Robert Walter

Writers Digest University is an arm of the popular web and print publication. They offer courses and other activities designed to appeal to unpublished writers. I’m in that group. We’re particularly vulnerable because we can’t easily find help to get published.

The people at Writers Digest know this and work hard to find ways to take our money. The worst scam is the so-called Literary Agent Boot Camp. For a couple of hundred bucks, a writer can submit a query letter, synopsis, and the first ten pages of the book. A “reputable” literary agent will review the submission and provide feedback. There’s also an opportunity to view a one-hour video the agent has made and an opportunity to ask questions.

Sounds good, right? Well, let’s be honest. The big draw is that the agent is going to spend time with your submission materials. She will help you make your submission more appealing to agents you query. Maybe, just maybe, she will want to read your manuscript and represent you. That’s worth a couple of hundred bucks, isn’t it?

paula munier just wants your money

My experience was less than thrilling. I signed up for the boot camp. Several agents from the Talcott Notch Literary Agency were participating. I selected Paula Munier because her bio on the agency website indicated that she represents authors who wrote books like mine. I didn’t expect  her to fall in love with my writing. I was hoping for help finding an agent.

I figured that she would help me make my query letter more exciting. You can imagine my surprise when she wrote,

This was a very fun read. You have a very strong and engaging voice and that is half the battle. Bravo!…

The voice is great, but when a writer has a great voice the tendency is to rely on it to the detriment of other elements. So watch that. 

She gave me some excellent advice on ways to improve my story. I can’t argue with that. In a later email she told me that I’m a good writer and storyteller. She invited me to query her. Of course, I did. This is when the wheels came off. She failed to respond to my query. I would have expected a polite rejection, at the very least. But nothing seemed odd, especially since she invited my query and told me that she liked my story.

It took me months to realize that what really happened was that I paid an agent to look at my submission. She probably got most of my $200. Her advice was kind and on target, but her interest in me and my work ended at getting my money. You aren’t supposed to pay an agent to consider your work. I did.

An ethical agent is supposed to respond to invited queries. She told me that she liked my work. She invited me to query her. I wasn’t in the slush pile, was I? I thought I was in the elite group of invited authors. I wasn’t. My submission went into the trash unread. She had my money. Honest consideration and decency were not on her menu.

I can’t claim that I didn’t get any value from that boot camp. I did. Paula’s feedback was useful. What hurt was the strong praise followed by silence. We weren’t strangers. I would have been fine with a polite rejection. I suppose it’s my own stupid belief that all that praise was nothing more than smoke.

Last October I took a Writers Digest boot camp. A real, live literary agent was going to read and critique the first ten pages of my book. I signed up. To prepare, I checked out the agency website and carefully read the bios for all of the agents participating in the boot camp. I selected the agent who seemed most aligned with my manuscript.

The first part of the boot camp was for me to submit my first ten pages directly to the agent. She would come back with specific feedback that would help me improve my story. The agent made some excellent suggestions for improvement. She also said that my pages were a “fun read” and that I had a “good voice which was half the battle.”

I was very encouraged and made the suggested changes to my entire manuscript. I sent them back to her for final comments. She said that I’m a good writer and storyteller. Wow! I was delighted. After making some final refinements, I sent an email to this agent asking if I could query her. She is closed to uninvited queries. She replied, “Do query.” I did. That was October 2022.

Her agency in its submission guidelines says that if an agent doesn’t respond to a query in four weeks, send an email asking for a response. In November, having not gotten any response, I sent an email. I sent another in December, and a third in January 2023.

Silence

I understand that she’s very busy. She goes to conferences, peddles books, and is active on social media. I can understand that it’s easy to forget a former boot camp participant who she invited to query. It’s very different on my end. I thought that she would be a perfect representative for me. I imagined that we weren’t total strangers. Since she said that she liked my first ten pages, I hoped she would want to read my manuscript.

I never thought she would ghost me.

A constructive rejection would be a big help. Maybe my subject matter is wrong for the market. Maybe my characters aren’t likable enough. Tell me. I’m very willing to learn. The problem is that silence isn’t very helpful. Common courtesy would dictate some kind of response. Her agency promised a response within four weeks. All Igot was silence.

I’m not being unreasonable. I put more than a year into my project. This agent was the one literary professional who actually spent time with my first ten pages. I deserve more than being completely ignored.

I’m having absolutely no luck with agents. I’m pretty sure it’s because they don’t like my query letter. I don’t like it. If I could get them to read the first ten pages of the book, I’m sure they would want to read more. I’ve given the manuscript to some highly critical readers who like both the story and the characters. I don’t seem able to get an agent to spend the time to read any part of the manuscript.

