Posts Tagged query
This is where an interesting post would go
But this isn’t one of those. I mean, it is. A post, that is. But interesting? Well, in the immortal (nearly immortal? somebody check into that for me) words of Bob Barker, “Survey says?! Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re answer is just not on the board.”
Well, that might be more of a paraphrase.
Anyway, unfortunately, I can’t give you the post you deserve today because I have other pressing tasks to accomplish with the word-making skills. I’ve got a brand spanking new query letter to polish until it gleams light the sun I saw shining earlier today (pictured above). And if that isn’t enough, before I get any sleep tonight I have to produce a (blessedly) short synopsis for my new novel, Longshots. Yes, the one currently being considered in The Contest. Which, not coincidentally, ends tomorrow.
It’s possible these two things are related. I’ll never tell. (Pssst…here’s my entry).
At any rate, the query letter isn’t too scary, although I’ll probably end up rewriting it 3 or 4 times between now and then end of the month. The synopsis, on the other hand, is nothing to be sneezed at. The dreaded Novel Synopsis has been known to even bring the most seasoned of A-list authors to their knees, all weepy and beaten.
Now, I see you there, looking all smug and thinking, “Oh, sure, a synopsis. Whatever, loser. I wrote, like, three of those back in grade school for Mrs. Droopynecklace. And I got at least a ‘C’ on all of them. We called them ‘book reports, remember, Whiny McWhinerson?”
Yeah, look: writing a novel synopsis is not exactly that same thing as slapping together that report on “Flowers for Algernon” in 4th grade. For one thing, your novel synopsis has to sell your story to someone thinking about representing or publishing it. And let me tell you, the report you wrote when you were 10 years old couldn’t convince Inuit Native Americans to buy space heaters. For another thing, a ‘C’? Really? Below average? Go look at the nearest book store or open up the Books heading on Amazon.com and start browsing. Last time I checked, there were roughly eleventy quatrillion galactic crap-tons of books available for purchase in the world. If you want yours to be one of those, you’re damn sure going to do better than writing a C-average synopsis.
In fact, if there was any way you could make your synopsis, like, readable crack or something, that’d probably be a good start.
So, as you can see, producing a quality synopsis is tricky. Like, giving birth an entire living room of fully-assembled IKEA furniture by putting it together via the birth canal without using your hands, tricky.
Which is why I need to get started on that, and stop rambling here about this.
Instead of an interesting post, though, I did think to take a picture of the first sunlight since spring theoretically arrived last week requiring me to don my sunglasses. Yes, that’s the same picture above. Isn’t it pretty? I hope the suns sticks around for a while this time.
Now, if I can just write a synopsis that pretty, everyone will be happy.
Pud’n
Humor for the query-worn soul: Rep Me Maybe?
One day last week, as I was driving home from work and contemplating my query letter for Famine – you know, wondering again if a tweak here or there wouldn’t give it a little extra punch, like you do – my car radio assaulted me with a terrifying song. You know the one, right? It was that heavily produced, auto-tuned thing by that little girl with three names that, once having taken up residence in my subconscious, seemed impossible to remove short of sloppy, regrettable, binge-drinking and/or full-frontal lobotomy?
For the record, I’m pretty sure those particular conditions were prophesied re: The End Times. As in:
Lo, when She, the child of three names, commands the minds of men with insipid words in song,
the Bringer of Darkness will roam the land to eat the souls of the puppies and kittens!
Errr, something like that.
Anyway, luckily, as I was already thinking heavily about that query letter when The Song moved in, something snapped in my brain. And not unlike those old Reese Peanut Butter Cup commercials where the chocolate ends up in the peanut butter after some ridiculously unlikely event, my experience sending queries got mixed in with the earworm and something was born that gave me a downright not-masculine and wholly shameful fit of giggles.
Warning: This may be the cheesiest commercial ever made.
