Eight Hard Truths about Agents and Two Suggestions

I’ve been privy to some recent conversations regarding agents and the querying process and thought it would be a good time to put together a post that addresses some misperceptions I see fairly frequently.

Having spent time reading and editing submissions for a literary agent (two-and-a-half years and 1,200+ submissions) as well as being a writer myself, I’ve developed a pretty good understanding of what happens on both sides of this equation. One of the reasons I became a submissions (or slush pile) reader in the first place was so I could gain a better perspective on what agents actually see from querying writers as well as have insight on my competition for an agent’s attention.

 

So here are eight hard truths about agents, querying, and what really goes on after you hit send.

 

1.     The slush pile is an agent’s LOWEST priority.

This is a basic truth I consistently see writers ignore or of which they are completely unaware. An agent’s highest priority—and the thing that takes up most of their time—is representing the work of their existing clients, and their to do list reflects that. Prepping manuscripts to go out on submission, networking with editors, conferring with clients on existing contracts and the issues that arise during the publishing process, reading and editing manuscripts, managing the submission process and client commitments…the list is endless, but all of it is what pays the bills for an agent.

The slush pile, on the other hand, represents the greatest amount of work with the least amount of return. It’s time consuming and never ending. Agents are not kidding when they talk about their inboxes – they’re jam packed with queries. That’s especially true right now because so many people have had a LOT of extra time to write. Most agents have seen a significant spike in the number of queries they receive.

 

Which leads me to the next hard truth…

 2.     The slush pile odds are astronomical—like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

This is a hard truth for both agents and writers. In the two-and-a-half years I read submissions for the literary agent, I probably recommended she read about 5% of the 1,200 queries (the agency’s guidelines requested a query letter, synopsis, and the first fifty manuscript pages). That’s roughly 60 queries. Out of that number, she requested full manuscripts from maybe a dozen, and out of that, she only offered representation to ONE author.

Before you think I was cutting some worthy contenders out of the running, let me add, as a writer, my bias was ALWAYS to give the manuscript the benefit of the doubt. I usually read more pages than most agents would and gave the agent recommendations about what was working and what wasn’t if the first fifty pages seemed promising. She used my edit notes a number of times to give feedback to writers on requested manuscripts or queries that showed promise but weren’t quite right for her. So a 5% read recommendation rate is actually generous, and leads me to the next truth about the slush pile.

 3.     The vast majority of the manuscripts being queried aren’t ready.

I know. Believe me, I really do know. After working on a manuscript for years, especially as you get close to the end and feel as if you will rip your eyes out if you have to read it one more time, you want to believe it’s finished and ready to go. But the very, very hard truth of the slush pile is that at least 80% of what I read was simply not ready to be queried. Most of this number was made up of manuscripts that were exceptionally raw and unpolished. As harsh as this sounds, writing is one of those activities that people often think they can do without practice or study. No one thinks they can play pro sports the first time they try to play the game, and yet they apply a different metric to writing without recognizing that publication by a traditional publishing house is very much like playing in the major leagues.

 Of the remaining 20% of the queries, I recommended the agent read roughly 5%, as I said before. That 15% in between were the ones that almost made it, but needed another round of revision to be truly polished and fully realized (see my posts on revision if you want more of my thoughts on what a fully-realized novel looks like) or needed more editing than an agent can provide.

 

Which brings me to hard truth number four.

 4.     An agent’s job is to sell a manuscript—they’re not your critique partner or editor and don’t owe you feedback.

Yes, agents provide feedback or work with clients to edit and refine their manuscript prior to sending it out on submission, but it’s not their job to provide that kind of feedback for your query letter or pages. Sometimes, they simply can’t give you a solid reason for passing other than the manuscript isn’t right for them, and the sheer volume of queries (remember, the slush pile is the lowest priority and has the least amount of return for the time it takes to complete the task) means that they often don’t have the time to spend thinking about it too hard. I can honestly say, I sometimes spent more time coming up with reasons I was recommending the agent pass than I did reading the manuscript because, while it was obvious within a page it wasn’t what the agent could sell, it took time to articulate why.

