When Jennie Nash, my new book doctor, offered her initial assessment of my manuscript, I feared Phoenix Cells was on life support (“You are totally not telling a story. You are narrative outside events, and putting cardboard puppet characters through them. It’s not going to engage your reader…”).

I considered simply pulling the plug to put us all out of our misery.

R.I.P., Phoenix Cells…

Then I studied the context of Jennie’s examination more thoroughly, and thought, well, maybe I should upgrade the novel to critical condition (“Your IDEA is awesome and you are a good writer.”)

After a thorough and enlightening two-hour phone conversation, I realized that, in fact, the book is in fair condition–not yet ready to be discharged, but indicators are favourable for a full recovery.

Whew.

So what, exactly, is wrong with my loved one? A common case of Outsideitis. It’s a condition in which the novel focuses on examining events from the outside (“It’s clear you were a journalist — you write as if it’s a camera taking in a view.”)

The treatment: Write from the inside. While I thought I was getting inside Lyra’s head, I was still holding her off at a distance, not yet explaining why she does what she does and how her past experiences affect her perception. (Ummm, yeah, because I don’t know why she does what she does and how her past experiences affect her perception…) Jennie assures me I have good instincts and a good sense of what should be there; I just need help getting it on the page.

What she told me was an eye-opener. An oh-my-god-how-could-I-never-have-seen-that-before kind of reaction. Everything she says makes sense–but it skews my perception of how to write by 180 degrees. Correction: it doesn’t skew my perception on how to write–I’m doing that very well, thank you very much (setting the scenes, writing dialogue, using imagery); it reveals to me that writing well and telling a story are completely different skills–and the one (story) needs to be nailed down before the other (writing) even matters.

Doh.

The medicine:

Create the internal struggle of the character, one that stems from long before the story opens. One of Jennie’s clients and colleagues, Lisa Cron, wrote a book that helps writers do exactly that. It’s called Story Genius:How to Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere) (shoulda had that three years ago… and it was wasting 380 pages (x3 full, start-from-scratch drafts), not 327 pages…)

Lisa examines how our brains are hardwired for story (an evolutionary trait that helps us survive–fascinating!) and what readers expect of story: how will this tale help me? She argues (and I’ve read other research on this) that we literally put ourselves in the mind of the protagonist–brain scans show the same parts of our brain light up whether we’re reading about the activity or doing it–so by reading (or watching) stories, we are simulating experiences of others in case we need that information later on. Not to mention the increase in empathy about how we understand others. (Check out Lisa’s “Wired for Story” TED talk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74uv0mJS0uM)

What does all this mean for me? A whole new way to approach my story. (And every subsequent story I write…) She focuses on three key questions from which everything else will develop:

• What is the protagonist’s internal desire–what does she truly want? This is different than what she may be searching for on her quest. (i.e: while Harry Potter wants to defeat Voldemort, that’s his external desire. Internally, he’s longing for a family. Frodo, from Lord of the Rings, may have an external goal of throwing the One Ring into Mount Doom, but his internal desire is to  protect his friends and family.)
• Why? Why does the protagonist want what she wants?
• What “misbelief”–a misguided perception–is stopping her from getting what she wants? (An example Lisa provides: if a gay character craves God’s love (internal desire) because he grew up in a religious household and saw the love shared among his family (the why), but he comes to believe that God doesn’t love gay people (the misbelief), then he’ll be torn. He wants something, but he feels he can’t get it because of what he believes to be true. The story then, is how the plot (external events) forces him to confront his misbelief (even if he doesn’t want to) until he can resolve his inner struggle. The story (all stories, Lisa argues) is about how the protagonist changes internally.

Jennie, using a similar philosophy, will prescribe remedies for Phoenix Cells over the next few months, and I will dutifully administer the medicine.

Like any recovery, it will take time, but you know what I’m lucky to have right now?

Time.

So no need to send get-well wishes; Phoenix Cells will be up and about before you know it.

Goal: getting a book published.

