“Well I woke up this morning/Got a letter in the mail/’Yeah, we like your novel/But it ain’t the Holy Grail.’”
The Literary Agency Blues
“Well I woke up this morning/Got a letter in the mail/’Yeah, we like your novel/But it ain’t the Holy Grail.’”
It may be that massive shifts in the publishing industry being driven by new modes of production and distribution are forcing change upon a business sector of strange and impenetrable habits - so it’s possible that I’m a little out-of-touch here. But my dealings with them lead me to characterise literary agents as remote and inaccessible, with ways of working almost designed to be as user-unfriendly and capricious as possible.
An antipathy to e-mail, discomforting submission criteria, a general feeling of loftiness, an abiding sense of arbitrariness ... and, perhaps, an apparent lack of the hunger which we expect to be the key driver of an essentially entrepreneurial business.
Believe it or not, I did actually get an agent ... and then lost him, so please bear with me while I recount the tale.
I did have the odd contact. One friend went to the gym with an agent, another was chummy with a best-selling author and knew who represented him. A third was a friend of a director of one of the largest in the business. And finally one who was a patient of my wife, but having his mouth full of sharp instruments at the time may have had something to do with his offer of help.
All were approached, kindly considered it – and declined to represent me. One gave me constructive criticism; the others said it deserved to be published but they could not act for me (too busy, not taking on new authors, or some such blather).
None dismissed it, which was either encouraging or infuriating, depending on what my mood was. But what I found strange about these commercial engagements was that I felt absurdly grateful for their attention, a puzzling inversion of the normal rules of commerce, in my experience.
In the end, I found a list of UK agents online, identifying smaller, more personal outfits with three criteria: they claimed to handle my genre, acted for virgins, and accepted e-mail approaches.
And one responded. I’d never heard of the (one-man-band) operation, nor did I care. We spoke, I sent him the manuscript. He commissioned a reader to review it and, as result, declared that he wanted to represent me. I received a contract, we met, did a deal.
Then came the phone call. Here was the question he asked: “When did you first meet Reuben Mendel?”
The front page of my script proudly proclaimed “Grosse Fugue – a novel”. Now, I was being asked about my relationship with its purely fictional hero. Collapse of relationship as it became immediately clear that I had been signed on the basis that it was a biography!
It raised an interesting question: Is literature great when you know it to have been invented? Or is it great when it is so compelling that you believe it to be true? If the latter, I was at least gratified, even as ‘my agent’ fled hotfoot over the horizon.
Around now, my business was really hectic so I laid my novel to one side for a while and barely touched it. Soon enough, however, the worm in my brain reminded me that the work could not forever lie dormant.
The quest to publish began again.
Ian Phillips is a freelance writer for businesses whose first novel, Grosse Fugue, will be published by Alliance Publishing Press on April 11th. He’s tweeting developments @Ian_at_theWord.
I am fine now Ian. I think the tablets have worn off.
I do not know how agent's or publisher's offices function, or how many staff large or small offices employ.
Obviously, I would like to see more agent's and publisher's employ full time manuscript readers. If not, then have their editors set aside a few hours each week to scim through the slush pile. The cost would not be to prohibitive.
In the hope to attract an agent or publisher, I have researched some useful tips that may help fellow bloggers.
The opening to a novel is crucial. It is the first few pages that define a writers style, and set the tone for the rest of the novel. This is the big chance to impress or fail miserably. It is essential to start with a dramatic opening. I recommend two examples. The first few paragraphs of Graham Greene's, Brighton Rock, or Joanne Harris's, Blackberry Wine are brilliant examples of the dramatic opening.
An experienced editor will not be fooled. They will scim read the first and last sentence of paragraphs. They will look at the topic sentences of paragraphs. At how the paragraphs link together, and at how well you sign-post. They are the basics. Of course there are many other aspects to consider, plot, storyline, settings, chapter-building, and the function of characters.
I am no expert. I like to think I know the aspects of the novel, but that knowledge is of no use, unless applied properly.
I am in the fourth, and hopefully final year of writing my first novel. I wasted the first two years. During that time I made every mistake imaginable and probably invented a few.
My grammar is still not the best, and that is why I will use an editor.
I have learned an invaluable lesson. It has served me well. I could have saved myself a lot of time and determined effort, if I had planned thoroughly at the outset.
Keep taking the tablets, Adrian!
Reading your opening line started me wondering about whether there is an important distinction between small, owner-operated agencies and the larger, dare I say, more industrial concerns.
I would always be drawn to the former as I like working with real decision-makers. I instinctively think that if, however one submits, one can catch the eye, mind and heart of the moving spirit of a business, then a favourable outcome is far more likely. The large operations will have their processes and they are hard to overcome. Same goes for publishers.
Fish may rot from the head - but they're also identified by it!!
I have to question whether agent's regularly read electroninc submissions. Registered post should get your work to your intended destination, but there is still no guarantee anyone will read it.
One could try stalking, kidnapping or even breaking into an agents house in the early hours. Then noisily burst into their bedroom. A scream is a sure sign that you have successfully attracted their attention. After switching off the chainsaw, you could casually remark. 'Sorry to disturb you at this god forsaken hour, but I would like you to give me an honest assessment of my novel. That is after you have calmed down, and the bed stops vibrating. I brought a pen with me should you decide to sign me to a lucrative contract.'
Failing that, there is the Samaritans, suicide or a full frontal lobotomy. In the hope that it might permanently remove the delusion of having a successful career as a writer.