 An agent’s job is to sell publication rights to publishers (they don’t actually sell the manuscript, they actually sell the rights to publish the manuscript under specified criteria). If you want feedback, find a writing group, find critique partners and beta readers, hire a developmental editor. If an agent does give you real, specific, concrete and actionable feedback, rejoice! that means you’re on the right track.

 5.     Yes! Agents really do read queries that fast.

This is probably one of the most disheartening, frustrating hard truths about agents. They really can assess your query and pages that quickly, and no, they’re not being lazy.

 Agents know what they can and can’t sell and will only read to the point where they know they can’t sell something. Sometimes that happens in the opening line of the query (why it’s important to know your genres and subgenres), sometimes it’s on the first manuscript page. I personally know one agent who draws a line in the margin every time something ticks his “not for me” meter. Three lines, and he’s done. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the tenth page, the first, or even in the first paragraph. Three ticks, and he passes. This same agent often responds within an hour of receiving a query. And we’ve all received insta-rejects that make us wonder if our email even got opened. Doesn't mean they didn't, it just means that you probably targeted an agent who can't sell what you wrote.

Which also doesn't mean there's something wrong with your book. Agents do miss out on terrific manuscripts because of the sheer volume of work they're trying to get through, or because the writer revised after they queried a certain number of agents, or because the agent simply doesn't know the right editor to show the work to. There are lots of reasons agents pass on work that went on to have incredible critical and financial success. Every agent has a story about the bestseller that got away because they didn’t recognize the potential or they were too slow responding or they didn't have the right editorial contacts to make the sale. 

 

But the truth is, agents do not use AI to scan for keywords like companies do with resumes; they do not throw darts at queries to decide which ones they’ll read; they do not do any of the hundred things I’ve heard writers complain must be happening to their queries. What they do do is read until they know they can’t sell the project, reject it, and move on to the next query.

6.     This is true even if an agent has requested a full or partial manuscript.

I’m setting this hard truth on it’s own because I often hear writers complain about how quickly a requested full or partial garnered a rejection. “There’s no way they read the entire book!” You’re right. They might not have read the entire thing because they are only reading until the point they know they can’t sell it. And, yes, it’s frustrating when they give you feedback that makes it clear they didn’t read the whole thing, but what that feedback tells you (if you hear it a couple of times) is something is missing from the beginning of your book.

 7.     Your query letter does not sell your manuscript.

I’m probably going to get push back on this one, but…No matter what an agent or other writers tell you, your query letter does not get an agent to sign you. The only thing that gets an agent to offer representation is having a project they believe they can sell, and that means having a solid manuscript, with a dynamic premise, that hits the publishing marketplace at the right time (I often tell my clients, if Jane Austen were a debut writer in 2021 and submitted Pride and Prejudice as it was written in 1813, she’d most likely garner a slew of rejections for the simple reason that the contemporary marketplace has different demands for a 21^st century manuscript).

A query letter has two jobs:

• ·       Succinctly present your book’s premise and its central conflict/problem in a dynamic way that catches the agent’s attention.
• ·       NOT give the agent reasons to reject before they read your pages.

Q   Query letters often act as a red flag to agents for the problems they’re going to encounter in the manuscript. Long query/long manuscript usually means the book needs extensive editing or the premise isn’t fully developed. Vague summary of the book can mean that the writer hasn’t figured out what the story is really about yet. A query heavy on the set up probably means the story doesn’t really get going until after fifty to a hundred pages.

The query letter often acts as a mirror for the manuscript (which is why it is a valuable exercise to write a good query letter). After reading those 1,200+ queries, I can tell you I NEVER saw a fantastic query letter paired with a mediocre manuscript. I saw lots of so-so queries and so-so pages. I also saw so-so letters with really good pages.

