by Unknown
Let me backtrack a moment and begin with this: many writers who are just starting out assume that agents and/or editors are always searching for that next new star, and to a certain degree this is true. But these same writers extrapolate from this a second assumption: that agents and/or editors will look through manuscripts submitted to them with an eye toward finding that star, and will therefore be looking for reasons to love their manuscript. And that, my friends, isn’t the case at all. (A note here: much of what I’m about to say is equally true of editors of anthologies or magazines looking for short stories.)
Editors and agents get stuff from aspiring writers all the time. They have gobs and gobs of stuff to read all the time. When they are looking through these piles of submissions (or, more accurately, when their assistants are looking through them) they are not looking for reasons to love your manuscript; they are looking for reasons to reject it. Let me repeat that. Those who read through submissions are not looking for reasons to buy a book or a story, they are looking for reasons not to.
"What?" you say. "But . . . but that’s awful!"
Actually, no it’s not. It makes perfect sense. They have a pile of manuscripts and only so many hours in a day to read through them. The faster they can find a reason to reject the one they’re reading, the sooner they can move on to the next, and get one submission closer to being done. This is why the hook is so important.
But at a more basic level, editors are looking at presentation. Does your manuscript look professional? Is it printed in a simple, readable font? Is it double-spaced, does it have proper margins? This sounds like foolish stuff, right? It’s not. These folks are dealing with serious eye-strain. (That’s only partially a joke.) More to the point, every publisher, every literary agency, every journal or magazine or e-zine that might want your work has submission guidelines that will tell you exactly how your manuscript should look. These guidelines (GLs in professional parlance) can be found online or can be requested by snailmail with a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE). They will tell you how your manuscript should look, where your name and address should appear on the first page, what other info should be on that first page (some magazines want a word count for short story submissions, some don’t), what font size and spacing format you should use, whether you should send the whole piece or only a certain number of chapters, what other materials to include (cover letter, bio) etc. Get these guidelines for each place to which you submit work; don’t assume that the GLs for one publishing house or agency will work for all the others.
If you submit to a place and don’t follow their GLs, chances are your manuscript will be rejected without having been read at all. Professionals follow GLs. Don’t follow them and you make yourself look like a wannabe, and a foolish one at that. And that’s what the readers will assume. "This person doesn’t care enough to follow the GLs? Then I don’t care enough to read the manuscript. Next!"
Moreover, your manuscript should contain no typos. None. Okay, if they ask for three full chapters and you have a typo on page 42 in the third chapter, it probably won’t doom you. Frankly, if they’ve gotten that far in reading it, you’re doing pretty well. But a typo—any single typo—in the first five pages will probably lead to a rejection. You’re aspiring to be a professional; take pride in your work and make it look and read perfectly. Professionals edit and proof their work; they find silly mistakes before they send out their work. That’s what you should do, too.
Other miscellanea: don’t use different colored fonts or "cute, interesting" fonts. Don’t bind your submission or give it a fancy cover or put acetate over it. Just give them the manuscript and let it speak for itself; your work should sell itself. Professionals don’t mess with bells and whistles; neither should you.
Presenting your work professionally will not guarantee you a sale, not by any means. But it will guarantee that your manuscript will get a fair reading. Look at it this way: those tired, overworked editors (or editorial assistants) are looking for excuses to throw your work to the side and move on to the next submission. By presenting your work professionally, you’re denying them that excuse. You’re forcing them to judge the submission on your terms not theirs. If they don’t like the premise, or your hook doesn’t work for them, so be it. But don’t shoot yourself in the foot with your presentation.
A few other points: I always send short stories in a 9×12 envelope with a second, self-addressed 9×12 envelope folded inside with proper postage already affixed. I like to get my stories back, just in case the editor has made any margin notes (usually they don’t). It’s been a while since I submitted a book manuscript on my own (as opposed to having my agent send it), but I believe the assumption is that your manuscript will not be returned, so skip the SASE.
The key to all of this, though, is professionalism in your presentation. Again, make them read the submission on your terms, rather than allowing them to reject it on theirs. At least then you give yourself a fighting chance.
§§§
Faith Hunter
David, that "reason not to read" translates to other forms of judgment as well. I was a judge of the Mary Higgins Clark award in . . . ’04, I think. I had specific criteria to follow and had 90-ish books to read. I would open that day’s reading and if I saw an F-word or an onscreen sex scene I’d close the book because it didn’t meet the criteria. The book might be great! but if it didn’t meet the criteria, I didn’t have to read it. Same with an agent or editor. Reasons not to read are important to them. Don’t give them one.
