ever guessed that New Adult fantasy (which includes seriously “spicy” content, as the Internet likes to call it) would become the smash success it is today.

Sadly, because of the dynamics of capitalism, publishers focus on what they know will make them money. Those guaranteed wins get far more organizational attention. Subsequently, publishers have pushed far more of the work they used to do onto the laps of authors. Manuscripts have to be edited and revised to perfection before an agent will even touch them. Authors are expected to have a moderate-to-large social network already established. Advances for no-name authors are miniscule to zero. There are a bunch of little small presses still out there who may accept your manuscript, but the story is the same. They can only invest a little time, a spot on their website, an email to Barnes and Noble, and their name on the spine of your book for a slice of the pie. They may be a “traditional” publisher, but is that worth it considering the effort and strain it takes? What’s your return on investment there? Dubious.

But perhaps most damning of all, the marketing and PR heft of the publishing houses are hyper-focused on the already established authors they know will move books. This leaves the bulk of the marketing work to the author.

Enter the slog.

No one likes an unwelcome slog. Yet I use the term with begrudging acknowledgement here, because for some, that slog is a joy. There are actually people out there who take relish in tackling all this:

  • Researching & communicating with bookstores to get books on shelves
  • Designing, purchasing, and managing swag like bookmarks and stickers
  • Researching & booking author signings
  • Designing, purchasing, and managing online ads
  • And the biggest time sink in history, social media. All of the above are supported by your social media reach.

For me, I’d rather spend time writing stories than promoting them. I suspect that mindset is common among most writers. But, as a (currently) self-published author, 100% of my success is on my shoulders. To date, I’ve pursued marketing with limited effort and received commensurate success for it. Knowing myself, once I have another book or two published, my interest in marketing will increase. But while all of the slog belongs to self-published authors, those few lucky enough to be picked by a traditional publishing house are increasingly responsible for the vast majority of promoting their book.

Before, when a traditional publisher bought a book, everything was pretty hands-off for the author, apart from the occasional signing appearance or tour and (hopefully) collecting a check. Each book was kind of like a road trip that had a beginning (finish the story), middle (get an agent and revise) and an end (get published). Success was prescribed and defined by a fairly simple path.

Now, that journey never ends. Sure, you will write and publish more books. But the obligations of promotion of the first book through the last will forever be on your shoulders. Regardless of how your book gets published, we’re all in the same marketing boat. And because of the diminishing benefits for new authors to be traditionally published, more and more authors will set their sights on self-publishing straight from the start and skip the query trenches, because the return on time investment there is approaching infinitesimal. Making it increasingly likely that the next Harry Potter won’t be found by the Big 5.

So how does a writer know they’re having a successful writing career?

Embrace the journey of authorship as the goal.

There is no spoon. Writers who hope to nurture a lasting career can’t look at the milestone of becoming an author as a road trip with a destination. Neither self-publishing a book or being traditionally published counts as crossing the finish line. Both are almost identical paths along a side-scrolling, endless adventure full of traps and pitfalls, speed bumps, potholes, and plot holes. And marketing. Lots and lots of marketing. It only stops if you give up or get big enough to be worthy of the almighty marketing dollar of the traditional publisher. It’s the experience we’re after. Hopefully we make a few bucks along the way. Some will even earn a sustainable living.

The point is this: in this modern age of books, being a writer no longer only involves typing out words on the page. It will never be that again. As long as you accept that fact, there’s still some great scenery to enjoy.

Time to hit the (writing) road! M

by Matthew

Dial Me for Murder

Hello everyone, welcome back! The end of summer is approaching, and the insane heat here in Texas has let up (a touch). Took some time off for an epic, 7-week European adventure in ten cities across five countries. Didn’t get much of any writing done, but did have plenty of time for thinking about my completed manuscripts and works-in-progress.

About a quarter into the trip, I got rejection emails on back-to-back days from the final two full manuscript request queries I had unresolved for a middle grade video game fantasy manuscript. Which sucked, of course. This story has been queried a ton. Dozens of cold queries, plus at least twenty pitch sessions across several writing conferences, all of which but one resulted in requests for pages. Half of all of these queries received no reply at all, which is (I assume) a typical response rate for modern day literary agents. Most of the rejections were canned form letters with nothing meaningful to say (typical). A few rejections said they liked what I had submitted, but it just didn’t grab the agent enough to request more.