It is thus with great pride that submit this parody for all my literary brothers and sisters out there, queryers fighting the good fight deep in the muddy trenches of “trying to get a novel published”, as well as all the long-suffering agents and editors desperately seeking that one shiny needle in the dirty haystack of “You buys my book ‘coz I wrotes it gud and it’s better than them sparkly vampire stories and it’s gonna make more cash that Steve King fella”.
Anyway, I hope this brings everyone at least a brief smile before we all get back to our respective trenches.
REP ME MAYBE
I send my dreams in email
I pray that this time goes well
And you’re the one that I sell
My query’s on it’s way
I’d sell my soul for a full
For you to say, “This is cool,”
A call from you would just rule,
Each query makes me pray
Your read queue is slowin’
I’m desperate, now it’s showin’
Long nights, Send/Receivin’
Please, oh, please, no form rejection!
Hey, I’m an author, and this makes me crazy
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
I know I’m waiting, ’till you reject me,
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Hey, I’m an author, and this makes me crazy
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Other agents said, “your book’s just not me”
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
I keep waiting for your call
While banging head against the wall
And just get no response at all
My query nerves are frayed
I hit F5 all day long
Doubt that my letter was strong
Think that my whole dream is wrong
Here in fast food I’ll stay
Your read queue is slowin’
I’m desperate, now it’s showin’
Long nights, Send/Receivin’
Please, oh, please, no form rejection!
Hey, I’m an author, this makes me crazy
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
I know I’m waiting, ’till you reject me,
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Hey, I’m an author, and this makes me crazy
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Other agents said, “your book’s just not me”
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
I want to publish for real, I need you so bad
I need you so bad…I need you so, so bad
You know the pubs who will deal, I need you so bad
It’s self-pubbing without you…I need you so, so bad
I know I’m waiting, ’till you reject me,
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Hey, I’m an author, and this makes me crazy
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
Other agents said, “your book’s just not me”
But here’s my query, so rep me maybe
I want to publish for real, I need you so bad
I need you so bad…I need you so, so bad
You know the pubs who will deal
So rep me, maybe?
And yes, I realize it’s the Worst. Song. Parody. Ever. But, you know, look at the source material.
I’m just sayin…
Now, get back to work.
Pud’n
I think I’m over-thinking this querying for a literary agent
I found a penny on the ground this morning. A “heads up” penny, actually. That’s the lucky kind, right? At 38 years old (39 in 11 days), you’d think I might be immune to that kind—or really, any kind—of school-yard superstition. Turns out I’m not. Which makes me wonder, what’s next? Hoarding horseshoes or stalking four-leaf clovers? Making wishes and blowing away daffodils? Wait…maybe it’s dandelions? Daisies? Dingleberries? Who the hell knows.
The point is, it might appear that I’ve lost my mind. But I haven’t, not entirely. It’s just that I submitted my first actual query to a literary agent last night, and as I posted to twitter and facebook, I’m kind of terrified. Just, you know, in a good way. More like the first time you jumped of a high dive rather than that time you were stalked by Shelob in a dark, webby cavern while attempting to simply walk into Mordor.
Hmm…come to think of it, I believe I just broke the first rule of Query Club: Don’t talk about Query Club. It’s actually a good rule because:
- Publicizing a list of one’s interactions—including both rejections and possible successes—with potential representation is a Bad Idea (yes, with a capital B and I).
- A play-by-play of my (mis)adventures in novel querying isn’t likely to make anyone’s list of Most Entertaining Blog Topics in 2012. In fact, this is my 2nd query-related post (remember this one?) in the last four. You don’t come here to read about the emails I sent yesterday, you come here (one can only assume) to see me make fun of myself and reference Oompa Loompas.
So, why mention it? Well, because I realized yesterday I had a kind of conundrum, and was curious if anyone had advice for me. The thing is, when querying potential agents, it seems to me that first and foremost, the writer in question should be looking for the right person to represent them. After all, the agent works for the writer.
The process actually seems to have a lot in common with interviewing for job, to some degree. Personally, I believe too many people fail to realize that it’s a two-way interview. While they’re vetting you to determine if you’re right for the job, you should be vetting them (when the situation allows, of course). The point is, not every position is right for every candidate. Likewise, not every agent is not a good match for every author.