I need a hook

Apparently, the key to getting anywhere in the publishing industry is having a good hook. As I understand it, a hook is a one-sentence blurb that excites the reader’s interest. I may know how to write fiction but have no idea how to create a grabby hook.

OK, I get it. Agents are inundated with thousands of manuscripts a year. Their job is to sell books to publishers. They are interested in finding books they can sell. As far as I can tell, they don’t want to put in the time to decide if a story is worth considering unless the author prepackages the marketing pitch in the query letter. It isn’t enough to write a novel, an author also has to develop the marketing strategy for it, along with the necessary sales materials. The only thing the agent expects to do is phone a publisher and pitch the book by reading the author’s prepackaged marketing blurb. At least that’s how it seems to me.

In fact, good agents, once they decide to represent a book, will spend considerable time with the manuscript helping the author improve the story. When the publisher buys it, an editor is assigned to help refine things further. The problem is hooking the agent.

So far, not one agent has asked to read my manuscript. Maybe I’m a crappy writer. I’m certainly terrible at marketing copy, Whatever talent I have is focused on creating the story and characters. Hooks, blurbs, and such aren’t things I seem able to produce. I’ll stop now. I’m sure you are tired or hearing me whine.

It is easy to see why novelists are a depressed bunch. I sent queries to about twenty literary agents, all of whom sold light mysteries. The Woman Who Died Twice, by the way, is a light mystery. I got a few rejections, and the rest haven’t replied. The advice I’ve been given is not to give up. Just what does that mean?

Should I keep looking for more literary agents to query? I guess that makes sense up to a point. Should I write yet another book? Died Twice is my second. The first was roundly rejected. I agreed with the rejections. It wasn’t very good. The one thing that I’m not supposed to do is give up. Sure. Right.

Let’s see. what are the pros and cons of not giving up?

Pros

• If I keep trying, I don’t have to admit that I failed. (weak)
• Maybe someone will give me a chance.
• My writing might improve if I continue.

cons

• I waste more of my life on something with little chance of success.
• Maybe I’m not a good writer after all.
• I keep getting more and more depressed.

It’s easy to find stories about successful novelists finally getting published after countless frustrating failures. How many frustrating failures did unsuccessful novelists suffer?

nobody tells the truth

The biggest problem that I’ve found is that nobody, even people I paid to help me, tells the truth. I’ve paid several professionals — agents and editors — to review my query letter and first pages. I’ve asked each and every one to tell me if my work is crap. Not one offered honest feedback. One or two, who looked at my first book, gave very subtle hints that it was garbage. Nobody told me.

OK, I get it. No one wants to end a career by condemning a novel. A little honest feedback like, “This doesn’t seem marketable,” would be solid gold to a writer who wants to get better at the craft. Little line edits don’t make me a better storyteller. Broad strokes that move me toward better writing do.

There’s one other issue that no one seems able to define: voice. My first book had no real voice. Died Twice apparently has a good voice. Several people, including a respected author and agent, told me. I’m pretty sure that this book is a good story. That’s the feedback so far. Nobody told me that my first book had either a good voice or storyline. If Died Twice has a good voice and story, what’s wrong?

the biggest problem

My analysis, I was a management consultant in a former life, is that the real issue is that agents don’t/can’t put in the time to read past the very-short query letter. Agents are inundated with book submissions. Some get hundreds a week. They argue that they don’t have the time to read more than the first paragraph of a query letter. Guess what? I’m not an ad writer. I may know how to write a novel, but I don’t know how to write ad copy for a book.

Am I to believe that I am unpublishable as an author because I can’t write a grabby tagline? Can it be that my writing career is doomed before it starts because I can’t write jacket copy? Sadly, I think so. There are too many other writers who can write an acceptable book and great blurbs. Too bad.

Let’s face it, literary agents are salespeople. They make their living by selling books to publishers. That’s the bottom line. Their job is to sort through the mountain of queries and find the manuscripts that they can market. They don’t get paid to represent titles that no one wants to publish. I get it. My job is to convince agents that they can sell my story.

It’s too bad that I spent most of my career making things work instead of superficial fifty-words-or-less flim-flam. I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I am. How good is advice like “never give up.”? It’s good for the person who offers it. She doesn’t have to feel guilty for dashing some poor soul’s hopes.

Am I a poor soul? Maybe. I’ve gotten enough feedback to believe that I could have a shot if I could only turn myself into a superficial advertising copywriter. If you think that I’m just grumbling, take a look at my last post. I published my query letter. Stinks, right? I’ll keep trying. Maybe I’ll figure out how to grab an agent’s attention. Maybe I should staple a hundred-dollar bill to my query letter.