The Reverse Query Theory
March 27, 2009
After I tell you all about how I went to Paris and saw the Mona Lisa, I’ve got an idea I want to run by some of you agents, writers and those interested in the “writer–publishing industry relationship”. Oh, hell, let’s just open it up to “everyone” and let y’all sort it out. Anyway, I think I have an idea that could facilitate the agency submission process, and at the same time keep the doors open for new voices to find an agent.
Right, so…I went to Paris and saw the Mona Lisa.
Okay, now my idea. First, for the uninitiated, lets go over some terms:
Agent – those publishing professionals that represent writers and use their relationships with publishers to sell their clients’ book, and if they’re lucky, negotiate big, fat advance checks, as well. If you’re a writer who is serious about a writing career, you need one of these. I need one of these.
Writer – someone like me who is arrogant enough to think that the stories he makes up are good enough for someone to pay to read them (I am, do).
Query – a letter that a new writer drafts that introduces him or her to an agent, summarizes a recently completed work they think the agent might be interested in reading/selling, and gives a brief amount of biographical information that hopefully qualifies them as a worthy, potential client.
Rejection – the customary response to a query, especially during difficult economic times. Some provide a bit of helpful feedback that the writer might be able to use later, but most are standard form letters that effectively nullify that particular work’s possibilities as a viable property of that agency for the foreseeable future (read: forever).
In the best of times for the best of writers, landing an agent is a difficult prospect. There are many tales of famous authors who have been rejected hundreds of times before catching their big break. In a deep recession, the odds of securing representation are even more stacked against you. Agents are narrowing their interests to only those books they’ll kill themselves to sell. Other agents are gunning for “sure things” like celebrity bios and proven authors such as Stephen King or J.K. Rowling. Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight series also comes to mind, and the list goes on…but not “on and on”.
Now, some agents will include in their rejection letters the following phrase or something close to it:
“I’m sorry, but your idea just doesn’t seem right for us at this time.”
That can either mean that you’ve missed the window of opportunity where something like your idea might have interested them, or that they already have something in mind, and your idea’s not it. It can also just be a nice way of saying, “Are you joking?”, but it’s best not to think of it like that because writing a book and drafting a good query are hard enough as it is. Synopsizing your work with just the right three sentences that will both sell and tell what you’re book is about is a harrowing experience to say the least. It requires practice, and hardly ever have I sent a letter out and not thought, “Damn, I should have said this instead.” You’re told to be brief, but show your voice and your writing ability. You’re told to sell the work, but sometimes, selling yourself is a good move, too. It’s a resume sent to be judged by moving criteria, and even if you’ve done it right, you just might catch the agent on a bad day. They may have just had a dog eat their wallet, and your tale of a trapped puppy eating its way to freedom will only bring them pleasure by feeding your letter into the shredder. 
In other words, it ain’t easy. That’s why only those who don’t give up have a shot. And for those of us who don’t give up, we have to get it perfectly right, every time. All we have to keep us going sometimes is our love of writing, and shrinking evidence of the fact that people are still buying books cause people are still writing them. We want to be in the “people writing them” category, so we put our heads down and do what we do.
Which brings me to my idea: what if an agent already had in mind the type of book they wanted to see cross their desk, and let that idea be known either through their website or via Twitter or Facebook or wherever? Maybe they have a few ideas that they’d love to see; that they’d kill for and would be willing to die for as they clawed their way into a stingy, publisher’s heart. What if, instead, they wrote the query they wanted to receive, and writers were to provide the story for it? Sure, they’d get all interpretations, and more than a few clunkers, but at least each submission to wit would be one worth spending the X number of minutes it took perusing it.
I realize some (most?) agents don’t know what they want until they see it, but I’ve only seen one agent’s website where they laid out some general criteria for the versatile scribe to follow outside of “a strong, original voice and a story I can’t put down”. The information could still be somewhat broad (murder, set in the desert, a love story gone wrong), or very specific (the first daughter joins a biker gang of former first daughters and invents time travel to save JFK) but at least it would give some narrative clues. There could be a list of novels that the work should fit comfortably against on the shelf, or perhaps the mention of a few authors that might enjoy reading it, as well. The thing is, I know agents and publishers are talking––some of them, at least, the passionate ones––and at some point one or more of them has to have divulged the kind of story they’ve been pining to read. It’s not much different than the old Hollywood studio system, where screenwriters went into a room and didn’t come out until they had the next depression era road trip saga or whatever.
