Yearly Archives: 2012

Well, sorta.

I'm officially querying again and so far, so good. My only real complaint is that it takes awhile to get responses, and since I'm not generally known for my patience, I've resorted to even more obsessive-compulsive gmail refreshing than usual. Stay tuned though, I'm sure I'll have plenty of complaints later.

Yesterday I spent some time on QueryTracker.net looking for agents to query. This is a good task for me, as it feels sort of like time-wasting and yet is a necessary part of the book-writing process. It's certainly easier than actually writing a novel, and anything that feels like progress in my quest to get published that doesn't actually require the gut-wrenching task of writing is okay by me.

Should I not refer to writing as gut-wrenching? Perhaps not. Except for me it often is.

Anyway, back to QueryTracker. My search yesterday was broader than I'd done in the past and thus included many agents I hadn't heard of before. As part of my research, I went to their websites, read the QueryTracker comments, and generally did my homework to decide whether I wanted to add them to my list.

Since I started writing Diary of Bedlam nearly four years ago, I've learned quite a lot about what agents are looking for when they sort through queries. So much of it is subjective, but there are a few things, like following of submission guidelines and professionalism, that are expected across the board. But yesterday, I realized that as a writer, there are a few basic (and possibly superficial) things that I'm looking for as well.

First impressions definitely count.

1) If an agent uses a hotmail address, he/she is probably not the agent for me. Heck, at this point, I'd have second thoughts about doing business with anyone who still uses hotmail for business purposes.

2) If an agent still has the equivalent of an AOL circa 1997 website, I'll probably skip sending them a query. I certainly have nothing against AOL–heck, I met my husband via that service in 1996, but a professional web presence counts a lot. I'm not saying an agency has to spend loads of money on a fancy website, but I draw the line at websites using Comic Sans as a primary font.

3) I hesitate to mention this last one and I'm certain there will be people who disagree with me, but at this point, I'm skipping agents who do not accept queries by email. I understand they have their reasons for it and there are a few top-notch agencies who only accept queries by post that I'll probably end up querying, but for now email makes more sense to me.

I have other criteria, of course, but these are the things that stop me in my tracks almost immediately. As writers, we are all looking for the best agent to represent our work, and to me, the first two items mentioned speak to an agency's ability to represent me in the way I expect to be represented.

What do you think? Am I being too picky?

What does it mean to write the best novel you can? I think I might finally have the answer.

Over the weekend I attended Left Coast Crime in Sacramento. It was a great conference this year, filled to the brim with entertaining and informative panels, including a sort of "writing track" that featured panels about getting an agent, self-publishing, and the business of writing.

One session included a panel of two agents, a freelance editor, and Keith Kahla, Executive Editor at St. Martin's Press. I mention Mr. Kahla by name because he answered what I believe is an important question–one that I've been wondering about since I started writing DIARY OF BEDLAM.

As writers, we're always told to write the best novel we can. Make sure it's polished. Then, and only then, do we take the next step in the publishing process. For me, the next step is finding an agent.

But what does it mean to write the "best novel you can?" How good is good enough? Admittedly, the answer changes depending upon who you ask; no question the manuscript has to be polished, but it also has to be saleable. The structure and plot and characterizations need to be well-crafted, but it also has to be saleable.

Let's for the moment forget about the questions of grammar and spelling. We'll assume that your novel is perfect in this respect. Let's also assume that your novel's concept is saleable, that is, there's a market for it. It's a big assumption, sure, but there's no point in continuing this conversation if your novel isn't saleable (this goes for self-publishing too). 

So assuming the above, let's ask the question again: "What does it mean to write the best novel you can?"

It means, according to Mr. Kahla (and forgive me, I'm paraphrasing his actual statement), that when it first comes to him, the novel must be to a standard that if no changes whatsoever are made, he'd still be comfortable publishing it.

If you think about it, this makes a lot of sense. There are some aspects of the publishing process that the writer still has some control over, and revisions are one of them. Revisions to the story are essentially suggestions, and if the author feels strongly against a particular change, he/she can argue against it. If an agent or editor doesn't feel comfortable publishing it from the very beginning, there's no guarantee it will eventually become something they will feel comfortable publishing.

Now that I have the answer to the question, at least according to one editor, I have to admit it's a tall and daunting order. I'm finishing the last hundred pages of copy editing DOB today and in my non-expert opinion, the novel is ready for the printing press. But I thought that a year ago when I first started querying, only to begin a huge revision on it three months later when a few agents suggested it. There's no doubt they were right–the novel is 100 percent better now.

There's only one thing I'm absolutely sure about when it comes to writing and publishing a novel–there will always be something else to learn, something else that can be done to improve the manuscript. Beyond that, there's no certainty. But for now, I'm glad to have an answer to one more question.