There comes a time in every young man’s life when he must reckon with the big questions. Who am I? What am I doing here? Why can’t my phone hold a charge? Why won’t my best friend shut the fuck up about Instapots? Am I being high maintenance or am I just grappling with mountains of unprocessed trauma?
And most poignantly: when oh when will I sign with an agent?
See, last year I finished the second (or third? It’s so hard to tell thanks to the advent of these delicious digital screens) draft of The Crimson Spider. I was excited! I was proud of the project. It seemed like my best work. And what’s more, it was fun to write. I mean, as fun as writing ever gets. There were bad days. There was plenty of self-doubt. But on the whole, it was a joyful little romp. Not for the characters or even the readers, mind you, but for little old me.
My excitement quickly faded.
“So, Michael,” a voice in my head chimed in. “You’ve done it. You’ve completed the manuscript. What are we going to do now?”
“Uhhhhh,” I uhhhhed.
“Are you going to collect more feedback from your beta readers?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhh…”
“Are you going to drop it in your drawer where it can collect dust for another year?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”
“Or—” that evil voice nibbled on my ear “—is it time to brave the Query Trenches?”
“UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”
The Query Trenches
Ahhhh. The dreaded Query Trenches. I find it’s difficult to explain this concept to people who have no experience with writing or publishing (re: normal people). But basically, once you finish scribbling out your manuscript (a not inconsiderable feat in and of itself), it’s time to get it published. You have a couple options:
1. Self-Publishing
Hey, thanks to the Amazon boom 15ish years ago, there’s always self-publishing. You can register with Amazon, upload a properly-formatted manuscript and cover, then boom.
Your work is out there.
And for as bad as a reputation as self-publishing has, there are some incredible works available. (I recently read he called me kid by Tita Kyrtsakas. I highly recommend it!)
That said, there are considerable disadvantages to self-publishing. If you’re considering it, I’d recommend doing a buttload of research before making that decision for yourself.
2. Small Presses
Once your manuscript is formatted and looking shiny, you can send it directly to a small press. Some will still accept unsolicited manuscripts. Many will post open calls for what they’re looking for.
In my homeland—the Great Frozen North—there are a number of small presses floating around. And these are not to be scoffed at! Last year I wrote an article on C.M. Forest’s Infested, which was published by Ontario-based Eerie River Publishing. And that novel won the 2023 IBPA Benjamin Franklin Award for Best Horror Novel!
3. Bigger Presses
Okay, okay, okay. So you’ve decided that self-publishing and smaller presses aren’t for you. Maybe you have dreams of literary superstardom. Maybe you simply want your little Word Baby to reach as many shelves, as many hands, as humanly possible. Maybe you have aspirations of quitting your day job and spending all your remaining days sitting at a desk, sipping your third cup of coffee, wearing a robe, and neglecting societal expectations of personal hygiene (hey, it’s a lofty goal. Be grateful you can’t smell me right now.).
Well then, you probably want to try your luck with a larger publisher. But unfortunately, the big guys don’t want to hear from unpublished, unrepresented authors.
The solution? You need to sign with an agent.
You need to enter the Query Trenches…
Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here
Do you know any aspiring novelists? Ask them how the writing is going. You might get a variety of fun responses. Anything from simple positive affirmatives (“I did seven thousand words this week!”) to a negative (“My Muse and I are no longer on speaking terms.”).
Now ask them how querying is going.
And watch the light fade from their eyes.
I once saw a tweet where a wailing scribe said that someone needs to write a horror novel about a writer who spends so long waiting to hear back from agents that they go insane and start murdering people. And frankly, I’m surprised that market has yet to be tapped yet.
Yes, the Querying Trenches can be brutal.
Picture this. You spend months or years ironing out your manuscript. You place large chunks of yourself—your very soul—into the story and characters. You massage the prose until it flows like a roaring river. You show it to your friends and colleagues who affirm your unquestioned literary prowess.
Now it’s time to query an agent. You spend weeks sweating over the dreaded query letter (think a cover letter for a job, but worse). You send it off, along with whatever else the agent might have requested (a synopsis, the first ten pages, the first three chapters, whatever). You heave a sigh of equal parts terror and relief.
You’ve done it.
Your Word Baby is out in the wild.
And now, all you can do is wait.
Weeks pass. Months pass. You obsessively check your email every couple of hours, then minutes. Tumbleweeds roll across your inbox. You start to sweat.