So I put it to the WordPress agenting community and any others I’m able to drive here: tell me what you want. I’m good like that, see? I like parameters and limitations and the challenge of finding that button you so desperately need pushed. I could spend the rest of my life writing things I think are interesting and never get a nibble, or having a blast applying my voice and style to an idea that somebody already wants to read. Hell, I could do both, and probably would. But if more books reached agents who could sell them and quickly, that might open up desk space and gradually shutting windows for new voices to be heard.
So, tell me what you want. Go ahead. Try me.
And now, the youtube “perspective” video of the week.
Both Sides Now
March 12, 2009
The day is here. The hour is upon us. The moment has arrived. It is time.
I’m leaving for England! And next week, I’ll be in Paris. Bye!
Okay, I’m not going right now, but I will be in a few hours. And it comes at a good time, but then again, any time is a good time for such an adventure. Not only will I be seeing my girlfriend, but I’ll be writing quite a bit over there as I’m bringing my screenplay with me. And thanks to some free, downloadable software, it won’t be a problem picking up where I left off. Writing in Cambridge––I find there are rarely more wonderful things. That is to say, once all the other wonderful things to be done have been done and for a time won’t be done until something else is done first. You follow?
This trip in particular, coming on the heels of some emotionally challenging times in a long, cold winter, has shaken out some unique inspiration like a hidden fruit at the top of an old tree. Instead of digging into another scary book, the story I am writing, called Shelf Life, concerns a group of thirty-something rock musicians living and playing in a small seashore town. Local legends unable to break out, they find themselves facing the ends of their careers before they’ve even begun. As life’s persistent tendrils work their way into their delusions like roots of that old tree into a porous and weathered cellar, they’re forced to confront the future with a naked eye. Naturally, sacrifices loom, ones they’re not yet ready to make, and when tragedy strikes, each is forced to take stock in what they’ve accomplished and either move on, or risk losing it all. The questions I ask are universal ones: “When do dreams die?”, “Do they die or do they just change?”, and possibly, “Is there one last chance to make them happen, even in the smallest of ways?”. It’s a dark little dramedy that I think is funny in a real way. It’s pretty much one of the stories I’m meant to write given my own life experiences, and so far, the going’s been good.
I suppose I like the idea that the very pursuit of a dream is in itself the reward, because what you might find along the way may not have been what you were seeking but also may be more than you expected. If you honestly strive, you’ll honestly receive––something like that. In SL, there’s projection, reflection, rejection, introspection and at least one car ejection. It’s the kind of stuff I’ve seen in my little Jersey bubble, and it’s been tons of fun playing with characters that are basically amalgams of all those good people I’ve both shared the stage with and known off of it. Even some of the names are the same, albeit in most cases switched around. In fact, I may have to ask for forgiveness from some of them, but as they say, it’s better than asking permission, right? Mostly, I think they’ll dig it. If it ever gets made, art might just imitate life and wouldn’t that be a hoot?
There’s something else Shelf Life is about, too, and it’s a little further under the surface where it belongs. Tied to the concept of every moment being precious and how difficult it can be to focus one’s eyes away from an unrealistic future to truly notice the now, is the idea that things––people, most poignantly––are often more than what they appear. It can be harder than school to separate one’s initial impressions from reality, but it’s helpful, and scary, to work through your prejudices and look at something in a totally different way. It’s a bit like cutting a tether, and letting the currents take you to new and uncharted waters. But sometimes, being able to do that is essential to your happiness, or at the very least, your understanding of what this nutty journey is all about.
Take for example the creature at the head of this entry. It looks like a jellyfish but it’s called a turritopsis, and as far as scientists are concerned, it’s the only living thing in the known universe that is “immortal”. That is to say, once it propagates, it returns to its polyp state (above) for another turn. So, in theory, if nothing eats it or it doesn’t wind up in an engine turbine, it could live forever––or at least in a constant state of replay. How does that make you feel? For me, it sounds pretty cool…at first. But you do wonder if there’s even less of a point to turritopsis’ existence than in the existence of its more mortal gelatinous cousins.