 

In 1,200+ query letters, almost every single one of them was an indication of what I would find in the pages. What this means is that I read the pages with the idea that I was looking for reasons to recommend the agent pass. If the query was good and solid, the book generally was too.

 

I might do an entire blog post on this topic, but for right now, I’ll say the reason I think the query letter has become so dominant in conversations (both from writers and agents) is that it is something agents can give feedback on quickly and easily. “Query letters that worked” is a really popular topic in interviews and workshop sessions with agents. Invariably, though, what I see in the query letters most often chosen by agents to discuss as "effective" wasn’t so much the letter that made the agent request the manuscript. Often it was the referral from an existing client or someone in the publishing industry, the writer’s extensive platform or special expertise, or a prestigious award or fellowship the writer had received that would have tipped the balance even if the query were written in crayon on a napkin.

 

Last hard truth…

 8.     You do not have a relationship with an agent simply because you queried them or they requested your manuscript.

I frequently see writers act as if an agent owes them something because the writer has queried or received a full request, and I do understand the temptation. Writers invest a lot of time and energy into developing a list of agents to query. We research them, stalk them a little bit on social media, read their clients’ work, and develop specific and realistic reasons for querying a particular agent. We become invested in thinking that a particular agent is THE ONE, and it sometimes feels as if we know them. When the agent doesn’t reciprocate, writers sometimes feel frustrated even though the agent is just doing their job. Even a revise and resubmit doesn’t mean you have a relationship, it just means you’ve got plans to go on a second date.

The point at which you have a relationship with an agent is when they sign you. Up until that point, don’t take anything personally. And, yes, I know exactly how difficult that is.

 

And now the two suggestions about how to increase your slush pile odds:

 1.     Write the best manuscript you can. Edit. Revise and rewrite. Give it to beta readers and critique partners and ask them, specifically, to tell you places where they wanted to put the manuscript down. They don’ t need to tell you why (if they can, great), but the idea is to get an idea of where an agent will do the same.

 2.     Know your genre and the genres an agent represents. Just because someone is an agent, doesn’t mean they represent any old kind of book. They specialize, sometimes only representing subgenres of a particular genre so that, even if romance is a category the represent, they may specialize in Regency era romance. This is why, to the best of your ability, do your research and look at the specific types of books an agent has sold.

 3.     (a bonus suggestion): Follow an agent’s submission guidelines to the best of your ability. Every agent or agency has their own guidelines. Follow them. Exactly as they are written. Want to play in the major leagues? This is the first step in demonstrating that you are a professional.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slush Pile Reader -- Let Us Begin

Taking off my writer hat for a moment and putting on the one I wear as a slush pile reader for a literary agent, I want to talk about beginnings. At this point, I've been reading submissions for about two years and have looked at about 1,100 query letters and opening pages as well as read a significant number of full manuscripts. It means I've seen a lot of openings that just don't work, and I want to share with you some of the common pitfalls I see in the slush pile.

First, though, I want to talk about what an opening should do.

A novel's opening pages are how you introduce the reader to the world of the novel -- its characters, setting, conflicts, premise, themes, hopefully even the imagery and voice. These elements are the vocabulary you are going to use to tell your story and you need to have them on the page from the first word. In addition, the opening pages should capture some essential moment in the narrative arc, the moment when things are poised on the brink of explosion, a moment beyond which things are never going to be the same again. There should be tension and something should definitely be at stake even if it is not the grand stakes for which the characters are playing, something needs to matter in the opening pages.

