Dear Agents,
Authors get plenty of letters from you, but we rarely have the opportunity to write back. The only letter we usually send is the query, to which you respond with either a request for more or a refusal. Once refused, the correspondence is done. There’s nothing more to be said. But, in this one case, I’ll make an exception. Because the rejection I got was so bizarre, I’m still shaking my head over it.
I emailed a query letter plus one-page synopsis and 10 pages of manuscript (that’s all–nothing more than that) to an agent (who will remain, for the good of all, nameless). About three weeks later, I got a response–an email consisting of no less than six paragraphs (yes, six paragraphs) and a footnote.
Okay, I thought. What could a person have to say about an initial query and 10-page submission (even with a synopsis) that would require six paragraphs? Curious (though it was clearly bad news), I read the whole letter, which stated as follows (with certain info expurgated):
“Thank you for sharing your work with me. I know that writing a book is a time-consuming and emotional process, [Sheesh! Aren't we laying it on a bit thick for a response to an initial query?] so I appreciate the effort you have expended to reach this point in your publishing journey. [Good God--someone find me a pair of boots and a shovel.] Alas, I must reject what you have been kind enough to submit. [Alas? Who are you, Shakespeare?]
“I only add a handful of new writers to my client roster each year, so I search for a unique voice, finely-honed writing skills, stellar world building talent, characters that jump off the page [yada, yada, yada--the usual] and a story that pulls me in from the first word [even if it's "The"?] and doesn’t let go. I know that’s a lot to ask for, but traditional publishing is a highly competitive business and if I can’t sell something to a large or medium-sized New York publisher I do not take it on. [Yeah, okay, I understand . . . but we're talking about a synopsis and 10 pages!]
“Like the rest of the arts, publishing is a very subjective business. [Oh, really? Gee, thanks. I never knew that.] Even though the founders of the agency have written or coauthored XX books, most of which have been successful, they still get rejected from time to time. [Imagine that.] And although we have sold books to more than 100 publishers since 19XX, some of our clients’ work is still rejected. [Imagine that, too.] Nor do all of the books that we sell succeed. These are the realities of today’s publishing industry. [Ya-a-awn. Can we just get this over with?]
“I receive nearly a thousand submissions a month and reject more than ninety-nine percent of them. But rejecting manuscripts that become successful books is a publishing tradition. [Wow, I wouldn't go around boasting about traditions like that, if I were you. Oh and, by the way, you never saw my manuscript, so . . . why are you writing all this???]
“Assume I’m wrong. Persevere until your books reach the goals you set for them. [Thanks for the shopworn affirmation.] I can’t suggest a publisher or another agent who might be interested in a particular writer’s work, but directories, your publishing network, and the Association of Authors’ Representatives might lead you to the agent you need. [Thanks for suggesting standard resources I already know about.] Persistence rewards talent. I can’t make a living saying no, but as author Joe Girard says: ‘Every no gets you closer to yes.’ [Thanks for the platitudes. Heard 'em all. What more you got?]
“I wish you the best of luck with your writing career. [Sure, sure . . .] Our website has information you may find helpful–www.xxxxxx.com. You might also check my blog, www.xxxxxx.com. [Well, I will immediately do so! I'm sure I'll find all the answers there.]“
Like I said, six paragraphs that say one (and only one) thing at agonizing length. That one thing is what I wrote in my record of agents queried, along with their responses. I pulled out my little book, found the agent entry and wrote “No” in the response column.
Because there’s nothing in this letter that really goes beyond that message. All this flowery bullsh*t these lengthy passages come down to that one word–no.
I was wondering, why? Why would someone use so many words to say so little? Then, I realized, “Hey! This is a form letter. Just a really long and tedious one!” It certainly made no specific references to my work. (How could it? I only sent 10 pages!) It just droned on and on and on, hitting the same points over and over. (Just the way writers aren’t supposed to.) But the bottom line was the same: we don’t want it.
But, wait–here’s the best part. The footnote! It actually mentioned a writer’s conference put on by the agency’s founders. Not to mention the books one of them wrote about–what else?–finding an agent.
Okay, then–just so I’m clear on this–you guys turn me down without looking at my full manuscript in what may be the most bullsh*t-filled wordiest rejection I’ve ever seen, and you expect me to jump on a plane and come to your conference or buy your books??? Ha. Ha ha! Hahahahahahaahaha!!!!!!!
I think not.
Look, I understand you guys are busy and have to make tough calls on this stuff. (Really! I sympathize! I was a judge for the Shamus Award for short stories one year. I know it’s tough to pick a winner. And I know how subjective such judgments are.) And I’m sure you’re overwhelmed with submissions. (Again, did the Shamus judge thing. So I know what you go through must be even worse.)
But, please–if you’re going to reject me after seeing just a synopsis and 10 pages, make it quick and painless, okay? Don’t bullsh*t a bullsh*tter.
I’m fine with lines like “does not meet our needs.” I’ve grown accustomed to quick and impersonal dismissals in the early rounds. Just getting any response is better than getting none at all (which, unfortunately, is too often the case).
Just do me a favor. If you’re going to turn me down so quickly, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to give a damn.
Yours truly (and with tongue only slightly in cheek),
Debbi
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