Therefore success = getting a book published.

Simple, right?

But who knew? Turns out there’s more to the equation.

When I broke down my goal even further, I looked at why I wanted to be published: to inspire or engage a reader–to make him/her feel–the way my favourite authors have inspired and engaged and made me feel. I always wanted to make an impact—even if on only one reader.

I never imagined I’d succeed (making an impact on at least one reader)–all because of an answer I wrote to one question on a book coach’s Q&A.

As you know, I’m now working with book coach Jennie Nash. She asked me to fill out a questionnaire to help her better understand me as a writer. The question about my goals got me thinking, so I added to my answer: “To model for my kids what it means to pursue a dream (hard work, frustration, failure, perseverance, etc.)”

Because, I realized, I’m going to be at this for a long time before I get that elusive publishing deal. It made me reconsider my priorities, made me recognize the value of what I do every day–the process–even if the product is but a starry glint in my eye.

I sent off my answers and in reply, Jennie gave me an thrilling response.

“LOVING THAT LAST ONE OMG. I AM ADDING THIS TO MY LIST [on her questionnaire]! AND WRITING A BLOG POST ABOUT IT!!”

She did! Inspired by my comment! Here’s the link to Jennie’s post. Check it out!

I’m not going to stop working toward getting published, but it’s heartening to know that the publishing milestone will only be building on my current success 🙂

Laaadieeees and Gentlemen! Welcome to the Umpteenth Annual Biggest Fight in the Writing Process! 

Here again, going head-to-head is Outliner vs. Panster.

In thiiiiis corner, is Outliner, the plan-out every-plot-point-of-your-novel-before-you-start guy! He’s here to prove that the only way to write is to know in advance what you’re gonna write. Flowcharts, graphs, bullets: they’re all the punches in his arsenal.

And in thiiiis corner we have Panster, the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants-just-start-writing gal! She’s all about going with the flow, write-to-discover, see what happens and surprise you with the end. She’s organic and unpredictable and threatens to kick some serious Outline ass!

Ding!

Outliner, as expected, gets in the first hit. He knows right off the top how to come at Panster–a clear punch to the head with a “I-know-what-my-story’s about” move. Oooh, ouch! That’s gotta hurt Pantser.

But she’s rallying; Outliner didn’t see Pantser’s clean left hook, knocking Outliner off balance with a funky, spontaneous idea!

Ding! That’s the end of Round 1. Still no knockout punch. While the fighters are back in their corner, let’s go down to the floor. Bob, who do you have with you today?

Bob: Yeah, thanks, Max. I’m with Jen, an emerging writer on the edge of her seat. Jen, who do you wanna win?

Jen: You know, I was all for Panster; I’ve been a big supporter of her for a lot of my writing life. Man, look at her sweet moves; I could never seem ’em comin’.

Bob: But now?

Jen: She ain’t doin’ it for me no more… She’s all over the ring, like she’s flailing. Her moves look lost and outta control.

Bob: Ouch. So you’re an Outliner fan now?

Jen: Ah, geez, I wish. Look at him, he’s so stiff, he’s like a robot. Where’s the fun in that?

Bob: So who’re ya gonna cheer for?

Jen: Not sure. We need new blood in here.

Bob: Are you a PLANster fan, then? You want a mix of both?

Jen: Nah, I’ve watched PLANster before, even tried out some of his moves, but he just got the worst of both: planning a little, but not enough to know what’s goin’ on, then free writing the rest, but hemmed in by his own lines.

Bob: Well, hope you can decide, ’cause we got a rock ’em sock ’em round ahead of us. Max, back to you.

Thanks, Bob.

Ding!

There’s the bell. Outliner is again the first to attack. He’s using a tried-and-true external plot structure to pummel Pantser. Look at at! That’s a classic one-two-three-combination: get your character up a tree; throw things at him; get him down. Nice, nice. But wait, what’s this? A new fighter is climbing into the ring! What’s going on? And the ref is allowing it! I’ve never seen this before: a three-way match?! Who’s this new kid?