It wasn’t all bad though. I had a total of seven full requests on this story, six from conference pitches and one from a slush pile cold query. But a pattern had developed over time with the limited feedback I had received from agents: they liked the writing and voice, they liked the characters, but I wasn’t getting to the heart of the adventure soon enough.

So, armed with time to think while riding across Europe on planes, trains, and automobiles, I came up with a plan of action for another revision to my story.

Actually, I already knew what I had to do. Kill the darlings.

We authors, especially those of us in the worldbuilding-heavy fantasy/sci-fi genres, love to add details. Lots of details. Character details. Setting details. Historical details. Details of detailed details. All the details. And a lot of times, readers eat them up.

However, what the prevailing wisdom for an author seeking first-time representation tells us is that we should keep our manuscripts lean and mean. What does that mean for all of those detailed details? Only keep what’s necessary.

So, as I was working through the first revision of this middle grade story, about two chapters’ worth stuck out to me as entirely extraneous. The story is set in my old college town. At the end of every summer the town has a huge outdoor festival, and I wrote a little scene where the heroine has to face some anxieties while going through the crowd. Super fun, well-written, relevant to the character, and enjoyable to all those who had beta read the story, and -bonus- a personal connection for me the author. The true definition of a darling.

BUT

When you start getting a pattern of feedback from agents telling you the story isn’t moving along quick enough, it’s time for those things to go. Why? Because the pace suffers. An agent’s professional success depends on an ability to identify a commercially viable story out of a pile of thousands. So, if their slow-plot alarm bells are ringing, you’d better pay attention.

Back to my story. The heroine, while indeed facing anxieties (conflict) in her trip through the festival crowd, didn’t particularly grow any from the experience. She went on to face more anxieties in other scenes not long after. And while it was relevant to her internal journey, it wasn’t particularly connected to the external plot at all. The festival has nothing to do with the adventure of the plot. So, it had to go. Along with every other reference to the festival. Plus another handful of similar occurrences, where the progress of the plot was bogged down for a fun, but unnecessary detour.

And oh, the pain. Making deep revision cuts can be heartbreaking. I carved out nearly 10% of my story, dropping from 56k words to 51k. All darlings. All gone to the bin. Actually, they’re saved in a separate file that I can go back to in one of two scenarios. 1) After a publisher has fallen in love with my lean and mean manuscript and asks for some more words to make the book a little longer. 2) After this story is published and a sequel calls for the heroine to work her way through a crowd. Grab that text, edit it up, and paste it in. In this digital age, nothing is truly lost, so I say be a little more generous with that scalpel.

Great examples of this lean and mean strategy are the early entries in the Harry Potter series. The first two books are very light on extraneous worldbuilding details, and only later on in books three and onward does JK Rowling add the little interesting flourishes that may not see actual payoff of relevance until a later volume, if at all. The evidence is right there on the shelf.

So, as you’re revising and asking yourself, “Won’t anyone think of those poor, innocent darlings?”

The correct response is: No. They must die.

by Matthew

The Call of the Writing Conference

Thinking about attending a writing conference? Here’s what you can expect!

Well I’m mostly recovered from my respiratory infection, so it’s time to talk Writing Conferences! The above photo is from the Hurst Conference Center, which is the site of the DFW Writer’s Conference (aka, DFWCon). After missing 2020 and being online-only last year, DFWCon is going in-person again October 8-9, 2022. Check it out here if you’re in the area and interested. I plan to be there! Favor the online thing? Check out Writing Day Workshops‘ online events, they do one every month (though they will resume in-person at some point in the future).

The 3 Sides to Every Writing Conference

Listed in order of importance (my opinion): Pitching, Classes, Networking

PITCHING

One of the two big reasons to go to a writing conference is the opportunity to pitch to agents. As I have discussed previously in my Lessons from Querying posts (1, 2, 3), getting representation from a literary agent is difficult. Like hitting a 100-mph fastball difficult. So finding any avenue to help you through that process will greatly increase your chances, and there is no better way to do that than in-person pitch sessions with an agent.