Now, take the mayfly. This one is in its nymph stage, and for my money, looks an awful lot like turritopsis. But there’s one major difference you may or may not be aware of (besides not living in the ocean). Instead of me explaining it, why don’t you just have a look at this excellent commercial produced across the pond–– or on the “other side”, as it were––and ask yourself the same question.
Until next time, cheers, au revoir, and enjoy…well, everything.
Big thanks to Gunnsie. YAG.
Unholy Moses and The Lost Commandments
March 6, 2009
No, the title doesn’t refer to a forgotten garage band from the 60′s (although it would be a very good name) but rather to another on of his those entries that covers a couple of things of dubious relevance to one another that I will try and combine into one, universal point by the end. It’s a good exercise for a writer, cause in many ways that’s what we do. Let me break it down real quick: we get an idea for a story, we start writing it, we follow our hero until he or she gets what they want/don’t want/didn’t know they wanted, and then we try to tie it all up in one cohesive bow. You see, we don’t always know what we’re trying to say as writers––at least I’m not 100% sure all the time––but if we trust ourselves and our characters, we often come up with a name for the soup that’s been simmering in our heads by the last word. So let’s give it a try.
First of all, I’ve been fighting a cold. Or it could be a sinus infection. I seem to have it almost ready to tap out, but my right nostril refuses to give up the fight. So I medicate, try and eat the right things, and do my best to get lots of sleep; all to varying degrees of success. February into March in New Jersey has to be the most inhumane time of the year. Cabin fever has completely set in, temperatures fluctuate in the middle of the night leaving you to battle with your blankets in a barely conscious state, and in the off-chance you are feeling ready to go, you realize you’ve already broken everything you got for Christmas. Each day is like another daily slog in the gulag. At times, I can hardly motivate to eat. And when a little cold threatens to disrupt a pending trip overseas, I curse the very eyes of Baby New Year. If that brat was within reach I would boot the fucker into the ocean. If he’s reading this, keep your poopie diaper off my lawn or I’ll do it, I swear.
But enough of my moaning. A very generous and tireless literary agent by the name of Nathan Bransford (He sounds a bit privileged doesn’t he? Like he might have been naughty at some point in his teens and pushed his daddy’s catamaran into the pool causing him to miss that weekends polo match.) has a blog where he encourages discussion among writers and lends us a peek inside the highly secretive and dangerous world of publishing and government assassins. Okay, maybe the government assassins part is mostly my own fabrication, but anyone who has spent a few months there and doesn’t admit they’ve become a better writer as a result is either lying, not trying, or Baby New Year (cause he’s a little fucker, as previously established). Anyway, yesterday Nathan posted a Ten Commandments for the Happy Writer that I found to be very helpful–if for no other reason than printing it out affords one a paper-thin, desktop target for aiming one’s head. Below, the list, in brief, and my personal translations:
1. Enjoy the present
Basically, he’s saying to not live in the future all the time. Writers tend to be dreamers, and I agree. Even worse, Sagittarian writers like myself tend to be in a permanent waking coma. We walk into stuff a lot, which explains the steel-tip boots and evolution of bat-like radar.
2. Maintain your integrity
Don’t let desperation be your guide, forcing you to do whatever it takes––lie, cheat, steal, parade around a boudoir dressed as a sheep––to get to the top. In other words, don’t be another James Frey. A Million Little Pieces, huh? Yeah, like if the pieces were dollars or, better yet, my heart, you duplicitous scamp!
3. Recognize the forces that are outside of your control.
This one really hits home, because he’s saying that writing is basically a huge gamble. You can be great, work hard, do everything right, and still never catch the breaks. When you think of it in terms of being one sperm on its way to the egg, you get a better picture about how sticky the situation can be.
I’m sorry.
4. Don’t neglect your friends and family.
Pretty self-explanatory, here. As single-minded as you might be about your project, you do still need them. I mean, you can sit your manuscript in the kitchen for as long as you want but is it going to bring you a beer? Not very likely. I may or may not have translated this properly.
