Query One - Just One - Manuscript at a Time

Today I'm including a link to a children's agent blog, which impressed me with an interesting post on querying. A kids'  book agent? Well, agents are agents, whatever their field, and this post covers an area not often addressed - the urge to query more than one project at a time.

One or two of you are tut-tutting, saying, "There's that Fran being silly again, assuming we have more than one MS to query." But some of you do. You comment about it. And as we query agents with one story, we long to mention that other one, and perhaps an even earlier one - just a hint of them, that's all; just a snippet...a little whisper of a suggestion that we have a couple of other books looking for an agent; let them see that we're prolific, that we're industrious; and this, in turn, should warrant serious consideration.

Sometimes we sneak it in at the end of the letter. "This is my third novel. My first and second (third, fourth and fifth) are currently being revised (unrecognizably reconstructed, mercilessly mutilated, savagely vandalized, irrevocably ruined)," we say, hoping against hope that the agent will swoon in anticipation of yet more of our great works and email back, "Send these immediately!" Most times we don't say anything, but feel a litte inadequate talking about only one novel, as if we've been a bit lazy, when we've spent years working on those others, too, our earlier babies.

So this children's literature blog, KidLit, has a very useful take on the problem.  And if finding an agent for your only novel is your torment, thank your lucky stars. You are still delightfully uncynical about the whole business and probably life in general.  (It won't last, you know.)

I see Anne Mini is focusing on the correct formatting of  the manuscript again at her blog.  It's hard to believe it's still necessary to remind people of the preferred style, but there you are, all giddy excitement over your clever words and no thought for the agent's feelings, as she, it's hoped, reads it.  This is the one time when you don't want to appear eccentric, inexperienced, or just plain silly. You can do that later during the television interviews.

Of course, her Author! Author! link is permanently in my side bar, but to save you mousing over and looking for it, check Anne Mini's blog here. If you've forgotten how good her posts are, read a couple of others while you're there. This woman really knows what she's talking about, and the site is well indexed and ready for just about anything a writer could need.

Okay, so all of this chit-chat could be perceived as a cover-up for the fact of my NOT working on my current book. It's been ten weeks. I've done a few pages here and there, but no real, out-of-control, steam-heat-generating, can't-concentrate-on-TV, writing. But, I told you, I've had so much on my mind. I am entering a life-altering period again, a stage in my history which will be writ large for a long time to come. Such huge intercontinental house moves are up there with death and divorce when it comes to traumatic experiences, although you usually have little control over the last two.

And so Summer Must End can wait another couple of weeks while I deal with all the stresses that I've chosen for myself. The associated drama and frayed nerves (the cats will cost HOW MUCH to transport?) should help with the writing, at least, when I am ready.  We writers will do almost anything to put the excitement back into our writing.

Last, because it's almost Valentine's Day, I've slipped in the link to Patricia Volonakis Davis's blog, which is entitled "Got Love?" Hope you enjoy it.

Literary Agents - Boadicea is Back

I feel so much better today, all ready for battle and holding back an ocean or two with my spear. Or was that Canute?



I spent over an hour this morning tweaking even more query letters. The list of literary agents is long, but I'm gradually working through it, making my notes, giving each a kind of one to ten grading. There's such a mystique about agents. They are so remote from you as you sit at your computer, despite their internet proximity.

When you find a nice one, from reading their blog or a comment by a writer, you want so much to just pick up the phone and chat, because they seem so approachable. I'd start off with, "You must get so many emails, so I thought I'd just call you to make things easier. Perhaps we could grab a coffee and I could show you my..."

- Of course, no chance of that, but it would be nice.

Anyway, from my rating system so far, here's a bit of a summary, in no particular order of relevance:

They are all a bit bossy - the writer must do this, and mustn't do that, redolent of school. I hated school - except for Art, English, and History.

They can be so dogmatic about their realms of interest or preferred genres, usually with some form of qualifier, so that you come away from that bit of research wondering where on earth your work fits in.

They all seem to have different submission requirements. Couldn't this be standardized throughout the industry, in some way? Why are they not expected to conform to norms?

Some are sweet, others are surly, judging by their blog tone; some seem to enjoy their reputation for prickliness.

Some are famous for responding speedily, and there are more with the 'I'll-probably-never-get-back-to-you-because-my-daily-inbox-is-SO-HUGE' attitude. How would that play for us mere mortals at our jobs?

They have funny blogs, terribly serious blogs, and downright impatient, unkind blogs.

They are revered everywhere and probably get good restaurant tables.

They have posh offices and crappy ones.

They can be gushingly-friendly, or overly-formal.

They all appear to enjoy a wonderful kind of love/hate relationship with one another.

There are rather a lot of women agents; I wondered at the significance of that.

Finally, writers hang onto their every word, and lose sight of the fact that the agent is there to provide them with a service.

It's unscientific, this little research of mine. But I have come away from it with names of people (all women) to whom I think I can trust my work. Dare I say, my heart?