Why? Well in that 8 to 10-minute window, you’re given the opportunity to cross several agent hurdles at once:

  • Did you write something that is of interest to the agent?
  • Are you passionate about writing and what you’ve written in particular?
  • Did you throw your story together, or put some real effort into the crafting of it?
  • Are you a one-and-done author, or do you have a long-term writing career goal?
  • Are you rude, insensitive, bigoted, or possess other personality flaws that might prevent you from crossing the finish line with a publisher?
  • Do you seem like someone that would be fun/easy to work with?

The wrong answer to any of those is an easy reject for the agent, so it also helps them skip to the ultimate end in the event you pass the first hurdle that would have gotten you past the slush pile into deeper review.

I’ve had way more success in getting agent interest in at least reading my material from pitches than I have through cold querying. I imagine practically anyone would have the same experience, unless they’re failing one of the sanity checks in the list above.

So here’s the downside to pitches: they’re expensive. Some conferences give you a pitch as part of your conference fee, others don’t. They’ll all let you buy more, which can range from $10-$30 per session. Want to talk to ten agents? $300. That’s more than many conference fees. And you’re going to want to go to several conferences. The cost will add up fast. Why talk to that many? Because you’re still up against the odds of numbers that even if you talk to the single-most-likely agent to want to represent your work, if the timing isn’t right (list is full, they rep a similar manuscript already, they don’t have a publisher resource that would want it), you won’t have success in getting representation. A wide net is required.

And I’m gonna reveal the elephant in the room: not all agents you talk to at a conference are there to take on another author. Some of them are there simply for the additional paycheck. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of the machine of the publishing world. Agents don’t get paid for all the up-front effort they go through in scouring the planet for works to represent. They get paid for the fraction of those works that actually get published. And they’ve got to pay the bills like anyone else, so they’ll come to these conferences, go through a bunch of pitch sessions, not actually request materials from anyone, and just collect a check in the end.

Now to be fair, most agents are there to find new authors to rep. I’ve only come across a couple of these bad-faith agents in the dozens of pitch sessions I’ve done, but they’re easy to identify. They don’t ask questions about you or your work, but instead go straight into a planned spiel about the effectiveness of your pitch and ways to improve it. Sometimes they won’t even say that they aren’t interested. I just smile and take whatever feedback they deign to provide and move on.

What to Expect During a Pitch Session

Depending on your conference, pitch sessions last 8 to 10 minutes. You’re going to know who you’re pitching to ahead of time (because you’ve requested/paid to pitch to that particular agent), so you’ve already done your research. You requested that particular agent because they said they rep the kind of thing you wrote. You know their manuscript wishlist, which is typically listed on the conference website, but can also be found elsewhere on the Internet (#MSWL on Twitter, manuscriptwishlist.com, Publisher’s Marketplace, or the agent’s agency website).

When the pitch begins, spend 30-60 seconds talking to the agent as if they’re a human being. Ask how they’re doing, mention a shared hobby or pets or their Twitter feed, or a book they liked on their MWSL that you’ve also read. Be sociable. This helps check boxes from the list above. They’ll probably invite you in short order to talk about your manuscript. I won’t go into the what’s and how’s to pitch your manuscript here, but spend 4-5 minutes talking about your story, then leave the rest of the time for the agent to ask questions.

If they like you and what you’ve discussed, they’ll request pages. Some will have you send it through regular query channels. Most will have a dedicated means for you to skip ahead of the slush pile line (these are the agents that are taking the pitch sessions most seriously), usually a special Query Manager link or separate email.

If they pass, and some will because you will inevitably find yourself barking up the wrong tree on occasion, graciously accept any feedback they provide and then get yourself ready for your next pitch. Because you’re not going to pitch to just one agent, are you?

CLASSES

Anyone who has yet to become a represented and published author still probably has a thing or two to learn about writing stories and/or the publishing industry. The second big draw of a writing conference is all the various breakout room classes you can attend to drink from the proverbial author firehose. Here’s a sampling of various sessions you can expect:

  • Query letters
  • Query dos and don’ts
  • Hooking readers with your opening pages
  • Compelling dialogue
  • Crafting believable characters
  • Avoiding the “mushy middle”
  • World building
  • Author platforms and social media
  • The life of a literary agent
  • Self-publishing vs. traditional
  • Non-fiction book proposals
  • Workshops where you read your first chapter or query letter and receive feedback
  • Agent Q&A panels
  • Agent “First Page Gong Show” panels

Large conferences like DFWCon will typically also have a keynote speaker (usually a known published author) in a big audience space like the picture above. The rest of the classes will be in small, 20-30 person breakout rooms.