Surely the agent is just busy! After all, there are hundreds of thousands of aspiring writers all throughout the world, and only dozens of agents to represent them. They have a large pile of manuscripts to sift through. But surely their eyes will lock on your magisterial prose, arresting them. They’ll pour through it in days, then reach out with wine and roses. After all, your Word Baby is not like other Word Babies. Your Word Baby has heft. Panache! Your characters and prose run circles around lesser writers, dizzying them. Infuriating them.
Finally, the day of reckoning.
You open your inbox.
There’s a response.
Your heart stills in your chest. With trembling fingers, you open the email—
And…
“Thank you for your query!” they write. “We greatly appreciate the opportunity to review your manuscript. Unfortunately, it’s just not right for us at this time. Still, we commend your efforts and wish you all the best in your publishing journey!”
What you’ve seen above is the equally dreaded Form Rejection. And if you’re serious about getting published, hoo boy. You’d best get used to them.
They appear in many shapes and sizes, but they all more or less say the same thing. No thank you. Not for us. Better luck next time.
And if they sound cold and impersonal, that’s because they are! Most agents have a standard form letter they rattle off whenever something fails to capture their interest.
“But wait!” you shriek. “I spent years on my manuscript. It has plenty of merit! Surely an agent could at least take the time to offer me some feedback?”
About that. Agents are busy. Yeah, I know. You’re busy. I’m busy. We’re all busy!
But agents? Agents are busy in ways you and I can scarcely imagine. They receive dozens, if not hundreds, of query letters a week. That’s a lot of words to comb through. That’s a lot of characters to connect with. And keep in mind, most already have a cabal (cabal is a fun word) of authors they already represent.
And an agent’s duties can encompass many realms. At any given time, they may be helping their clients prepare their manuscripts for publication (i.e. giving editorial feedback), while also helping other clients secure deals with publishing houses (i.e. wheeling and dealing), while also helping still other clients push their published novels onto the unsuspecting public (i.e. marketing, marketing, marketing).
Let me put it this way. You think writers are insane?
Try being the person who represents them!
So alas. As difficult as the Query Trenches can be, try not to take rejection personally. Finding an agent is hauntingly similar to finding a job or finding love. You’re not going to click with everyone. Fuck, you’re not going to click with most people—no matter how talented or smart or handsome you most assuredly are. Sometimes, it’s simply a bad fit.
And keep in mind that agents became agents for a reason. Like you, they love books. They love stories. And sometimes—as any reader can attest to—a book can be perfectly well-written, the story perfectly well-paced, the characters perfectly well-conceived… and it still doesn’t grab you. You put it down one day and never pick it back up.
(I have a stack of half-read novels at my bedside table that continues to glare at me every night.)
It happens!
So anyway, most the responses you get from agents are going to be Form Rejections. Cold, impersonal, and maddeningly unhelpful.
But every so often, you get a bite.
If an agent likes what you have, they’ll either send you a Partial Request or a Full Request. They like what you have so far and want to see more. They either want to see the first little chunk (the first 50 pages, the first 10 chapters, whatever) or the whole kitten caboodle.
This is a great sign!
Whatever the outcome, this is a moment to be cherished.
During my time in the Query Trenches last year, I was fortunate enough to receive a Partial Request during my first week. That was a big enough win to sustain me through the months and months of rejection that followed.
So you send it off. And you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Months later, your inbox dings.
You open it, and—
Another Form Rejection!
Yep! It happens. My first Partial Request was followed by a curt Form Rejection a couple weeks later. It can sting, but the same principles apply. Your work simply failed to excite them. Unfortunate, but unavoidable.
It’s not personal. It shouldn’t discourage you. And the fact that they saw something in your query or opening pages that caused them to want to see more? That in and of itself is something to be cherished. Something to be celebrated.
It means you’re doing something right.
Anyway. Months pass. You send off queries. You scour Twitter (sorry, X) and Manuscript Wishlist (Plenty of Fish for agents). You compile an Excel sheet of all the different agents you want to query. You watch the Form Rejections pile up. You try to keep the faith. You keep sending off more queries. You sometimes wonder if you’re running out of agents to approach.
But then, a Full Request.
Celebrate!
Months pass.
And then, a response:
“Thank you for sending me the manuscript for THE CRIMSON SPIDER and allowing me to consider it!” they say. “The real star of your manuscript was your clear, dramatic writing style. You have an excellent mix of dialogue and action, and your voice perfectly suits the dramatic themes of your project. You’ve created a very interesting character in Corbin, with an intriguing and complex backstory, and I found myself rooting for him. However—”
However?
