Waiting for My Next "R"

Querying agents sucks. Makes me begin to doubt my critique partners who said I need to "get it out there." I'm waiting for one more rejection (snail mail) before I feel like I can get my legs underneath me and move on.

I have a new, thricely (or more) revised query letter. To be fair, I think this latest round (okay, a round can be three) of agents didn't have the advantage of the Top-Of-My-Game query. My newest incarnation starts out with a kick. Pretty sure no one would be able to resist asking for a partial at least. Because they didn't get the newest and blingiest, I can't entirely blame them for not seeing the possibility.

Ugh. Anyone want to buy the Brooklyn Bridge?

For some reason, I can handle rejection only in so many numbers. It's easier to say "Next!" when you aren't getting blown down the sewer by fifteen people who (some nice and some not), tell you you're not their cup of tea. My magic threshold seems to be something under six. Three, I can do.

My cheerleader/critique partner/freelance editor, Susan Lohrer, thinks the worst that will happen with my new query letter is that an agent will wonder what else I'm working on and I'll be able to tell him/her that I have this awesome new project . . . and my other cp, author Kelly Irvin, is as bad—or is it good? Sometimes the people who have faith in us become a (loving) thorn in our sides.

In the meantime, I'll keep working on my newest. It's both my anchor and my escape.



CR: The Burning Wire by Jeffery Deaver.

It's all better with friends.

Aquiver Over Queries

I just hit Send on my fourth agent query. At the precise moment my finger depressed the key on my computer, I wanted to whip my hand back and take another look. What if I hadn't done something the agent expressly mentioned on their website? What if I had a typo? An embarrassing grammatical gaffe? What if it wasn't good enough—first impressions and all that.

And then there's this . . . (shhh, don't tell anyone), but even though that manuscript, that story, is pretty good, the one I'm working on now? Well, there's no comparison. It makes me almost want to apologize. But the thing is? My plan is that every manuscript I write will be better than the one that preceded it.

Some of you aren't to the querying stage yet, others of you are long past it. But I'm pretty sure you can remember the veil of angst and doubt that poured over you when you began.

Have you ever considered that if God had let you in on some of the things that were going to happen in your life you'd be tempted to abdicate? I mean, yeah, the good things? Bring them on. And tell me about them from the get-go. I live for those off-the-charts moments of incredulity and awe. Giggles are good. Guffaws are better.

But the vulnerable moments? The times when you feel like you are the silhouette on the target at the firing range? The times when you go from safe and nameless and never-before-rejected to publicly asking to be shot down? Enter the query stage.

Sorry if I'm bursting the bubbles of anyone who thinks that just because they finish the thing there's an automatic bump to publication. I guess one of the reasons I'm here is to put a little dose of reality into your lives, as unwelcome as it might be.

Be proud that you finished a manuscript. That alone puts you into an elite group of people. But now, you have to suck it up and turn your heart away from creativity to business. Not always and easy thing to do.

I've learned, in the last few days, that I need to psyche myself up to putting the query in the mailbox, or hitting the Send button. It's all a process.

And James Scott Bell once said that every time we move a step up the ladder is a good thing. Even better? He assures me I can't go backwards.

Can you relate?



CR: Caught by Harlan Coben.

It's all better with friends.

Agent Quest

I've got my list and I'm checking it twice.

Gonna find out which agents are naughty, and which ones are nice.

But seriously . . .

I want to personalize my query letters. Partly because I want a personal relationship (not just a business relationship), and partly because showing that I've done the least little bit of research might set my query apart from the generic slop they must get inundated with every day.

I have 14 agents on my hit list. One of my cp's advises that I probably need 50 (try to envision personalizing 50 query letters to people you don't know personally . . .). The other one landed her agent on her third try.

And I've already mentally revised the first sentence in my query letter. Ugh.

What I'm about to say is snotty and I would never want to be responsible for ripping away someone's dream, but this is my blog so this is my fantasy . . . If all of the writers who haven't studied craft, who haven't done their research, who haven't finished a manuscript, who are ego-centric and/or narcissistic, would just turn their attention to other endeavors (I dunno—Interior Design? Auditioning for American Idol?), the battle for attention might just shift.

A well-balanced (mostly) writer with an open mind for improvement, and a disposition for mission, would simply have to announce the completion of her manuscript—the genre and the word-count—and agents would be sitting on her Internet Doorstop waiting to make (me) an offer. They'd be bearing flowers and chocolate and fine, red wine.

Wouldn't that be cool?

And I really, really want to get back to my next project. Although this agent quest is necessary, it's a bit of a distraction.

Advice, anyone?



CR: The Neighbor by Lisa Gardner.

It's all better with friends.

The Worst Part of Writing

I have a folder for queries and proposals. Not stuffed with ones I've sent, mind you, but rather packed with examples and tips and a trough of ideas that supposedly work.

It's a terrifying folder, really. Built on the back of that other folder I have for synopsises.

An author asked me the other day if I had my query letter and synopsis all ready to go. She knows I'm targeting this month to be finished with my SFD.

I guess I was a bit shocked. It felt like that would be putting the cart before the horse.

Wouldn't it?

I wrote a synopsis ages ago, and that will definitely need re-tooled. Why sweat out a query letter as well, only to have to re-sweat later?

Right?

Well, kinda. The thing with the exercise of writing a synopsis and query letter is that it makes you examine your story from a different perspective.

Rather than being in the middle of the forest, where you can see only so many trees around you at any given moment, writing a synopsis (ugh!) and query letter (blick!) are like flying over the forest in a helicopter. (Or, if you prefer, a glider.) You can see so much more of the countryside, and how everything works together. The details aren't apparent, but the location and shape and expanse are easy to see.

I'm not advocating everyone do this, but it couldn't hurt. Even if you have to suck it up and do them all again later.

CR: Plan B by Anne Lammot. It's a compilation kind of thing, so it will be easy to put down and come back to when the Barclay arrives.

It's all better with friends.