Bob: Max, it’s… Internal Desire! Wow, she rarely comes out for a fight. You know her, even though she’s been flying under the radar for a long time; often coaches both Outliner and Pantser. Haven’t seen her for a long time on her own.

Yes, Bob, you’re right! Internal Desire! She’s the Story Queen, known for her killer character motivation. She’s the one who plans what the character most wants from an emotional, internal point of view. Look at her go! She’s crushing Outliner’s external-plot upper cut. She’s using Outliner’s own what-happening-in-the-world-to-the character hit to her advantage! She’s getting the upper hand, showing us what the character most wants emotionally trumps what’s happening externally. But here comes Pantser with a flying round-house kick and it seems Internal Desire is stumbling. Pantser’s write-to-discover-the-meaning punch seems to be a knockout. But wait… Internal Desire is feigning… She’s not down and out… Like she did with Outliner, she’s using Pantser’s skills to her advantage… She’s taking Pantser out by using her discovery method to determine how a character overcomes her internal fears. Man, what a fight!

Oh, check out that one-two punch. And another! Down goes Outliner. Now Pantser. The ref is standing over them. The count is on. Five… Four… Three…

Wait, another surprise move? Internal Desire is helping Outliner and Pantser to their feet. She’s raising their hands with her above her head! Well, she may not be declaring victory, but we all know who won!

Stay tuned… Up next in the Biggest Fight in the Writing Process prizefight: Solo Writer challenges Writer’s Group Member in this much anticipated rematch. It’s gonna be epic!

My 10-year-old daughter came downstairs the other day, with a big smile on her face and a stack of old papers in her hand.

“Mama, look at my stories from when I was a kid!” (You know, when she was five…)

They were adorable, her “sentences” and drawings, of princesses and frogs (but not the Princess and the Frog) and we admired her talent.

“Do you have stories from when you were a kid, Mama?”

It took me less than a minutes to dig one up. I’ve kept all my writing stored in a bin in our basement–which in and of itself should tell me something about my passion.

I explained it’s the first story I got “published” (my mom typed it up), the first story that truly sparked my imagination, the one that determined I was going to be a writer.

I was 8. It’s a story about Santa and the pressure of delivering presents on Christmas Eve.

It’s also terrible. There is no conflict, rising action, climax or resolution. No character description–but a lot of detail (Santa’s 999-year-old head elf declared his team had finished 80,056 presents, but still had 1,095 more to go.)

My daughter laughed. It was amusing, strolling down my writing memory lane.

I dug through more of my old work, especially stories and plays I had written in high school. I remembered some better than others, and enjoyed, as if for the first time, the suspense of those stories I didn’t remember. Some sucked. Others… you know what? They were actually pretty good. Far from perfect, but I impressed myself with some of my character development and dialogue.

None of these stories, plays and commentaries went anywhere–except to my teachers and my parents–the only ones who would have cared.

But it didn’t matter, because re-reading these stories reminded me why I started writing in the first place: because I liked it.

For years now, I’ve been focusing on improving my skill to attain the ultimate prize: getting published–and I ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’ now–but I wonder if I’d forgotten the fun of writing in all my efforts. The pressure-free, freewheeling, free-writing that comes from not caring how good or technical or appealing a story is.

For a while, I told myself I didn’t have time. My writing schedule was so limited, that I didn’t have time to waste on stories that went nowhere. Nor did I want to indulge in “pointless”, unrelated exercises–drills that honed my technique–because I had to get my novel finished.

Now I have no excuse.

Now I have time to write.

Maybe I even have time to write for fun.

To write stories that will never see the light of day.

Ooo, I have a great idea about a Conservation Society dedicated to preserving mythical creatures… Or maybe my protagonist will be a researcher for an encyclopedia sent to catalogue all the mythical creatures in the world… Or maybe all the mythical creatures meet up at a yearly convention, like comic-con… Or maybe all the mythical creatures have decided to break their Statute of Secrecy and reveal themselves to the world… Or maybe…

Or maybe I don’t have to decide which idea to pursue.