While I've heard a lot of writers complain that contemporary publishing favors the quick start, the high stakes, flash and fire over substance, the fact is you can look at almost any classic work and see the same elements. Even Tolstoy, who is not the most succinct of writers, gets a heck of a lot of information into the opening paragraph of Anna Karenina:

ALL happy families resemble one another; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

All was confusion in the house of the Oblonskys. The wife had discovered that her husband was having an intrigue with a French governess who had been in their employ, and she declared that she could not live in the same house with him. This condition of things had lasted now three days, and was causing deep discomfort, not only to the husband and wife, but also to all the members of the family and the domestics. All the members of the family and the domestics felt that there was no sense in their living together, and that in any hotel people meeting casually had more mutual interests than they, the members of the family and the domestics of the house of Oblonsky. The wife did not come out of her own rooms; the husband had not been at home for two days. The children were running over the whole house as if they were crazy ; the English maid was angry with the housekeeper and wrote to a friend begging her to find her a new place. The head cook had departed the evening before just at dinner-time; the kitchen-maid and the coachman demanded their wages.

The novel opens at a moment of high tension and discord brought about by the discovery of a husband's affair. It affects not only the married couple, the Oblonskys, but the family and their servants, and is so explosive that household staff are seeking employment elsewhere. And look at the movement of the narrative -- Tolstoy begins with a grand, sweeping statement of his entire book's premise. Then he immediately brings it to the family level, "All was confusion in the house of the Oblonskys...The wife did not come out of her own rooms; the husband had not been at home for two days." A quick summation of the current state of affairs that reveals the stakes (the future of the household) and is specific to this family and how the situation is affecting the individuals -- not only the upper class Oblonskys, but their children and their servants - the English maid, the housekeeper, the head cook, the coachman. The scope of this novel is global -- here, in the opening paragraph, Tolstoy is giving the reader notice of his intentions.

In the paragraph that follows this one, Tolstoy focuses on Oblonsky and, bam, we're in the story, and the looming conflict because Oblonsky is looking forward to the arrival of his sister, Anna Karenina, who will set all things to right in his household because Anna is dependable and steady and always knows what to do. Given the opening line of the novel, the reader should have a pretty good clue that Anna's arrival is not going to make things better.

So what are some of the common problems I see in the slush pile?

1. Starting in the wrong place -- it seems like it should be pretty easy to figure out where to start the story. It starts at the beginning, right? Not necessarily. There's a difference between where the novel starts and where the story starts. If you look at the opening paragraph from Anna Karenina, you'll see that the story starts three days before the novel, at the point where Countess Oblonsky discovers her husband's affair and locks herself in her room. Many writers would start with the fight (it's dramatic, right?) and use that fight to give a great deal of backstory about this couple (more on backstory in a moment), but the problem is the fight is not where things are about to change. And that's what's at the crux of a dynamic opening: the situation is dire, the stakes are high, and something is about to change.

2. Flashbacks and core dumps of backstory -- you would not believe the number of submissions I see where the writer gives a sentence, maybe a paragraph, of story and immediately goes into flashback or a core dump of backstory.

What this looks like:
Janet stood by the window of her corner office and stared at the people on the street below, so tiny they looked like ants. It had been a long hard fight to the top for her, starting in the mail room fresh out of college, studying for her MBA on the subway from Queens when she was living in a fifth floor walk up with no heat and five roommates (not counting the cockroaches)....etc etc etc

Why this doesn't work: it stops the forward momentum of the story dead in its tracks. In fact, there is no forward momentum to the story for the simple reason that no story has started. In simplest terms, story can be defined as a person in a place with a problem. While we've got Janet in an office, there's no problem, there's not even a situation. Think of the novel like a car trip. You get everyone in the car, turn on the engine, back out of the garage, and someone says, "I have to go to the bathroom." So you put the car in park, turn off the engine, and wait.

In a lot of cases, I think this happens because the writer hasn't found a way to fully integrate what he or she knows about the character yet.

