Rejected manuscripts, query letters, resumes: A response

Note: Vin Suprynowicz is the critically acclaimed author of several works as well as a nationally syndicated columnist. (I read him on the Las Vegas Review-Journal website.)

When Vin tried to leave a comment pursuant to my post about whether it’s okay to query more than one literary agent at a time, Blogger rejected it as too long. “AFTER I GET DONE, your robot tells me I've exceeded the 4,076 character limit,” he wrote in an email. “Is that 600 words? I write 1,200 words while I'm waiting for the teakettle toboil.”

To this introduction I add that Vin said what I wish I’d have been astute and brave enough to write.

  The old model, pretty dysfunctional for half a century anyway, is collapsing before our eyes.

The unspoken assumptions are: 1) I need a big-time New York publisher because only that person/outfit has the money and expertise to publish my book in attractive, professional form, get it professionally reviewed and get it into bookstores. Therefore, 2) Because hardly any publishers will still look at an unsolicited manuscript, I need a New York literary agent to open the gates to one of those publishers.

But read the final page of Richard Russell's 2006 "Book collector's Price Guide." He reports the effect of the calcification of publishing into the hands of a few green-eyeshade houses is "to freeze the state of literature and writing in general, keeping it within the bounds of the type of writing that has a 'winning track record.'" As a result, "Books published in the last decade in the United States will, over time, become worthless and fit only for the dollar bins. ..."

He's right. The shelves and tables are now full of ill-written derivative potboilers, shoddily bound. Anything new and refreshing tends to come from "outside the system," often in small press runs, 500 copies run off as a lark by some science fiction club or a socialist bookstore in the Haight or the Minnesota chapter of the Baker Street Irregulars.

Agents are told to "Go find me someone who can write just like ..." James Patterson, John Grisham, Alice Walker, whoever. They don't expect to find these people in the slush pile. You'd be FAR more likely to attract an agent's attention if you said you could prove you'd had a homosexual affair with Mitt Romney, "but I can barely write a grocery list; can you find me a ghost writer?"

THAT they know how to pitch.

And they pretend to serve at the altar of "literature"?

I once had a New York agent (actually signed a contract, the works) who's since written a book about "how to write a best-seller." All he ever did was ask me with great urgency whether I could "crank out a fictionalized biography of David Bowie in six weeks." By the time I got him an outline, five weeks later, he'd moved on to some other scheme, based on a different lunch with some other impresario.

The "rule" against multiple inquiries is for the convenience of agents and publishers, who pretend they're still a gentleman's club editing Scott Fitzgerald with pencils and sleeve garters and rubber cement, and thus further pretend to be outraged over the implication that they should get in a quick bid for your services, rather than watching you grovel at their feet for a month or two before moving on to woo their equally unattainable cousin in the next block. They act as though they're Scarlett O'Hara and you've just announced you intend to propose to the 40 prettiest girls in town, announcing you'll marry the first one who says "Yes." 

It's not a courtship; it's a business. (If it's a courtship, send flowers and ask if they prefer the missionary position.)

Why send out what amount to 40 form letters, a month apart over three years, when you can mail them all the same week?

Either way, 3 to 7 percent will reject you with a form letter, the rest will never reply at all. And I say this as someone who's made my living exclusively as a writer for 40 years, all of my books printed at professional binderies, all produced with private investment capital, with not a penny of the proceeds owed to any German banker pretending to be a publisher nor to any Sarah Lawrence graduate pretending to be a "literary agent."

The Internet is destroying their distribution monopoly; the rest of their haughty house of cards will collapse soon.

The expensive collectibles of tomorrow, Mr. Russell concludes, will be unusual, innovative books "subsidy published" in small press runs today ... the same way Poe subsidized the first printing of "Tamerlaine," the same way John Grisham subsidized the first publication of "A Time to Kill" by Wynwood Press in 1989.(Current value of a nice single copy: $4,000.)

And today's academics and "publishing professionals," far from being on the lookout for the new and the good, will reject it out of hand, Russell concludes, realizing that "a 'new' novel makes their years of knowledge, study and expertise obsolete."