Maybe I’ll just write them all.

You know, for fun.

Remember when you were a kid watching the Olympics (Summer or Winter)? There was one (or maybe a dozen) sport(s) that captivated you, enthralled you, made you sit up and announce to the world (or just your parents) that you were going to be there someday, standing on the top podium, a gold medal weighing you down, listening to your national anthem with tears in your eyes.

You’d run outside and sprint down the street–you were going to win the 100m dash and proudly proclaim the title of fastest man/woman on the planet.

You’d strap on your skis and plummet down the (smallish) hill closest to your house, imaging the rush of wind on your face as if it were the steepest of slopes.

You’d dive into your neighbour’s pool and splash your way to the other end in a frenzy of windmilling arms and kicking legs. You pictured your opponent in the next (imaginary) lane, you envisioned your last stroke, your fingers stretching out before you, and with a last burst of energy, you victoriously touch the wall first.

My dream sport was synchronized swimming, a less-than-marquee event, yes, but one I thought was beautiful. It was dance, which I loved, in the water, which I adored. To me, it was the perfect combination and I dutifully dipped into my above-ground, shallow pool and spun and twirled and kicked my legs up as if I were an world-class athlete.

I never made it. To the Olympics or even to my first synchro class. There were none in my area (a fact that, sadly, I learned was false only 30 years later when I finally, as an adult, took up the sport).

Obviously I had no idea what I was doing on my own (such things as tutorials on the not-yet-invented Internet had not yet been invented). I tried for a while, but soon gave up, realizing instinctively that what I needed was someone to show me the way.

I needed a coach.

Why, then, as I aim for my version of the Olympic-equivalent of writing (getting published) or even dream of the medal (winning prestigious awards/recognition), did I so naively think I could do this on my own?

Truth be told, I didn’t think that. I was neither ignorant nor arrogant enough to believe I had the skill and knowledge to catapult myself to the top of the writing game by myself.  I’ve known for many years that I needed the equivalent of a coach–an editor, a mentor, a teacher, a guide. It’s why I signed up for creative writing classes and enrolled in Humber College’s Creative Writing program. They helped, absolutely, especially the invaluable, one-on-one advice I got from my mentor, Richard Scrimger. Yet, the reality is, after the end of the program, Richard had to focus on other students (a shout-out to Richard, though: he’s still helping me when he can–he’s been extraordinarily supportive!)

What to do… what to do… Join writers’ groups? Find critique partners? All valuable, but that’s not the same as having an expert coach you. I really wanted someone who knew the business, who could work with me one-on-one, who’d push me to improve, prepare me, train me so I had a shot at going up against the best writers out there.

Who knew? Turns out there are people like that: book coaches.

And I’ll be working with one!

I’ve signed on for one session with Jennie Nash, a highly-regarded coach in the literary field. As she explains it, her job is

1) to help writers determine the strategic, big-picture plan of their books (something I admit I’ve thought too little about)

2) deep, comprehensive editorial guidance

3) emotional support coming from someone not only in the business, but someone who, as a writer herself, has gone through the very turbulent process (sooooo valuable to a new writer (i.e. me) who’s plagued with self-doubt.)

Already, before our first session, she has taken and interest in me and my work (and confirmed what I feared–my query letter needs work). But she pushed me to re-consider the order of the problems I have to tackle: in my last blog entry (“The Odds of Getting Published”), I mentioned I needed a killer query and while I believe I’ve done all I can on my manuscript, I recognized agents may see things I missed. Obviously I (naively) believed those things would be small and wholly surmountable as soon as an agent, who naturally gushing over my book, would gently point them out in and among the praise for my brilliant execution of a fabulous idea.

Or not. (Insert sound effect SPLAT!)