So let's put Janet back in that corner office. She's standing by the window, staring at the street where the corporate limo is waiting to take her to the airport for the most important client meeting of her life, and she's picking at her carefully manicured nails, frustrated because she's just ruined a $200 manicure, a month's rent on her first apartment out of school, she notes dryly. She tugs at the her suit and tries to square her shoulders in it, but she can't get it to settle quite right, wishes she could imitate the ease with which her colleagues inhabit their Brooks Brothers and Brionis and Armanis. And in walks Arthur, the CEO, who plops a folder onto her desk and says, "I've decided to give the account to Allison. You're going to be working on the Podunk account."

And then you don't stop to add in all the stuff about Janet's night school MBA and the 5th floor walk up, you go on with how she copes with this change in plans and how all that other stuff informs her reactions to what has happened.

3. Withholding information -- it seems like holding something back from the reader would build suspense. The strange thing is it rarely does. I think this is because tension comes from the reactions of the characters to the thing, how they cope with it, what it does to them, not the thing itself. When you name the thing that has happened at the beginning, you create the space for the character to react, and you give the reader the satisfaction of knowing why the character is doing what he or she is doing. Another reason why this does not produce a dynamic opening is....

4. No stakes -- stakes are about risk, about what's on the line for your character if she does or does not do something. Stakes don't have to be life or death, but they do have to be important to your character. For example, while getting a bad grade on a test seems pretty low stakes, what happens if this grade is the difference between the character being able to play in a particular football game, which could be the difference between receiving a scholarship and going to college or ending up working in a fast food restaurant. And what if the character is trying to do the right thing and study hard, his friends convince him to go out and party the night before the test or, even better, give him the answers to the test so he faces a moral dilemma. Study on his own and possibly fail and ruin his life OR cheat and virtually guarantee his success.

While the stakes don't have to be sky high in the opening pages of your novel, something has to be at risk. In Anna Karenina, the household is falling apart. It's been three days, the children are running amok, the household staff is leaving, and the parents still aren't talking.

5. Cattle call of character introductions -- You need to get a story going, and stories need characters. One of the most delicate things a writer has to do is let the reader know which characters are important to the story, which characters they need to pay attention to, and who's expendable. One of the ways a writer does this is by how characters are introduced. Generally, more important characters are given more detailed introductions. We find out more about them, get a move vivid description of them, have lines of dialogue or interactions with other characters so we learn who they are. When you give readers an entire room full of characters, it's a little like being at a party where everyone goes around the room and tells you their name. Hi, I'm Alice. Jim. Samantha. Rupert. Stephen. Bob. Helen. And two seconds after you shake hands, you have no idea who you're talking to.

This doesn't mean you have to take things slowly. If you're opening scene is a party, by all means, make sure there's a roomful of people. Just make sure you introduce me to the ones it's important for me to know in a way that tells me this.


I think the most important thing to remember about your novel's opening pages is that this is the most important real estate in your entire book. The words need to be working hard, doing more than one thing at a time. Character introductions need to establish conflict and stakes, details need to provide imagery and theme, descriptions and exposition need to establish voice, setting sets tone, dialogue needs to provide characterization, and everything, everything, everything has to move the story forward. 


Want to know if your novel is ready to query? My current series of posts "Is it Done Yet?" based on my presentation at the Las Vegas Writers Conference in April, 2020, starts here and takes you through the stages of revision from first draft to query-ready manuscript.

If you'd like more information about me and my editing services, please visit my website or contact me through email or on Facebook, Twitter, or IG. I specialize in literary, upmarket, commercial, YA, contemporary women's, erotica, and fantasy, and have a diverse and international client base who's work has appeared on the NY Times best seller lists and Amazon top seller lists.

Twitter: @DeeGeeWriter 
Instagram: diane.glaz
Email: diane.glaz@gmail.com

For Something a Bit More Serious...

You might want to check out the blog post I did for The Escapery (a Bay Area writing "unschool" with whom I do developmental editing and coaching) on the truth about query letters.

After reading more than 1,000 subs, queries, and partial/full manuscripts as a slush pile reader, I've come to a surprising answer on the question of how important a query letter actually is.

