“…Genre problems–more accurately, problems with your work being the right fit for the agency–weigh in at 33 percent. This is the number-one reason for form rejection letters from our agency. Keep in mind that this means a third of your competition is eliminated immediately–and that it’s an area that, with a little research, is completely within your control.”
One of the agents I queried reported in his blog he received 298 queries the week I queried him.
He shares that over 20% of those queries had generic salutations, ranging from “To Whom it May Concern” to “Dear Agent.”
Another agent blogs about the fact 33% of the queries submitted are the wrong genre for the agency. That means she must slog through not just my query but ones pushing, I assume, romance? chick lit? sci fi? she did not request.
I figured when I started this journey there could be such spam in the mix of slush wherein my queries land. Query wisdom teaches me to think about my audience, and these reports from agents confirm that and it also doesn’t hurt to think about the competition auditioning alongside me. These agents have a ton of client advocacy and manuscript reading to do besides man the inbox, and yet they must still wade through this type of dross o’mornings. So what does that mean for my letter?
a) my query must pop — caffeinate the overworked eyeballs;
b) my query could be A+, but just like those A+ writers I once graded, if you appear at the bottom of the pile, there ain’t nothing that looks good to a reader too exhausted to care. There was a reason I didn’t grade more than 15 papers in a sitting; it wasn’t fair to number 16, 17, and 18, what my mood might do to that poor child’s grade. English teachers, like agents, grade in between negotiating, teaching, planning, advocating, disciplining, and coaching.
It’s useless to rail against competitors. It doesn’t matter what they write; just write yours better, no matter where it hides in the slush. So I’ve made a note to self, and here’s what I’ve learned as I’ve revised my queries.
1) Don’t sound cocky. You may THINK you don’t, but revisit every line asking if you’re making some kind of claim that could be construed as brash if not ridonkulous.
2) Don’t try to be clever if you’re not naturally a comedian. I am not.
3) Know thy conflict. Beware the dangers of grocery listing the “cool happenings” in your story. Tell the story in terms of goals and obstacles. Write that back-cover blurb that makes you fork the money over.
I’m also not going to rail against agents for being horribly unfair gatekeepers. (By the way, you know I love the hero’s journey image at this agent’s blog.) The right fit with the right advocate is down that yellow brick road, but who knows how many twists, turns, and gnarly flora and fauna one must dodge, only to find that at the end, the answer was within. Remember, the Fab Four obsessed with seeing the Wizard only had to look within to find what they were lacking. It wasn’t up to the Wizard at all.
Back to that query.