However what?
They go on to list all the things about the manuscript that failed to impress. Maybe they found the worldbuilding a little trite. Maybe the story itself was a bit unfocused at times. Perhaps certain characters need more fleshing out, more meat on their bones.
So, after some gentle encouraging, it’s going to be a no from them (dawg).
This might seem particularly crushing. You finally got attention from an agent. And they even enjoyed it! But ultimately, they still decided to pass on it!?
But moments like this shouldn’t break your spirit. Far from it! Moments like this are huge wins. Consider that an agent—a person up to their eyeballs in words—found your story engaging enough to set some precious time aside to read. And cover to cover, no less! And then, despite their hectic schedule, despite drowning in paper, they took the time to write you a considered response. They gave you some encouragement on what was working and pointed out some things that aren’t.
This is not a Form Rejection. This is Personalized Rejection from someone in the industry.
Many people never even get this far.
As Brandon Sanderson once said, getting consistent Personalized Rejection means that you’re close to breaking in.
Anyway. I received a Full Request back in November. I heard back from her in January. And while I was a little disappointed, that Personalized Rejection was enough to put a spring back in my step. I decided to soldier on.
And fortunately, I didn’t have all that much further to go…
My Day of Reckoning (and Burger King)
I queried an agent in early January. I wasn’t sure she was even the right fit for my manuscript, but I sent off the requested materials anyway (a query letter and the first three chapters). I sat down at my kitchen table and cracked open a beer.
I passively checked my phone half an hour later.
There was a response.
She liked the opening pages and wanted to see the whole thing.
I received a Full Request. In less than an hour.
Beer came squirting out my nostrils.
So I sent off the full manuscript. I waited.
And waited.
And—
A month or so later, I was attending a Superbowl party. I was eating chips and pretending I understood football. I think I asked my friends how long it had been since someone had scored a homerun. I checked my phone to shield myself from their disbelieving sneers.
There was a response.
“Thank you so much again for the opportunity to read THE CRIMSON SPIDER!” it began. “I really enjoyed this so much! Corbin is a really compelling main character, and I think there’s so much more you can do with the other characters to really make them pop. I’d love to chat with you about it! If you’re up for it, can you shoot me some times you’re free this week?”
I stared into my screen while my drunk friends screamed at the television. I think one of the players scored a 3-pointer.
Huh, I thought. This is… different.
An agent not only read the whole manuscript, but wants to talk to me about it?
I responded. We arranged for a call a couple days later.
I was excited. But not overly excited.
See, sometimes agents like a manuscript enough that they want to talk to you about it, but they still have problems with it. Again, it can be any number of things. Maybe the subplots aren’t working. Maybe the worldbuilding is halfbaked. Maybe there are some larger structural problems that need to be addressed.
In which case, some agents will request what’s called a Revise and Resubmit. Basically, they’ll politely ask you to make some changes, then send it back to them. If you choose to comply and they enjoy the revised manuscript more, then boom! They will agree to represent you.
I must have reread the above email a hundred times in the next three days. It was encouraging enough, but it sounded like she had some problems with it. So was this an offer of representation? Or would this be a Revise and Resubmit? I thought the latter more likely.
So the day of reckoning rolled around…
It was a busy day! I drove out to Chatham to look at a new car. I took it for a spin around the block. They wanted too much money for it. I walked across the street to a rival dealership. I spoke to a very kind salesperson. She offered me a generous price for my old car. I signed the paperwork.
I raced back down the highway. I had a class to teach that afternoon. My students seemed more compliant than usual. I finished screaming at them from behind the lectern, then headed home.
It was an hour before the call.
I was feeling… strange. I’d stopped for Burger King on my way back from Chatham. My Whopper seemed to have having difficulty making friends in my innards. I was sweating a lot. My head was ringing.
“Huh,” I thought. “Do I have food poisoning?”
I hopped on the call.
I spoke with the agent. We talked at length about the project. About the characters, the plot. She loved the story, but she felt that some details needed more elaboration. She actually wanted me to expand on the manuscript instead of trimming out certain details.
Finally, about half an hour into the call—with a Whopper still worming through my lower intestines like the surliest sandworm on Arrakis—I said something to the effect of:
“Just for the sake of clarity–belch–this is a Revise and Resubmit, right?”