Jennie’s initial advice? (Which is so ridiculously obvious in hindsight.) Focus on the manuscript first. She says my query is hard to hold onto the through-line of the story. That could be for two reasons: I don’t know how to write an effective query that best reflects my very clear manuscript or (more likely, she insinuated, without judgement), I don’t have a clear idea of my story in the book itself. She hasn’t yet read it, so obviously, she can’t yet give me that answer.

But she will tackle the first set of pages, as well as grilling me on how well I know my story. That’s what I get to look forward to next week: a tough-love drubbing.

It’s scary: what if she tells me my whole book–the one I’ve poured three years of blood, sweat, and tears into is shit? What if she infers that I am, in fact, more ignorant of writing than, in my arrogance, I believed I was? What if, in other words, I make a complete and utter fool of myself, by calling myself a “writer” in the presence of a published author who works with real, accomplished authors everyday?

Or what if she does tell me my book needs work, gives me suggestions about how to fix it and the encouragement to continue?

That would take me one step closer to the podium.

Bring it on, Jennie.

“On average, approximately 99% of submissions to publishers and literary agents get rejected, especially if you’ve never been published.” –P.S. Literary Agency

“Now, the more realistic number of queries I received and answered and considered in 2016: 3,053.Total New Clients Signed in 2016: 3”– Sarah LaPolla, Literary Agent

“1) Agencies like mine [U.S. agencies] typically reject 99.5 of everything they see. Out of close to 500 queries a month (electronic and surface mail) we receive, we invite perhaps 50 proposals for review. Out of that fifty, perhaps one or sometimes two is ready to be delivered to publishers.

2) Editors take projects from agents. There are about 1600 agents in the USA, and only about 25% of us are actually actively selling books. There are only about 20 editors tops for any particular subject in the major New York houses – all totaled! These same 20 people receive projects from hundreds of agents. Do the math and consider how many they see in a year!

3) An average, overworked editor publishes a maximum of 24 books in a year, thanks to budget and staff cuts. When I began 14 years ago, it was an average of 12. They have little time for editorial development. That job belongs to the agents and their staff now.

4) Good agents (in which group I humbly include myself) tend to sell about 3 out of every 5 projects they represent.

5) According to reliable sources, we publish only about 65,000 books a year. 2/3 of that group are text books, professional books and fiction. That leaves approximately 12,000 books available for you to become one of.” — Wendy Keller, Keller Media [U.S. statistics]

So, yeah, the odds of ever getting published seem overwhelming.

BUT, publishing (as many helpful writing websites continue to remind me), is not a lottery. Yes, there are thousands of submissions to literary agents in the U.S. every year, but many of them may be poorly written, or for novels that are not yet complete, or for genres that a particular literary agent doesn’t represent.

Which gives me some hope, because that means I have more control. I can land a literary agent (and hopefully a publishing deal) if I only knock the socks off an agent. That’s all I have to do. Wow him or her in such a way with my writing style and premise that he/she absolutely needs to read my book and believes in it as much as I do.

I know how to do it: write a wicked query letter and find the right agent.

It’s the execution that I seem to be struggling with at the moment…

So far I’ve been soundly rejected by 7 agents (all in the U.S.; I am holding off on querying literary agents in Canada for the moment). What this tells me, especially getting feedback from some of them, is that I don’t yet have a killer query. It’s possible I don’t yet have an amazing manuscript, but I haven’t even gotten to the stage where an agent has asked to see it.

Which means, I need to do a better sell job on my premise.

So I’ve been revising my query letter. Here’s a version of my original:

Two weeks before her June graduation, 17-year-old Lyra Harmon is blown up in a suicide terrorist attack on her high school—carried out by her boyfriend Jonah in the name of religion. It’s all the more shocking because they live in the First World, a non-religious country where a belief in God is considered irrelevant.

Lyra wasn’t supposed to survive, but she did because of a condition she didn’t know she had: phoenix cells—cells that always regenerate. It seems her body heals itself from any injury or illness.