5. Don’t Quit Your Day Job.
This one’s pretty obvious, too. I think it was the great Native American artist Little Sand Painter who said, “No paint sand if no food eat and wigwam mortgage no pay”. Yes, I’m quite sure that’s how it went.
6. Keep up with publishing industry news.
You do have to know the lay of the land if you’re going to explore its hills and valleys. If you don’t, you’ll end up clinging helplessly to the flotation device of blind folly. Once you start mixing bad metaphors, you’ll really know you’ve lost it.
7. Reach out to fellow writers.
I found this one to be very important. Feedback of any kind brings you closer to your goals. It helps direct your decisions, and at the very least, keeps you from feeling alone. I would stay away from those who are too bitter, though. I think it was the not so great Native American soothsayer Little Black Cloud who said, “Sun go down…that’s it, tribe screwed, night forever”. I’ll have to check that one, but I think I’m close.
8. Park your jealousy at the door.
I hate jealousy. So what if you’re writing the next great American novel but everyone else is too busy reading some fancy, teen reader baloney about a boy wizard and the school where he learns his life lessons? I mean, what are the odds that thin premise will last past a single book? Your turn will come if you stick to it. In other words, don’t give up on that story about the talking eraser that’s fed up with being clapped every day and goes on a cross country journey to find its long lost sibling who’s being enslaved in a chalk testing factory. It won’t be long before your genius, too, is recognized for what it is: lunacy and blind luck.
9. Be thankful for what you have.
I have a little cold, and frankly, it can go to hell. But I think what Nathan is saying here is “be thankful that you’re somewhere between a starving child in a third-world country and a loveless, incontinent spinster being propped up for another spoonful of Ensure. And you know what? I’m right in the middle, and dammit, I’m grateful.
10. Keep writing.
For those of us who have no choice, this one is really superfluous. I mean, if you’re a real writer, you don’t even need all ten commandments. Nine is plenty. It’s also an odd number, and if nothing else, writers are an odd number.
That said, I’d like to add to the above, if I may. Consider these, if you will, the “lost” commandments:
11. Keep a steady supply of sweet alcohol at the ready. Thanks to Steve Fuller for that one. I fully concur. Should be number one, really.
12. Have some inspirational photos on your desktop to keep you going. Running horses, breathtaking waterfalls, goatse––whatever it takes to keep your eye on the prize. Have it at the ready and lose yourself in its magical charm when you’re feeling a little…stale.
13. Trust in yourself. I’m not even going to make a joke about this one. The very second doubt forces you to step outside the process and go about it objectively, you’re applying too much of your conscious mind. It’s behind that irritating lobe where you’ll find the answers. They won’t give you unfettered passage, but they will always require you to cut through the brush to find them. That’s because our minds really are a jungle; a teeming ecosystem of experience, emotion and faith. If we believe that somewhere within lies a precious gem waiting to illuminate our souls, then we’ll keep chopping. But if you try and hire a helicopter to find it while sipping a brandy and singing jazz standards, all you’ll get is a headache trying to peer through the thick, protective foliage of imagination’s canopy. Nearly lost it at the end there, but the point is this: do the work, and do it the hard way. There’s treasure in them thar hills.
So, as we arrive at that unholy, odd-shaped number of 13, I return to write through my cold and my fatigue. Why? Because I must, and in my effort I forget about both for a bit. And I forget about February into March, in as much as I don’t focus on what it’s done to me–rather, like many who have found the way before me, to use it.
And there’s your bow, my friends. Below, some Chet Baker to see you out. I wanted to post a video of him singing “Do it the Hard Way”, but alas, couldn’t find one. Instead, I’ve decided on his duet with Elvis Costello on “I’m a Fool to Want You”. As you watch Chet puff the opening melodic salvo, you can almost feel the miles in his face. When he finds his embrochure, one gets the sense that he’s put everything he has into those first, few, sad notes––notes that may or, once again, may not deliver him. I find that reading of this entry to be just as fitting. Sure, we’re fools, but do we have a choice?
I’ll leave you to answer that one on your own. See you.