Specifically, I’m looking for an agent that represents fantasy and science fiction, appreciates character-driven stories, even in speculative genres, and isn’t going to bat an eye if I want to write one book about mummies, the next about dragons, and a third about the Xenotang, Brain-eating parasites from Aurora 13 that resemble Chicken McNuggets.
I’m pretty sure that last one’s non-fiction. It would explain A LOT about McNugget sales.
Ironically, the one agent I’ve queried so far isn’t on my preferred list. In fact, she doesn’t even represent the genre my novel falls into. But I’ve see her post online that she loves reading queries and doesn’t mind if she gets out-of-genre submissions. The worst thing that can happen is she’ll send you a form-letter rejection.
Which is exactly what I’m expecting.
I figured I’d go ahead and get a rejection out of the way. Because if nothing else, I can guarantee that the first query won’t be one that hits the mark. Ask the Puddinette and she’ll tell you, I can accomplish just about anything I put my mind to, but I’m going to fail doing it the first time, at least. Hanging pictures, replacing plumbing, and being a good husband are all things I wasn’t so awesome at at first, but just needed experience. Nowadays, I can flip grilled cheese without a flipper and toss sautéing veggies around with the flick of my wrist, just like Bobby Flay. But I cleaned an awful lot of diced mirepoix up off the floor before I got here.
The point is, there are few agents that I believe (based on a considerable amount of research online—meaning more than just a simple Google search) would be an excellent fit for me. They’re the ones I want. But I have to sell myself and my novel to one of them, make them see that they want me too.
At the moment, my query, um, skills, or lack thereof, are much too amateur to effectively manage that. If I submitted anything now, they’d likely give me the proverbial pat me on the head and a dismissive, “aw, that’s cute”. Like when a three year-old spells out “K-A-T” with letter blocks. It’d be like Luke facing Vader before he was ready, and we all know how that turned out. I need my hands intact, thank you very much.
No, I’ll have to do it wrong a few times before I begin to figure out how to do it right.
The question is, how long will it take until I know what I’m doing? How long should I wait until I submit to the agents on my Christmas list?
Because in this, as in so many other things in life, timing is everything.
Well, that and maybe a lucky penny or two.
Pud’n
The Novel Query (or, How NOT to get a prom date)
So it’s come to this, finally. Two years ago, I wrote this post about a guy waking up by himself. Now, nearly 25 months and 97,434 words later (well, a lot more than that, actually, when you consider revisions), I finally have the novel I always swore to myself I’d write and try to get published. Now, then, it’s time to send my precious baby manuscript* out amongst the horse traders to have it’s teeth checked, it’s height and weight gauged, and its tires kicked.
What? It’s, um, mixed metaphor Friday. Get over it.
Anyway, the point is that it’s high time to put together my query package**.
*Duh-duh-duh*
Holy burnt melba toast, Batman, where does one begin?
First things first, the query is not one single thing, it’s several things, typically including, at minimum (for a novel), a pitch letter and synopsis. And every agent, editor, and Dark Lord of the Underworld waiting to trade for your soul has different submission requirements. And you must observe them all if you want any kind of shot, even if they demand you hollow out a sheep’s stomach and send your manuscript bundled within.
In other words, if you think you’re going to slam together a quick email and mass merge it, replacing the “Dear <publishing gatekeeper>” with “Dear Ms. Mcgillicutty” just like a bulk spam blast pimping CHEAP MAKE-IT-HARDER-LONGER pills, well, odds are good the only people likely to ever read your life’s work will share your last name.
That’s not so much the goal, here, right?
So, yes, doing this querying thing and doing it right is going to take some time, thought, and effort. But, really, after wrestling with 90-100k words and bending them to your will, that’s not such a task, is it?
The hard part, though, is that putting together a successful query isn’t quite as simple as doing your taxes or trigonometry.