That’s why Annie Wisteria, a spy with the First World Intelligence Agency, wants Lyra to assassinate the mastermind behind the spate of terrorist attacks. Simon Moto is a warlord from the Second World, a country on the brink of civil war, torn between traditional religion and a desire for a more progressive, secular society. Moto now manipulates disillusioned youth like Jonah to bring religious terror to the First World.

Annie intends to inject Lyra with Hecate’s Plague, the deadliest virus on Earth. No one who breathes the infected air survives. Except Lyra. With the help of David, a boy whose own brother died in a Moto attack, Lyra can infiltrate Moto’s compound, breathe out the contagion and kill Moto—all without leaving any First World fingerprints.

Lyra agrees to the dangerous mission. She lost her whole family in the school explosion and wants to protect others in the First World from her suffering. But as she’s thrust into the unstable Second World, she begins to question everything she knows about religion and power. She even questions whether killing Moto is the right thing to do.

But with Moto planning imminent attacks on more First World students, Lyra must decide where her loyalties lie. And what she should believe in.

Phoenix Cells is a completed 100,000-word young adult novel. I chronicle my writing process for this book on my blog, www.jenbraaksma.com.

I am a graduate of Humber College’s Creative Writing program—I worked with YA author Richard Scrimger—and I’m a high school English and Writer’s Craft teacher. [Here I include personalized information about each agent, based on my research.]

This is a multiple submission to literary agents.

Thank you for your consideration.

Jen Braaksma

Some feedback I’ve heard: good writing (yay!), but it reads too much like a synopsis–too much of a summary about what happens rather than a hook to draw you in.

So I cut the part about what Annie intends to do with Lyra–details that a reader will learn while reading.

I also clarified the focus of religion a little more.

I changed the opening, to punch up the personality of the protagonist and get to the crux of what makes my story different (Lyra’s phoenix cells).

Here’s a revision:

It seems 17-year-old Lyra Harmon can never die.

She wishes she could.

Lyra learns she has “phoenix cells”—cells that always regenerate, no matter how bad the injury or illness—after she survives a suicide terrorist attack on her high school.

A terrorist attack carried out by her boyfriend Jonah in the name of religion—which is all the more shocking because they live in the First World, a country that has no use for religion of any kind.

Lyra lost her whole family in the attack. When she tries to escape her anguish (screaming into the wind on a rusty railroad track with a train barreling down on her seems like a good idea), she meets Annie Wisteria, a spy with the First World Intelligence Agency.

Annie has a preposterous proposal for Lyra: assassinate the mastermind behind the spate of terrorist attacks. Lyra has heard of Simon Moto, a warlord from the Second World, a country torn between traditional religion and a more secular society, but she didn’t know Moto manipulates disillusioned youth like Jonah into bringing religious terror to the First World.

Lyra reluctantly agrees to the dangerous mission; she has nothing else to live for. And maybe she can stop the evil spread of religion in her country and spare others her suffering. But as she’s thrust into the unstable Second World, she begins to question everything she knows about religion and power. She always believed religion was synonymous with violence, but now she’s learning they are not the same, and that religion has its own value. She even questions whether killing Moto is the right way to end the violence.

Yet with Moto planning imminent attacks on more First World students, Lyra must decide where her loyalties lie. And what she should believe in.

Phoenix Cells is a completed 100,000-word young adult novel. I chronicle my writing process for this book on my blog, www.jenbraaksma.com.

I am a graduate of Humber College’s Creative Writing program—I worked with YA author Richard Scrimger—and I’m a high school English and Writer’s Craft teacher in Ottawa. [Personalized info for each agent]

This is a multiple submission to literary agents.

Thank you for your consideration.

Jen Braaksma

Is it better? Guess I won’t know unless I hear back from an agent to whom I sent this version…

In the meantime, I’ll keep at it; rewriting and revising and researching agents.

Anything to increase my odds.