Most conferences will have some variation of the above. Depending on the size they’ll have some, all, or even more than the above to choose from (like genre-specific workshops for say thrillers or romance). Once you’ve gone to a few conferences, you’ll find the vast majority of the advice inside any one of the sessions is the same, so the return you’ll get from these classes will diminish over time because you will presumably have already been taking the lessons to heart and applying what you’ve learned to your craft and your queries.

The “Gong Show” panels are where a handful of agents will sit and listen as a moderator reads an anonymously submitted first page from a conference attendee (submit yours if you’re brave!). Each agent raises their hand at the point when they would have stopped reading and rejected the query, and if enough agents raise their hand, the moderator will stop reading and then discussion will ensue. These panels are the most useful conference session to me (having attended many conferences in the past few years), as they provide insight from a handful of agents as to what the publishing world is looking for right at that very second. It also reveals the sheer subjectivity of the matter when an agent starts reading a prospective manuscript. Very easy to identify flaws in your own approach to the first page when the agents are all raising their hands at the point when they would have stopped reading. Usually in an hour, the panel will get through 10-12 submissions, and typically only one or two make it through the full page read without most or all of the agents raising their hand and the moderator stopping early.

NETWORKING

Here’s where the online and in-person conferences diverge, as there is limited-to-no networking taking place during online conferences. If you’re like me and find it hard to walk up to random strangers and start making small talk, you won’t find this a huge loss. Online conferences usually lean on social media as the forum for attendees to talk to each other (with limited to middling results).

Big conferences like DFWCon have networking time in the evenings where authors, agents, and others can meet and mingle. Adult beverages will be on offer. The prospect of having time to talk to agents outside of a short pitch session is attractive, but in my experience the opportunities for this are few. Most agents don’t attend the networking hours, and those that do are mobbed. There are hundreds to thousands of writers at these conferences and maybe a couple dozen agents tops. The numbers are not in your favor to get quality alone time with an agent, much less the one that you really want to talk to that reps what you wrote. If you have a positive pitch session with an agent and can arrange to meet with them at the networking event ahead of time, then great. But don’t count on it.

What can you expect to get out of the networking time? You’ll find a few freelance editors and cover art designers milling about, handing out business cards and looking for prospective clients. If you’re in the market for such services, avail yourself. But the vast majority of people there are writers, just like you. If you don’t have a solid group of writers you work with for feedback and accountability, then this could be a good chance for you to find some new peeps.

Attend, rinse, repeat.

There you have it. Now all you gotta do is find a writing conference to attend and get your butt in the chair. Hope to see you there! M

by Matthew

Lessons from Querying #3

Why writers must follow a literary agent’s submission guidelines

The numbers are against us, my friends.

Attend any writing conference where an agent is speaking, and invariably they will let slip how many new queries they get per week. The number you’ll usually hear is “hundreds”, and I’ve heard “thousands” more than once as well. That’s a lot of email to filter through.

An agent I follow on Twitter recently just reopened to queries and was tweeting about her slush pile (that’s the collection of unread queries waiting for their attention). In just a few hours after reopening to queries, she had 150 fresh queries waiting. After she had gotten through those 150 queries, she had requested materials from two. That’s not a great rate of return (and I think 1 out of 75 is kind of high actually). By the second day she had over 450 new queries waiting. Now she probably had a queue of people waiting to send her a query, but still. That’s a lot of work waiting for someone who’s not going to get paid for nearly any of the time they spend on it.

Most veteran agents spend 90-95% of their effort on existing clients. That doesn’t leave a lot of time during the day for queries. Let’s say the agent above gives thirty minutes a day to her slush pile. That’s 150 minutes. Enough for a minute per query, for just the first day’s haul. But for the entire week’s intake, she has less than a minute per query. A lot less. If she’s getting 1000 queries per week, and holds fast to the 30 minutes per day, that’s just 9 seconds per query.