“No,” she said. “I want to offer you representation.”
So, as of February 28th, I am officially represented by Lane Clarke at Ultra Literary.
And it has been… a trip. I called some friends afterwards (by the way, it wasn’t food poisoning. I was just phenomenally anxious. I know, shocker. I should never have doubted the nutritional integrity of Burger King. And I never will again.). Everyone was thrilled. My mother cried–cried!–when I told her. People kept asking me how I felt.
And honestly? I felt (and still feel) dazed (and confused). Intellectually, I understand that this is a tremendous accomplishment. Many, many writers never get even this far (I could share the statistics, but even I find them too depressing). It feels as though I’ve entered a new chapter in my career. And while I still don’t quite know what the future holds for myself or The Crimson Spider, I am grateful to be in the hands of an agent like Lane.
I’ve only known her for a couple months, but I’m already phenomenally impressed by her. She had some revisions she wanted me to make to the manuscript before we go on submission. And while I was a little nervous about tinkering with the project, I have to admit that her suggested changes have led to a stronger, more enjoyable read. Whenever I had questions throughout the process, her answers were always prompt and illuminating.
Lane is currently reviewing the revised manuscript. If all goes well, she’ll be submitting me to editors at publishing houses by the start of May.
And then?
And then, I guess I’ll have another blog post to hammer out.
Regardless. This blog post turned out much longer than anticipated (shocking, I know). Thank you so much for reading this far down. And thank you so much to those of you who have supported and encouraged me along the way. A word of praise. A kind message. A simple like on social media. These have all kept me going when the path seemed too crooked and too lonely.
Words fail to express the depths of my gratitude to each and every one of you.
Surviving the Query Trenches…
Heyo. Still here. I thought I should add a bonus section to this already overlong blog post.
The Query Trenches can indeed be a brutal slog. I was lucky enough to sign with an agent after only 10 months in that battlefield. Even still, the rejections and the long months of silence can wear on you.
So, I thought I’d share some things that helped me survive the process:
1. Get Feedback
You should consult with beta readers and critique partners before you even step into the Query Trenches. Get feedback on your work. Learn to distinguish what counts as good advice and what can be safely ignored.
I shared my manuscript with a fellow writer shortly after I embarked on my publishing journey. She sent me some glowing feedback. She devoured the whole thing in a week. One of the chapters on grief made her cry in the office.
And honestly? If I’m not making strangers cry in public, then what is this all for?
Anyway, that little nugget of validation was enough to keep me confident for the next several months.
2. Start a New Project
I started querying The Crimson Spider in April 2023. I started The Darkness That Breathes a couple months later. And having a new story and world to sink my teeth into was a huge boon. When the Form Rejections came rolling in, I just let them roll off me.
After all, why torture myself when I had a whole new set of imaginary friends to torture?
3. Habit > Belief
One of my friends was overjoyed when I told her that I had received an offer of representation.
“This seemed inevitable to me!” she said. “Didn’t this seem inevitable to you?”
I measured my response:
“Are you out of your FUCKING MIND? No! Nothing about this seemed inevitable! Absolutely fucking NOOOOOOTHING!”
I received a valuable piece of advice once. That you don’t actually have to believe in yourself. You just have to keep going.
During my months in the Query Trenches, what sustained me was not belief, but routine. I must have sent off close to forty query letters throughout 2023 alone. Every couple weeks, I would open my Excel sheet, cross off any of the names that had sent me Form Rejections, then trail my finger down the list.
Sending out query letters became a habit. A chore. Just another task to be completed.
When I first queried Lane, I didn’t even think she would be particularly interested. But then, here we are.
Confidence is a beautiful thing. And you should take pride in your work. You should love it the same way you love yourself—warts and all. But confidence is also as fleeting as inspiration.
On the days you’re feeling anxious and unsure, well. Just roll up your sleeves and get to work anyway.
4. Celebrate Every Win
When I sent off my first query, my best friend and I celebrated over beers.
When I got that initial Partial Request early on, I high-fived my Mom.
When I received that Full Request, my girlfriend lifted me off my feet and twirled me.
When I got that Personalized Rejection a couple months later, I took a moment to pat myself on the back.
Forget publishing. Life itself can grind you into dust if you count the shadows.
When the clouds break and sun shines, celebrate.
Have a drink with a friend. Take your partner out to dinner. Call your Mom.
There will always be more challenges waiting for you down the line.
Until then, unclench your jaw and give yourself permission to smile.