Bait and Hook
Faith Hunter
Let’s say you don’t have mega-luck on your side. What can you do to improve your chances of a first-book-sale?
The answer is—a lot! It’s a writing (and advertising) device called Bait and Hook. Not Bait and Switch, which a lot of writers try, but Bait and Hook.
I love to tell the story of the way one of my agents does business. He’s a one man agency, and he gets an average of thirty-five submissions a day, seven days a week, holidays and vacations included. Some are email queries which he handles with a quick yes/no form letter. He has three:
• Yes, send three chapters and a synopsis.
• Yes, send the whole manuscript, and I want an exclusive. (Not used often.)
• No, thank you.
That will leave ten to fifteen full-manuscript and three-chapter submissions to read. Every dang day! So, he has a rule of thumb, phrased as a question: How little do I have to read to stop reading today? That is where you, UnPub come in with Bait and Hook.
If the first sentence is not a grabber he sends a rejection. If the second sentence is bad, ditto. If the first paragraph is okay, he’ll set it aside to read further. When he has weeded out all but five, he’ll read the first five pages of each. If nothing grabs him, it gets a no. If something grabs him, he’ll send it to his daughter. She will read the first five pages, and send it back with a graded reply:
• You should take a look at this one.
• This one is fantastic!
• This one stinks. (Lots of those.)
His daughter is sixteen-years old. She has been his reader for four years, weeding out the non-acceptables. Yeah, a twelve-year-old was rejecting writers’ manuscripts, and doing a great job at it. How sad is it that even a twelve-year-old girl can see when a book stinks? Does that mean that your book stank? No. That may have been the day he was on vacation and sent out blanket rejection letters. I know—Ouch. But every agency has days like that, which is why, if you don’t have a personal entrée to an agent or editor, it becomes a numbers game.
Every agent I know has a system (criteria is the polite word) to answer the most important question of his day: How much (or little) crap do I have to read until I know I can stop reading today? So, UnPub’s job is to blow the agent away. Bait and Hook.
At this point in a seminar I usually stop and talk about conflict, which makes the attendees feel like I missed something. No, I didn’t skip over the Bait and
Hook part. Bait and Hook is all about conflict and marketing. Every writer needs to be able to blurb his book in twenty seconds or less and then give the conflict blurb in twenty seconds or less. These blurbs are to be used in verbal meetings and pitches with agents and editors and in queries and proposals. Then that info has to appear in some form in the first paragraph(s) of the manuscript. Let me say that again:
That info has to appear in some form in the first paragraph(s) of the manuscript.
Examples? Sure. I’ll use one of my own.
Marketing Blurb:
Early Anita Blake meets Jack Palance, when a kickass Cherokee skinwalker/ vampire hunter is hired to hunt down a rogue vampire killing off cops and tourists in New Orleans.
Conflict Blurb:
Jane Yellowrock has never met another skinwalker, or a sane vampire. When she is hired by the vampire council of New Orleans to track and kill a rogue-vamp who is killing and eating cops and tourists, she is placed in danger of being hunted down and killed herself. And her preconceptions about vamps and their blood-servants are challenged, along with her view of herself.
First two paragraphs:
I wheeled my bike down Decatur Street and eased deeper into the French Quarter, the bike’s engine puttering. My shotgun was slung over my back, a Benelli M4 Super 90, loaded for vamp with hand-packed silver-flechette rounds. I carried a selection of silver crosses in my belt, hidden under my leather jacket, and stakes were secured in loops at my jeans-clad thighs. The saddle bags on my bike were filled with my meager travel belongings—clothes in one side, tools of the trade in the other. As a vamp killer for hire, I travel light.
I’d need to put the vamp hunting tools out of sight for my interview. My hostess might be offended. Not a good thing when said hostess held my next paycheck in her hands and possessed a set of fangs of her own.
BAIT and HOOK:
Consists of an introduction and development of a central character and/or his conflict. This device is a mixture of several other devices, used the first time you introduce a character, or open the story. When it works best, it is almost always a mixture of character and conflict together. It is best seen in the opening of a story.
In BAIT, you are also introducing the TYPE of story you are writing and trying to hook or interest the reader into reading. BAIT may offer both emotional tone and setting, character and action, or any combination of story. But its purpose is to introduce, modify, show evidence of change!
• In an idea story, you present the idea of the central conflict.
• In a character story, you present the main character
• In an action story, you start with action crucial to the central conflict
• In atmosphere story, you open with the setting (though this type of story is seldom published. An example would be "The Fall of The House of Usher").