The Escapery: Confessions of a Slush Pile Reader or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Query 

Slush Pile Reader -- Let's Talk About Guidelines

Being a slush pile reader is something that's been in the back of my mind for about two years now, so when the opportunity presented itself, I said yes. Agents always tell writers about the pile of unsolicited manuscripts that come in -- the horror stories, the shear volume of it, that 80-90% of it shouldn't be going out in the first place -- so I was curious to experience this for myself and find out what my manuscript was up against when I queried an agent. It's been an eye-opening experience, to say the least, and has given me a lot of insight into the submissions process from the agent's side of things.

I've decided to share those insights here, and I want to start with submission guidelines and manuscript formatting. Now I read fiction submissions, so I'm talking here about novels or short story collections.

Almost every agency or agent has guidelines for submitting that specify what they want to see from a writer. You can find these guidelines in a number of places -- the agency's website, Publisher's Marketplace, Jeff Herman's Guide to Literary Agents, the Writers' Digest Guide to Agents, Agent Query.....you get the idea. (Sometimes you'll find contradictory information on different sites -- this may be due to changes in policy at the agency, some websites or blogs copying old information or not updating their information, agencies sometimes forget where they've posted guidelines -- in these cases, default to what's on the agency's website and state, in your query letter, "As per your website, I am attaching..." or "As per your guidelines in Publisher's Marketplace, please find the first five pages following my query.")

Most agents request a query letter, a one-page synopsis, and the first five pages of the novel. Some don't ask for a synopsis (and bless their hearts). Some ask for just the first page or just a query letter (in which case you need to make sure that query letter is razor sharp with a great hook).

BUT...and this is important...you need to find out what the agent you are querying is requesting and follow those guidelines to the letter.

Why?

Because, for one thing, you're building a professional relationship with the agent -- you need to demonstrate what kind of client you are going to be from the get-go. Being able to follow the guidelines signals to an agent that you are a professional and you have taken the time to find out what the agent wants.

The agency for which I read is pretty generous and asks for an email query, and a one-page synopsis and the first FIFTY pages as attachments in PDF or MS Word files (and no, I still won't tell you who the agency is, you have to go find that out on your own because, even if I did tell you, there's no guarantee they are the right agency for you -- you have to do your research to find that out). Amazing, right? Would you be surprised if I told you a significant number of queries come in with the fifty pages in the body of the email? Or that a number of them provide less than ten pages of the novel? Every time I encounter a submission with fewer than fifty pages, I have to wonder why because this is EXACTLY what I wish most agents would do and what email has made possible (the query letter actually hearkens back to a time before it was easy to create copies of your work, a time before photocopiers, when it was likely that you had only one copy of your manuscript and it was much too valuable to send to an agent or editor on the off-chance that he (usually a 'he') would like it).

And yet...there are writers who don't take advantage of being able to send 50 pages of their manuscript.

This is a huge signal to the agent about what kind of client the writer is likely to be.

Now what about that attachment vs. in-the-body-of-the-email thing? Again, follow the guidelines. It may seem fussy or unnecessary, but the agent has his or her reasons for requesting submissions in a certain format. You are sending one manuscript. Agents and their readers are looking at hundreds a month.

If an agent requests submissions in the email, send it to yourself first to make sure your formatting holds and doesn't do anything weird. You would be AMAZED at how often in-the-body-of-the-email submissions come through single-spaced and with no indentations at the beginning of paragraphs -- all of which makes it much more difficult to read. And, believe me, you don't want to make it harder for the agent to read your work.

So...
Do look up the submissions guidelines for each agent you are querying
Do follow those guidelines to the letter

Don't send your email submission without checking the formatting first

And remember that the way you present your manuscript to the agent says a lot about the type of client you are likely to be.

Next week I'll take on submission formatting and explain why Standard Manuscript Formatting is important.