This is me before I took my semester off, hard at work teaching and marking:

This is me now during my semester off, hard at work brainstorming my new novel:

Livin’ the dream… livin’ the dream…

🙂

Living the Dream: A Rumination on the Writing Life in One Act

ACT 1:

Writer impatiently waits for rejections from literary agents (’cause what else would there be?) while she starts a new project, a YA fantasy based on angels that’s been in her head for almost a decade.

WRITER: Starting another book, assuming I know what I’m doing… What the hell was I thinking?

Writer looks online for inspirational quotes from successful authors.

GEORGE ORWELL: Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: The first draft of anything is shit.

VINCENT LAM: I felt as if the book was a big muddy rock that I was dragging around a wet field using my bare hands while naked.

JOHN LUTZ: Writing is hard work: it’s like doing homework for the rest of your life.

THOMAS MANN: A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.

STEPHEN LEACOCK: Writing is not hard. Just get paper and pencil and sit down, and write as it occurs to you. The writing is easy—it’s the occurring that’s hard.

WRITER: Livin’ the dream… livin’ the dream…

🙂

I hit the ominous send button.

My query letters, for better or worse, are out there in the world.

Now I wait, the fate of my success, my dreams, my identity as a writer in invisible hands.

Uh, ok, maybe the stakes aren’t that high. I’m not going to give up writing if I don’t get the answers I want. Outside validation isn’t what makes you a writer. But my hopes of getting published through traditional publishing means certainly are.

Understandably, agents take time before they reply–if they reply. That, too, is understandable. They can get through many more queries if they don’t have to hit their auto-reply button every time they want to pass on a project. Considering the auto-reply messages are impersonal, there’s little benefit to the writer–no feedback, critique, suggestions for improvements or reasons why the query wasn’t the right “fit” for the agent.

But still, the waiting… The not knowing, the holding out of (false?) hope…

Which is why I say yay (?) to my first rejection. The agent, as promised on her twitter feed, replied within 24 hours (shockingly fast in this business). Can’t say I liked that the answer was “no”, but she personalized her response. Said I have a great “voice” for my character and she really liked the concept. That goes a long way, because so many literary agents are looking for the intangible “voice”. She passed on my novel because she didn’t fall in love with it–another phrase many agents use to talk  about their inherent decision-making process. I get it, I do, even if I am disappointed.

But, yes, let’s talk about disappointment. Writing and rejection go hand-in-hand. I know that. Everyone knows that. LitRejections.com, a popular writing website, lists dozens of bestsellers which where once (or hundreds of times) rejected before fundamentally altering the publishing landscape. J.K. Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was famously rejected by publishers 12 times before it was picked up. Agatha Christie, whose book sales are worth $2 billion and who is outsold only be Shakespeare, coped with five years of rejection. Louis L’Amour received 200 rejections before Bantam took a chance on him. Kathryn Stockett’s worldwide bestseller, The Help, was rejected 60 times. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, The Great Gatsby, the American classic which is a staple in high school English classrooms, was initially rejected.

So I’m in good company. (Like how I compared myself to the great and successful writers? Positive thinking and all that…)

But here’s the thing: they made it. They’re published. They’re on the other side. Of course they felt as I do now–will it ever happen to me? But they know the answer.

I’m still waiting…

And I don’t care what all the inspirational, keep-your-chin-up advice-givers say: rejection is personal. I don’t mean the agents who turn down my work hate me. Of course they can’t accept everything that crosses their desk–nor should they. I don’t even mean they hate my work–like the first agent to reply. She was professional, friendly and encouraging.

But still, she didn’t choose me.

Imagine you’re a new student and you want to go to the school dance. You could go alone (self-publishing), but that won’t make it  easier to meet people, to have people get to know who you are. Ideally, you need someone to introduce you around. So you decide you need a date. You learn a little bit about a whole bunch of different people–people you think (you hope) share similar interests. And then you put yourself out there.

Hi, we’re in biology class together. Want to go to the dance with me? Hi, I saw your field hockey game; you were great. Want to go to the dance with me? Hi, I heard you in the hall say you like cotton candy–that’s my favourite, too! Want to go to the dance with me?