-- V.S. 

Rejected manuscripts, query letters, resumes

A few posts back, I posted a copy of an email from an emerging author who asked why an agent query should be so different from a resume submission.

To get a job, he noted, he would send resumes to as many contacts as possible. Why then should he be cautioned to send only one query letter at a time.

No one has answered his question as yet.

Should he obey the rule? (Who set that rule anyway?)

She he throw that caution to the proverbial wind and hit every potential agent with a query?

I don't know.

Do you?

Meanwhile, to make him feel less discouraged if and when he starts receiving rejections (or getting no responses at all), I sent him to this website.

I hope it made him smile and gave him hope.

Related articles

• Querying Agents (katebrauning.wordpress.com)
• Learning the Literary Ropes (answers.com)

Query letters versus resumes

Here's a copy of an email message I received from an aspiring best-selling author, a man who has written his first novel.

Tell me why applying for representation from an agent is any different from applying for a job. For a job you send out 20 or 30 resumes, and with one or more replies you complete the applications and go for the interviews. Whoever picks you first, well, usually you take the first job that comes along.
 
Tell me why a literary agent is any different; you send out 20 or 30 query letters and whoever comes along first you jump on it.
I know I'm naive, but what else is new.

Can anyone tell me how to answer that?

Also, I know the stock answer; but in this day and age, when snagging an agent, yet alone a publisher, is getting harder and harder, should we play by their rules?

Doubt

Can one be "more" doubtful? Is doubt, like the word unique, so emphatic that it can't (or shouldn't) be modified, embellished, or increased in value?

I guess it doesn't matter. What's more important is how the word applies to you (and me) as a writer.

Once I put the finishing touches on The Mine, a different kind of thriller, I set it aside for years. It had been gone over by an editor who enthusiastically recommended some changes and polishing, which I attended to -- before storing it on a floppy disk, a CD, and a backup drive. Storage and backup had nothing to do with doubt, understand. I just didn't want to face the arduous task of looking for an agent. Something to do with rejection, I'm sure.

As I began working on other projects, I allowed this manuscript to linger until finally, I decided to put it in eBook format.

It was well after submitting the work in kindle and smashwords format that the doubt set in. Was it good enough? Would anyone buy it? Did I have what it takes to promote the book myself? Was it priced right?

Months and months later, I decided to look for answers to some of these questions, and to do that, I pulled up my final draft and read the novel again.

I think overall it's good enough. In fact, it's pretty darn good -- except. I think it starts too slowly. After the prolog, the pace could use a little help. However, about half way through, the plot gets more involved and eventually, it turns into a rather exciting finish. People have purchased it, although not as many as I'd like. As for self-promotion, I'm working on that. But, even at the bargain price of $2.99, only one person reviewed the book on Amazon.

I hate to tell you how I feel about my second novel, the start of a detective series, but I will. It, too, starts slowly.  I think the twists and turns of the plot are good enough and the ending is great, if I say so myself.

I'm just wondering ... how does doubt fit into your work? Do you ever wish you could have a do-over? More importantly, do you make amends for your doubts in your next work?

Related articles

• Doubt (changedbychange.com)

Genre jumping

I’ve always been bothered by the word genre, not by the word itself but by the expanded definition that meant a writer had to fit his or her words into a singularly defined category.

My mind doesn’t work like that. The people who live in my head come from outer space, from little towns, from all over the world. They’re romantics, killers, demons, maniacs, ancient ones.

But agents and publishers and even booksellers don’t want that. They want writers who can stick to be creative within a formula – or at least that’s how I understand the world of publishing.

That kind of thinking makes me wonder. 

What would it be like if Stephen King wrote a titillating romance book? Could Jonathan Kellerman pen a hard-hitting western? Would Danielle Steel like to write an edgy science fiction tome? Could Mehmet Oz pen an epic poem?

Would they even try?

I think not.

I think they’ve written themselves into a genre corner and can’t get out because someone (and not the invisible “they” and definitely not their fans) would not accept it.