Let’s break it down. First, the pitch letter. In a perfect world, a pitch letter would be straight-forward and to the point:
Dear Mr. Agent,
I wrote a novel. My mom and my wife like it. I’m pretty proud of it, especially as finishing it was more work than pushing a 13-lb baby out an opening the size of a plum. It’s got some people in it and they do some stuff that many readers will probably find interesting. Plus, jellybeans. Everbody likes reading about jellybeans. Sorry, no sparkly vampires this time. That’s okay, though, right?
So, anyway, like I said, my mom and wife like it. So please sell it to a publisher for 18 gojillion dollars so I can quit my day job, choke on my sophomore novel, and start abusing drugs and women with daddy issues.
In closing, please please please please please please please please please!?
Thanks,
Clueless Debut Author
Sadly, my sources indicate such an approach might be, um, less than effective.
All joking aside, it seems to me that this query business is a whole lot like trying to get that special prom date in high school. There you are, sure of how you’re a great dude and would make an excellent date for some lucky girl, even if your love for collectable science fiction action figures is misunderstood. The thing is, you’ve only got one chance to prove you’re the fellow to make her the Belle of the Ball. When the time comes, then, for laying out that question to her, you’ve got to be smart, clever—but not too clever, confident—but not an arrogant asshole, and above all, yourself.
If you’re standing in front of a girl with nervous, shifty eyes, a pained look as if you’re weathering some serious intestinal distress, and a case of flop sweats that would make Chris Farley proud, you might as well skip asking her out and instead just explain about how your mom still picks out your clothes and cuts your Salisbury Steak for you. Instead, what you need to do is talk like a normal person, keep it calm, be sure of yourself even if you don’t feel sure of yourself, and get the important question across without becoming a pile of blubbering jello.
The query seems like it’s kind of the same way. Be yourself: use your writer’s voice, so the agent/editor/queryee will know what to expect from your writing. Be confident, but not arrogant: if you don’t think your work is good, no one else will either. But don’t go too far, it’s not as if anyone who reads it will immediately begin crapping solid gold. Above all, stick to the point and get the important information down: hook, pitch, author bio, done. No one who might want to represent you or buy your book will care that you foster feral ferrets.
In additional to the pitch letter, your query will require an synopsis of your novel. A synopsis is a (relatively) short summary of your book, again, using your voice. The writer’s voice, that is, not the one tells you to stab your spouse with a fork when she tries to steal a bite of your nachos. More importantly, the synopsis should not sound like a book report for Mrs. Hausdingle’s 5th grade English class. In other words, avoid this:
In, “Anderson meets Molly”, Mr. Anderson is a regular guy. And then he meets Molly Maureen getting his oiled changed. She steals his car and he chases after her. He catches her, and then they rob a bank together with nothing but marshmallow fluff and packets of fast food hot sauce because Molly tells him she need 10,000 dollars for a cockular transplant. Then the cops chase after them all over the city and the cars go ZOOM and the crashes go “CRASH” and the horns go “HONK” and the school kids and the nuns and the grandmothers going to liquor store for their whiskey all dive out of the way. And then Mr. Anderson and Molly get away, but break up because he finds out the stolen money is actually to open a custom doll making shop, which really, dolls? Creepy. Then he realizes he loves the creepy doll-making thief anyway, so he goes back to her and then they do it and live happily ever after.
So then, I’m crafting my query and building the first list of agents who’ll be getting my submission. It should be noted that any advice I might have inadvertently provided above should be taken with a grain of salt. I’ve done plenty of research about this, but to date I’ve successfully queried the same number of times as the plastic clown that pops out of a jack-in-the-box. I think I know what not to do, but I’m not sure what I’m going to provide will be quite right, either.
Again, it’s like getting a prom date; you never know if the question’s going to work until someone says “Yes”.
Here’s hoping I don’t end up going alone.
And if you’re querying, I hope you find a good date too.
Pud’n
*Thank you, Keri Stevens, for the perfect description
**Huh-huh-huh. He said “package,” Bevis.