Is it any surprise that the biology partner, field hockey player and cavity-laden cotton candy kid would size you up in a flicker of an instant, then say, uh… no… Even if they were polite about it: “Sorry, I’m going with someone else” or “You’re cute, but not my type,” or, “I’m not interested–it’s not because of you, it’s because of me”, that fact remains you’ve still been rejected. You’re still not going to the dance with someone else.

So, yeah, I get why my work may not be the right fit for an agent, or maybe that I need to improve it–but that’s all logical.

But inside, is the small little voice: why not me?

Here’s hoping I won’t have to ask that question for too long.

Ah, the literary agent… a magnificent creature, part-myth (few in my world have ever seen one), part-magic, for he or she has the ability to make authors’ dreams come true. You see, they have the power to open magical gateways into the gilded world of traditional publishing.

Literary agents often live in pods, called literary agencies, and the agencies are said to number no more than 100o in the U.S. and perhaps 30 in all of Canada. The size of each pod varies, from only one lone member, to dozens, and many of them congregate on the coasts. New York City, for example, has the highest concentration of agents on the continent. Still, the size of their pods or the location of their natural habitats are less important in the search for an agent than understanding the proclivities of each individual creature. While they may help their pod-mates or fellow creatures, ultimately, they are solo beings who make initial, life-altering decisions on their own.

So how to find one?

No, no, you ask the wrong question. It is not how to find one. That, my dear reader, is extraordinarily simple. Each has what’s called an “online presence”, part of their trickery to make us believe they exist. Words, pictures and information about themselves appear, like magic, on flickering screens around the world.

But! To catch one, to hook one–as they so like to tease authors–is the extraordinary challenge. Many writers believe they are up to the task. Thousands upon thousands of them prey on these agent-creatures each and every year–and each writer is convinced that he or she will, with his or her skill, quickly and easily ensnare one.

But they are wiley, cunning creatures, these literary agents. They cannot be fooled. They alone will decide when and who and how they will be caught.

But there are specialized tools in a writer’s arsenal with which to attract them, namely, the Query Letter. It is easily come by–anyone with a pen and imagination can acquire one–but a good query letter, an exemplary query letter, ah, now that is, indeed, almost as rare as the literary agent him or herself.

But it’s an absolute necessity. Without one, a writer has no hope, which is why there is a veritable cottage industry of query-letter advisors out there. For all their skill, though, these advisors have yet to create a sure-fire formula that will guarantee the author’s query-letter-weapon-of-choice will find its mark. (Didn’t I say these agents are crafty creatures?)

Each agent is unique, too, and each expects to be treated as such. Therefore one query letter is not sufficient. A whole arsenal is necessary–but remember, each letter must be hand-crafted to great precision. The mould may be the same, but the finish must carefully reflect the individual tastes of each agent.

It is, therefore, a very time-consuming endeavour–and utterly impossible to target all the creatures in hopes of nabbing one. A scatter shot approach will not do. So how to decide whom to tailor the query-letter weapon?

A random romp through the Internet wilds is one method. See who is out there and, indiscriminitely choose a handful at whom to aim your query letter. However, a more targeted approach is recommended. Begin by identifying those authors you admire who have already hooked a literary agent. Often, the author will heap public praise on his/her creature, so this is not too difficult to discover. Now you have a name; now you have a target.

But don’t stop there. Often the creatures themselves will discuss others of their kind; those tracks, some of which you may never have been aware of before, could be invaluable to your hunt.

Finally, the last step in ensnaring that elusive literary agent: patience. They are unpredictable and independent creatures, these agents. One cannot hurry them. If you place a well-crafted, personalized query letter in front of the creatures you most wish to see, they will–slowly, cautiously–seek you out.

If they like your writing, of course.

If they do not, then fear not. Literary agents may be elusive, but they are not extinct. Simply choose another target; study him or her, sharpen your query letter–and let fly.

I wish you all the best in your quest.

Happy hunting.