A Science Experiment

I'm conducting an experiment. After revising the query letter, thanks to the feedback on the The Public Query Slushpile, I've come up with two letters: the long and the short.

I prefer the short version (being diminutive in stature, is it any wonder?) but some agents request a synopsis. Some also request sample chapters while others simply want a stellar sales pitch in a mere few sentences--something akin to an ol' one-two punch in the breadbox.

So here's my experiment: Having sent out 10 queries this morning (7 short, 3 long--two with sample chapters), let's see which version gets the better response rate...and if that response rate is any different than the original query.

If there's no difference, then so be it. I only have another 13 agents to research on my list. Of those, maybe half will get queries. And that'll be it for this mad scientist. Onto the next project--especially since the Petri dishes sitting on my brain's windowsill need attending to. It's time to get back to the other project before the mould permanently sets in.

Although I do wonder...if the blogging public could help me so proficiently with my query letter, I wonder if there's a critiquing blog for sample chapters? Hmmm...

Which reminds me, I still have to post some sample chapters here. Maybe next time...

The Full Meal Query Letter: A.K.A. “The Hook, Line & Sinker”

Dear [Agent],

Three childhood friends, now mothers in their late thirties, commit an act of vigilantism against a complete stranger when they become convinced he has abused his stepdaughter and murdered his wife. The three women are swept up by their newfound sense of control and power while they plot against the man, but their so-called “perfect plan” goes terribly awry during execution and they discover, only when it’s too late, that they didn’t know all the facts. Thanks also to their late night activities in a stolen van, the women unwittingly become suspects in a separate murder investigation of a police informant and find out how tenuous their beliefs—and their relationships with one another—have been.

In the end, the man at the center of the women’s vigilantism has a history and identity that none of the women could have ever imagined.

The story starts with Karin, Alaina, and Trisha as children. When they reunite decades later, Karin grieves the death of her only child in a car accident in which her husband was driving in the direction toward his mistress’ house. Trisha confronts childhood traumas involving an alcoholic mother, a father she has never met, molestation by her grandfather, and the regret of giving her baby up for adoption when she was a teenager. Alaina struggles with the guilt of her past failure to speak out against her adopted father’s sexual abuse of boys and, then later, the secret and questionable paternity of her oldest child.

After Alaina’s son reveals that one of his classmates has run away from home because of the horrific deeds of her stepfather, the women’s weekly “girls’ night out” takes on a whole new and tragic misplacement of energy.

THE GRACES OF MERCY & CIRCUMSTANCE, complete at 84,500 words, is commercial women's fiction set within small towns in British Columbia, Canada.

Although I am an unpublished novelist, I spent several years writing investigative reports on the professional and personal misconduct of lawyers. I also have a degree in English literature from the University of Victoria.

I'd be more than happy to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration.

The Abridged Query Letter: A.K.A. “The Hook”

Dear [Agent],

"Girls' night out" takes on new meaning when three thirty-something mothers turn to vigilantism to escape the pain of their lives.

Childhood friends Karin, Alaina, and Trisha struggle with guilt and grief until they get swept up in a newfound sense of control and power while they plot an act of vigilantism against a complete stranger. When their so-called “perfect plan” goes awry during execution and they inadvertently become suspects in a separate murder investigation of a police informant, the women find out how tenuous their beliefs—and their relationships with one another—have been. Only when it’s too late do they discover that they didn’t know all the facts about the stranger before they took the law in their own hands but, in the end, the man at the center of their misguided plot has a history and identity that no one could have ever imagined.

THE GRACES OF MERCY & CIRCUMSTANCE, complete at 84,500 words, is commercial women's fiction set within small towns in British Columbia, Canada.

Although I am an unpublished novelist, I spent several years writing investigative reports on the professional and personal misconduct of lawyers. I also have a degree in English literature from the University of Victoria.

I'd be more than happy to send you my complete manuscript for your review. Thank you for your time and consideration.

The Kindness of Strangers

Thank God for it! Turns out my friends are too afraid to tell me what shite my query letter is but, luckily, the post on The Public Query Slushpile garnered very useful critiques from people I've never met (but would love to buy them a round).

So, after several hours of re-working the letter based on the sage advice of an objective (and no doubt well-read) audience, I posted draft 2. Don't be shy, people. Tell me it still sucks. I can take it. And if you're afraid of the size of my well-developed, Eastern European biceps, you can post a comment anonymously...

All the world's a stage...so where are all the critics?

Awesome...I found a blog where people can submit their query letters and have them critiqued by complete strangers. The Public Query Slushpile is such an incredible idea and an immense service to us lowly, burgeoning writers.