I’m thinking this whole requirement that a manuscript fit into a genre before it fits on the printed page could come crumbling down now that ebooks are appearing everywhere. I’m betting King could write that historical romance, Kellerman could do the western, Steele could venture into science fiction – and their fans would gobble them up. (I’m reserving judgment on the Dr. Oz question.)

I believe good writers can cover a wide spectrum of plots and scenarios and would do so if not for skeptical handlers and unwritten but strictly followed definitions. I believe we might even see some genre jumping by noted authors some time in the near future.

What do you think?

I made a cartoon video of my last post

This site is a hoot. It lets you make a video ... free at first but you can dress the videos up if you register and pay a fee. I edited it three times and ran out of free publishing minutes so the final product is in the can but not ready for release.

Take a look.

Shoot the messenger or ...

I’ve queried agents a mere three times in my writing life so my actual experience with these individuals is rather scant. However, I’ve been reading about agents for ages so my vicarious experience is monumental. I think of myself as an armchair expert, and as an independent observer, I think I qualify as a person who has a right to comment on the subject of agents.

***

We know the drill: take that Great American Novel (GAM) (yours, not mine), break it down into a 500-word summary, and slip it in the mail with your manuscript and sufficient funds to have it returned to you (in other words, for the inevitable rejection), and then wait (how long before the finality of the Mayan prediction?) for a response

Right away there’s a certain sense futility you have to overcome when you engage in this process. You’ve spent how long(?) putting that puppy to bed, what with writing it, rewriting it, editing it and repeating the process, and now you have to tell someone what you’ve written – in 500 words. I’m thinking here it didn’t take but a couple hundred words more for God’s Holy Ghostwriter to get to the last sentence of the introduction to His Great Not-Necessarily-American Novel … “And on the seventh day….”

Let’s pretend for a moment that Holy Ghostwriter had to convince an agent to rep the Old Testament. How the heck would that query letter read?

Here’s what I’m wondering:

If an agent can read a 500-word synopsis of a novel, why can’t he or she just read the first 500 words of the manuscript?

Same number of words, same writer, different slant. What comes across in a novel is fiction; what has to come across in the query letter is nonfiction. So to satisfy an agent, a fiction writer has to step out of that pair of working shoes and step into a pair that probably doesn’t fit.

Here’s what I’m next wondering:

Who came up with these agent submission guidelines, 

when did they come into existence, and why has no one broken with the tradition?

Surely this isn’t the only way for a potential representative to decide whether nor the act of welcoming a particularly good query-letter writer into the stable will profit her or him. 

The publishing industry is changing almost as rapidly as the technology industry. Publishers have fought (ignored?) the change but how long they can continue the battle is the question of the day. Observers say that soon, publishers will accept work only from individuals who have already established a name for themselves -- former presidents, wives of former presidents and writers who have already penned a best seller, I suppose.

This means the agent business will change as well – if it hasn’t already started to change.

Doing something just because it’s always been done that way won’t cut it in near future.

The new era of publishing

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs about publishing lately. Based on what I’ve seen, it isn’t much of a stretch to realize that writers are leaning toward the ebook version of their potential best sellers rather than jumping through the almost impossible hoops of writing snappy query letters and synopses (I had to use a dictionary to find the plural of synopsis, by the way.), finding an agent and hooking up with a publisher. It seems there’s a plethora of complaints that even if (I should put that word in upper case.) a writer manages to hit the target in all three areas, he or she still has to do a ton of self-promotion to get the darned finished product in the hands of the important people – the readers.

I think there’s still a place for printed books. While they might not be as handy as the kindle versions, they’re still nice to take to bed with you, or pull from the bookcase and flip the pages to look for and remember favorite passages, to enjoy the cover art, to collect, even to enhance the décor of your rooms.

But, unless I’m being totally deceived (and I don’t think I am), the same self-promotion you need to publicize your work will mean a lot more money in your pocket and in the end, that’s the result that can make you a full-time, self-supporting author.

The confident writer

My laptop is stuffed with words. Like the cavity of a Thanksgiving turkey, my documents folder bulges with archives of everything I’ve written over the last twelve years – articles, short stories, poetry and a couple of novels. (Many of the non-fiction pieces have been published in magazines or on the web.)