Certainly, stories that look promising will take more time than that. What is the agent to do? Look for anything that makes for a quick rejection. So, today’s lesson is…

Follow submission guidelines to the letter.

Submit your query to the wrong place? Reject.

Get the agent’s name/pronouns wrong? Reject.

Submit when the agent is closed to queries? Reject.

Attach a Word doc when the agent wants copy/pasted text in the body of the email? Reject.

Submit more than the requested sample pages (AKA sending your whole manuscript when the agent wants one chapter)? Reject.

Have weird/bad manners? Reject.

Submit something that the agent doesn’t represent (this is always mentioned somewhere: their MSWL, Publisher’s Marketplace, or the agents/about us page on their agency’s website)? Reject.

Open by saying your manuscript is the best thing ever put to paper and you’re going to make them a trillionaire? Reject.

Get out on the wrong side of bed in the morning? Reject.

Why do agents cull with such abandon? Simple statistics. The odds of them finding something they’re going to love so much they want to represent it are already astoundingly low (see my Lessons from Querying #1 post). The odds that story they fall in love with will have been submitted by someone who breaks submission guidelines? Even lower. Because personalities matter, as well as the writing. A writer who can’t be bothered to follow submission guidelines is more than likely going to be harder to work with, and less likely to get past the traditional publishing finish line. And agents are already busy enough to have to deal with someone like that.

By clearing out all the flotsam and spending next to no time doing it, a literary agent preserves precious seconds per query that are better spent on something that has a higher likelihood, no matter how small that increase, of being something they want to represent.

Don’t make it harder for an agent to fall in love with you. Your story won’t get even a first glance if an agent ends up chucking your query out the window because you couldn’t follow the submission guidelines.

Be thorough. M

by Matthew

Lessons from Querying #2

Hello again. Gonna attempt to make this blog a twice-a-week habit. Should be easy enough with the lessons from querying series. There are plenty to share.

Today, we shall discuss the very first thing I learned from the very first literary agent I ever pitched, which was at the DFW Writer’s Convention (aka DFWCon) in 2018, before the world went nuts. Since that point, I’ve heard this same advice from agents a zillion times, so you can take this one as written in stone (with a few exceptions mentioned toward the end).

When pitching/querying a novel, especially a debut novel, you must have a standalone story. It must have a beginning, middle, and end. The goals of the protagonist and threats of the antagonist must be resolved. In short:

You shouldn’t pitch/query the first book of a planned trilogy, or first volume of an open-ended series.

Here’s why:

Publishers are far less likely to be interested in an open-ended work of an unproven author. It’s simple risk/reward math to them. They don’t know if your story will sell. And if you don’t have an established track record of productivity, they don’t know they can count on you to produce sequels in the timeframe they want. Subsequently, agents are far less likely to be interested in representing said work.

“But Matt, I’ve already written the whole trilogy. Won’t that save them a lot of time?” Time, perhaps. But publishers think with their checkbooks first. They don’t want to buy three books when they don’t know if the first book will sell or not.

In addition, as a traditional publishing hopeful wanting to be productive with your writing time, you don’t to spend time writing sequels to books that don’t go anywhere with a publisher or agent. Write three entirely different stories and query them all. Yes, querying sucks at your soul, but your odds are better (very, very low x3 > practically nil x1).

If you plan to self-publish said series if you don’t get anywhere with an agent, then the advice is generally reversed. You want to have a series of books queued up for planned release at Amazon or wherever, as that tends to boost your sales. Lining up multiple books takes advantage of the “You may like…” and “Other readers purchased…” marketing algorithms online booksellers employ. And you want to take advantage of those, because they are time-limited. My focus (at the moment) remains with traditional publishing, so we’ll leave the advice on self-publishing at that for now.

Back to writing standalone stories vs. a series. It is entirely fine and, in some genres encouraged, to leave elements in your worldbuilding and subplots that can turn a standalone novel into the first of a larger story. If you do happen to have a successful debut novel, your publisher will most definitely be interested in your follow-on stories with a now-established audience.