Criticism is what I need. Yes, I'm getting a few bites on the query letter, but I want more (hmmm, is this how Mina Harker felt every time Count Dracula wasn't home by 3 a.m.?). Without criticism, I can't tweak the letter. And if the letter's fine, then it's the story that's not interesting enough. And, well, then...it'll definitely be time to finish manuscript #2 if that's the case. The story is what the story is (kind of like "stupid is what stupid does", not easily changeable after the display of utter idiocy).

So I hope people comment to my query letter that I just posted on The Public Query Slushpile site (but if all I get is criticism on the shade of my lipstick, I'll have to say it again: Mother, I'm a grown woman now and, no, I do not look like a clown)...

Oh, and since I love the whole soliloquy, here it is:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

When is Enough Enough?

I woke up this morning realizing one thing (apart from how sticky my eyes are thanks to allergy season): I won't query the manuscript forever. I won't be one of those writers who query hundreds of agents and then hide under the covers when all of the effort is to no avail.

My brain must have done some macro and micro-processing overnight since a to-do list formulated, a set of instructions, all with a clear end in mind.

So here it is: I have reviewed the client lists for over 200 agents, narrowed the list down after considering apparent compatibilities with their past representations, and only have 35 left on the list that I have yet to query. I'll likely narrow the 35 down further after researching their query guidelines (some may not be taking submissions at this time; others may only be looking for Christian-based fiction AKA mysteries and miracles).

I also have a handful of agents on my list that only take written/snail mail submissions (I suspect they have relatives or stocks in the pulp and paper industry) and will dutifully send those out after the electronic queries have been sent--which saddens me to some extent since there are some agents very high on my list who have smartly utilized the ploy of accepting only written submissions likely in order to curb the amount of queries they get (who could blame them? After going through Miss Snark's Crap-o-Meter query examples, I nearly stabbed my eyes out with the nearest sharp object, which happened to be my own fingernails).

I'll also try posting a few sample chapters on this blog, and then post the site on Publishers Marketplace, under their page of 200 other writers in search of an agent. But I won't do that forever (not at USD$25 per month if it gets me no where. I mean, c'mon...rejection has it's own price. That's just adding insult to injury).

And that'll be it. A girl has her limits. And when they're just not that into you, big girls can accept that and move on. Right? Right.

Besides, I'd rather expend my energy on the latest manuscript. I still have the entire climax to finish on the first draft...and I don't want to delay gratification. Manuscript #2 still has to go through another three drafts, then critiques from a few unluckily chosen guinea pigs, and then at least a fourth draft (a method I like to employ--I am nothing if not methodical. Oh, and short--but that's just genes).

In the meantime, I'll continue with my 3 to 5 queries per week until the agent list is exhausted. And I'll just keep amassing manuscripts on my hard drive until something gives.

What that something will be, only time will tell. But I suspect it'll be the micro processors.

The Electronic Slush Pile

Since February, I’ve only sent out 20 queries, I just realized—12 since March 30th. Yes, it takes time to research agents’ past and present clients, to read all those book reviews and sample chapters on the web, to scan the posts on the Absolute Write forum to see what other wannabe novelists are saying about their experiences with specific agents. 12 still sounds pretty paltry, though, now that I look at it. Paltry especially in light of what one agent noted on her website, that they receive, on average, 30 queries a day.

That’s right—30 queries a day.

Which supports what I’ve often suspected. Everyone’s got a novel (not to mention a blog, for shame). Everyone—including their dog—has a story they’re trying to peddle. Suddenly, the experience seems cheapened. I feel a set of red patent leather 4-inch stilettos squeezing my fishnet stocking clad feet, toes scuffed and heels ground down, as I stand on some darkened street corner, whistling “Love For Sale” to passing sailors.

Well, that’s an image out of the 1950s, to be sure. And, from what I can gather, that’s when the relationship between novelist and literary agent really came to fruition, likely as more writers came out of all those post-war Parisian cafés and Madrid bullfights, at a time when everyone thought they could write like Hemingway with moving monosyllables.

Personally, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Give me a fresh set of eyes, an objective, tell-it-like-it-is professional to give me a dose of reality and set me straight, someone who makes it their job to foster relationships with editors and publishers, and tells me what to do, where to be, how many dollar bills to shove under my bra strap. Gives me more time to do what I want: write, that is.

Besides, I am still far too new to this to think like a weary and seasoned streetwalker. Me? I’m still the happy hooker. And two-thirds through the first draft of my next manuscript, I can whistle “Que Sera Sera” to my dog as he sleeps, curled up on my feet, keeping my toes warm while he dreams to the clicking of the keys on my laptop.