Last week, I scanned through the morass of titles, chose a dozen of these gems, one from each year, and read them. Except for one, I liked them. Except for one, they put me back to the time they were written. They returned me to my desk, my sofa, my office. They allowed me to see the past, hear the noises, and recall the people who walked by, peered over my shoulder, asked me questions. Except for one, the experience of perusing this small group of words gave me a rush of satisfaction: I knew how to write something worth reading!

Except for one.

That particular article read like a bad short story written by a stranger.

I wrote that article during a short stint as a managing editor. I’d been talking to a co-worker about a submission. She insisted this piece was definitely worth publishing because the writer had never been rejected. Everything he’d ever written had been accepted, from his first work while in college to his current articles in major magazines.

Her glowing praise had dampened my own confidence as a writer, and that doubt crept into my work, inserted itself between the commas, chopped off thoughts before they materialized into meaningful prose.

That punch in the creative stomach didn’t have a lasting affect; however, I’m sure the cause and effect clearly relates to how I think and feel about my foray into fiction. I can imagine friends and family enjoying my work but worry if that same work will resonate with strangers. Will I measure up to their expectations? Will they think I’m good at my craft? Will they demean my talent?

Despite the self-doubt that creeps into my thoughts, I continue to write. When I write, I enjoy the process; I like my words; take pleasure in how writing makes me feel, and because of that, I will bask in the glory of praise and steel myself against negative reviews.

That’s about as confident as I can be.

How about you?

***

A very popular error: having the courage of one’s convictions; rather it is a matter of having the courage for an attack on one’s convictions!!!
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Get a second opinion

The small town where I grew up had its small town school. (My classmates numbered just under sixty students.) We were treated to the same teaching staff for various subjects for three years (junior high) and another set of teaching staff members for the next three years (senior high). Before entering senior high (grades ten through twelve) each student had to choose a subject-related path: Academic for the smart kids (who planned to go to college), Home-Ec for girls (who would work in factories but whose real goal was to get married and raise a family), and Shop for boys (who would learn to use tools).

That’s the way it was and nobody ever questioned it … except me!

I was not a gifted student but school work came easy for me, and knowing I wanted to experience something other than small-town life, I chose the Academy Path.

My senior high English teacher had a bit of a drinking problem and a huge biased mindset. Based on his wife’s assessment (she was the junior high English teacher) and his own thoughts, as each student walked through his doors on the first day of freshman class, he decided what kind of grade each deserved.

I, he decided, was definitely a bit above average, but not spectacular, so...
 
I became the eternal B student.

For three years, no matter how well I scored in tests, no matter what I wrote in my essays and book reports, no matter how well I stood in front of the class for oral reporting, I would never receive a grade higher or lower than a B.

Fast forward to grade twelve when I wrote a short story that finally broke the barrier, one that earned me an A minus minus. (Yes, that was an A with two minus signs after it.) Beneath the mark, Blackheart (the name I gave him in my first novel) penned the words, “Did you really write this?”

When my guardian read that remark he went straight to Blackheart and asked him why he doubted my work. “She’s just a B student,” he said.

My guardian told him I planned to go to college, to which Blackheart remarked, “Not good enough for college. She should have been in Home Ec,” to which my guardian said, “I’ll get a second opinion.”

Fast forward again to the point where the guidance counselor agreed, at the behest of my guardian, to take me to a college entrance interview she would be attending with another student. I went, I talked, I was accepted, and less than four years later, I had my degree.

(It would be many jobs and many years before I returned to my childhood dreams of being a working writer but it did happen.)

I’m not writing this as a sad tale of baggage from the past but as a cautionary message to those starving writers, those dream-filled writers, those rejection-letter-laden writers who live with the doubt of others. Stay on your path; listen to your heart; practice your craft; perfect your style. Enjoy the process. (This writing life isn’t a get-rich-quick experience, unless you’re already famous and rich, in which case you'll just get richer.)

Next time I’ll be adding some practical advice -- or not.