Think about the beginning of your own novel or story and see if you did the job of BAITING your reader with the opening words—like tossing fish-food pellets to koi in a pond. Do it correctly and the agents and editors will gather just as quickly around your offerings.
§§§
Christina
Say you meet an agent and have a good face-to-face, give the agent your manuscript, and then six months go by with no response? What do you do? How do you get them to read what you’ve sent?
This is the second time I’ve had a six-month or more wait on a response. Is that normal?
Even if I have any talent, the great barrier for me seems to be getting anyone to even take a look at my stuff at all.
Faith Hunter
Christina, re: the six month wait. Arrrg! That is sooo frustrating!
When I send a full manuscript in, I include a card/note offering the agent a one month exclusive. After one week, I send a polite email thanking him/her for agreeing to look at manuscript and asking if he got it.
After one month, I send a polite email thanking them for the one-month exclusive, not mentioning that the month is up. After three months, I send a polite email asking if they have any thoughts about the manuscript. If you don’t get a reply, screw ’em and move on to the next agent. If you get a reply, play it by ear.
If they asked for a partial, same three notes, but without the exclusive comment.
IMHO
One Step Shy
C.E. Murphy
A friend of mine, whom we shall call Robin for the purposes of this essay, is sending out her first novel to agents. She emailed me recently because she’d gotten a confusing response from an agent, and was looking for advice on how to react.
The initial response was incredibly positive; the later response seemed to backtrack and asked some questions. The question that threw both Robin and myself was "Where do you see this novel being marketed?" which seemed like a real step backward from the initial enthusiasm. It also, to me, threw up a warning flag: an agent who has to ask that may not be the right one for your book. Ideally, your agent will be someone who has a very clear idea of where your book should be marketed. I asked who the agent was, and what agency he was with. As it turned out, this was not a new agent working for a flash-in-the-pan agency, which was my expectation. In fact, it was an established agent working with a major agency, which reassured me in terms of quality if not necessarily in terms of being certain this would be the right agent for Robin.
Robin emailed with her ideas about where the book might be marketed, and in turn asked where the agent thought it might be marketed. As it turned out, the agent was asking because he felt her book wasn’t quite enough of any one thing to fit into the obvious markets, and he was essentially testing the waters to see if Robin was absolutely strictly wedded to the book as it was. He suggested a couple of books which he believed it could be marketed similarly to, under the right circumstances. And ultimately, he decided to turn it down—but provided a detailed revision letter, and said he would be very interested in seeing the book again if Robin did the rewrites.
I read the rejection letter, and in case Robin wasn’t absolutely clear on it, told her it was an incredibly positive letter—which came as a relief to her. She’d thought it was, but then also felt that maybe he was just playing the role of fourth grade teacher and saying, "Tsk, tsk, Robin, you’re not living up to your potential."
That is absolutely not what he was doing or saying. This, guys, is what one-step-shy-of-publication frequently looks like: an agent or an editor taking the time to tell you you’re doing well and where you’ve gone wrong. It’s not a failure to live up to potential: every single one of us as professional writers get at least one revision letter per book, sometimes more. Professional editors and agents are a step outside our books; they see things we miss, and usually they’re things that make us go "Argh, why didn’t I think of that?!?!" So as an unpublished writer, if you get that kind of response, for pity’s sake, for my sake, for your sake . . . listen to it.
It’s possible the requested revisions will take the book somewhere you as a writer don’t want it to go. If that’s the case, it’s fine; it is, after all, your book. But it’s incredibly important to remember that the person responding is a professional who believes you’ve got enough raw talent to spend several hours of his own, unpaid time suggesting ways to make your book better. If you get a response from an agent like this, please believe me: they’re not jerking your chain. They’re not being nice. They’re not doing this out of the goodness of their heart. They think they can potentially make money off you, or they wouldn’t have spent this much time reading and responding to your work and your emails.
They’re also looking to see if you’re capable of responding well to critique, because if you throw up a wall or disappear or argue or never respond, hey, you’re not worth the time. I’ve read Robin’s revision letter. It’s a good one. It addresses important points, some of which are very easy to fix, others of which are going to require much deeper and more complex rewriting—and Robin is bouncing off the walls with new ideas on how to address these points.
So take a page from Robin’s book. You cannot do better than she’s done with this interaction. If you get as far as she has, remember that this honestly is one step shy of publication. It may not pan out this time, but it means you’re very, very close to that brass ring. Be professional, calm and courteous with the agent. (You can freak out on your friends. That’s what they’re there for.) Do not be discouraged by a rejection at this level: if you get this kind of response, you are doing something right. Don’t blow it now.
§§§