Exceptions? Of course. If you have a million followers somewhere. If you’re a celebrity or known politician. If you write like Amanda Gorman. If you check all the boxes of a publisher’s flavor-of-the-month acquisitions binge. If you happen to query the exactly right agent at the right time that happens to have a great relationship with exactly the right editor and that editor’s publishing house’s cards all line up for you at exactly the right time. Long odds to line up all of those ducks in a row.

Success in traditional publishing has long odds already. As writers we must do what we can to improve our chances. Don’t make it easy for an agent to say no to you in the slushpile phase.

“So Matt, what happened with that first pitch session?” It was a polite decline. She gave no further reason than I had admittedly written the first book of a trilogy. The quality of the plot or characters or worldbuilding didn’t matter. I didn’t pass that first hurdle. I learned that lesson quickly and altered my pitch to the other three agents I met at the conference that weekend. All three requested materials. When I got home, I spent a furious week fixing the story before submitting my queries to those agents. I adjusted the ending, tweaked the goals, the antagonist, and trimmed the various subplots that were intended to further the story into books 2 and 3. I never got any further with an agent than the initial requests for materials from those pitches, or from unsolicited queries (which usually provide zero actionable feedback), so it’s entirely possible I didn’t de-trilogy it enough.

That manuscript is now on the shelf, biding its time. I still love the story. It’s the one that got me into the passion of writing in the first place. It’ll get attention again some day. Now that I’ve completed two more manuscripts (both entirely different stories), I suspect the quality of the writing wasn’t where it needed to be to catch an agent’s eye. We’ll talk more about that in an upcoming post.

Keep writing! M

by Matthew

Lessons from Querying #1

Long time, no post. Eh, blog? Those longer analysis posts are fun, but certainly time-consuming. I’ll keep up with those at some point in the future, but to get my duff back into the blog, I thought (at the behest of some critique group friends) I would start a series of short posts that share various lessons I’ve learned throughout my time attempting to query the novels I’ve written. Some brief facts to set your mindframe:

As of March 31, 2022:

I have written three novels, two adult, one middle grade, all various forms of contemporary fantasy.

All three have been edited and revised vigorously. Reviewed with critique groups as I was writing them. Bounced off beta readers. They’re all within the expected bounds of word count. The voice and subject matter are appropriate for their target audiences.

All three have been queried. The two adult I have shelved for now and am focusing on querying the MG story while I write my fourth novel (YA sci-fi).

I do not yet have representation from a literary agent. But I am still hopeful.

The MG story has received three full manuscript requests, all from pitch sessions at (virtual) conferences, as well as over a 95% request rate for materials from agents I’ve pitched. None have requested more material, though there are dozens of unrejected queries still floating out there (fingers crossed!).

None of my unsolicited queries have received anything other than a rejection. Most do not get any kind of feedback other than a form response that apologizes and says “it’s not for me”.

Despite my lack of success, I feel I’m close. The MG story has had some very positive responses in the rejections. Literary agents sometimes refer me to colleagues or other agent friends. I get compliments. “Writing is strong” and “fun elements” and “twist on tropes” have been common. What’s also common? “I didn’t fall in love with it.” What’s the lesson here?

Writing and reading are subjective exercises. Hence, agenting is a subjective profession.

This means two things: Writers (should) write what they enjoy reading. Agents will (generally) only represent stories they love. If you query an agent, and that agent doesn’t love your story (or have dollar signs spin through the whites of their eyes), that agent will not offer you representation.

They may compliment you on your writing. They may point out things they liked, or an area of improvement. If an agent takes the time to send you anything other than a form rejection response, that in itself is an uncommon thing.

But, if they don’t connect with it first as a reader, beyond being a professional wanting to represent it in the confounding quagmire of traditional publishing, they aren’t going to offer you representation. Doesn’t matter if you wrote Harry Potter or Pride and Prejudice. If that reader doesn’t care for wizards and magic or proper English manners and the search for self, that reader isn’t going to offer you representation. Simple as that.

Not every reader will enjoy your book baby. Consequentially, not every literary agent will love it either. Doesn’t mean it’s not good, or not a potential bestseller. Just means that particular person you queried isn’t going to rep you. That’s not the end of the world — it’s the wrong needle in the haystack.

Keep looking! M