Premature . . .

By virtue of this blog or that six degrees of separation thing, where a friend of a friend of my third cousin writes to me, I get emails asking me something about publishing all the time. And I guarantee you that over the last five years, I have been asked the following twenty times, in one form of another:

Dear Erica . . . question for you. I worked on my novel for a year and a half and finally started querying agents. I got three requests for partials and sent them. Now two have asked for the full. The only problem is since I queried four months ago, I actually started showing my manuscript to some writer-friends and realize the pacing is off and I've totally changed the first three chapters, and actually now that I think about it, it affects the synopsis. What should I do?

Um . . . avoid premature ejacu-- . . . . oh, never mind.

I wonder about when enough is enough. When you've tweaked and rewritten and poked at and prodded and kneaded a book into submission. When you've gotten it into submission, THEN it's time to submit. But I have to question the whole dynamic at work with prematurely querying and sending out your book.

And for me, some of it boils down to this. What are you open and willing to HEAR? Because if you are asking for esteemed opinions AFTER you have submitted . . . why bother? Shouldn't at that point it be too late to fix (in practicality versus a philosophical sense of it's never too late)? Did you just want to hear that you were great? Or did you really want to lay bare your novel and take it to the next level? And if it's the latter, the point when that occurs should be much earlier in the process.

Are you afraid to hear that after a year or more, you still need to do a lot more work? Then I suggest you read this. And while you're at it, pre-order his book because it's great. And I know this because I read it and blurbed it.

And then, since the topic was raging over at Konrath's . . . and since a certain someone wrote me an email on the subject . . . I often then think this speaks to self-pubbing. To the "it's good enough" . . . the "might as well publish it." I have to wonder whether things then get pubbed that really needed to peculate for longer.

And I sometimes, still further, think this comes down to fear. Fear of what you might hear. And for the quintillionth (is there such a number?) time, I am grateful for my writers' group, which makes sure the writing foreplay goes on a little longer, and with whom I have great trust, not fear, of what I might hear.

Thoughts?

Wrapped in a Pretty Bow

My best friend, Pammie, is the Martha Stewart of Halloween. But she is no slacker at Christmas. JVZ, frequent blog guest, gets positively giddy over her Christmas cookies. I have to be cautious about even letting my family know her cookies have arrived in the mail, since I am concerned a cage match could break out over them. And then there are her PRESENTS. Not only perfectly thoughtful . . . but wrapped with creativity. When MY presents are wrapped, there's tape every whichway, and the corners are smashed and smushed. No bows. People are lucky it's Christmas wrapping paper, usually.

Which brings me to writing.

You see, I kind of think of Pammie's wrapping as the goal of a query letter, and the present itself as the manuscript. As a writer, if you aren't already aware, it seems you spend a great deal of time agonizing over that present--making sure it's special.

And then you spend a lot of energy making sure it's wrapped special. In fact, it seems our entire lives as writers is spent making our writing special and then making sure we showcase what's so special when we pitch. The hook is that big fat bow on top.

In this economic climate, it's nice to see a lot of writers say they just have to write better/smarter . . . have their concept be irresistible. I agree. If I read a query that's solid--but doesn't tell me what's SPECIAL . . . I would imagine an editor might pass. It's never enough to write a book that's good. If your present doesn't stand out under that tree as the one you want to open first . . . it's going to be relegated to that present you opened when you were seven--you know . . . the pajamas. Or socks.

How do you think your wip is SPECIAL?

The Right Fork

At some point in childhood or life, you progress from the kid table to the grownup table. You go to your first fancy event where you are presented with fingerbowls with floating lemon slices . . . and a plethora of forks.

For me, living in Bermuda and then traveling in Europe as a child, my parents made sure I had a basic fork education by first grade. They were very clear about the forks. Start on the outside, move your way in. Don't try to "keep" the fork for the next course--that's why you've got so many of them.

But in the end, you learn if you absent-mindedly "keep" a fork, the entire banquet is not going to erupt into a an explosion of pointing. You will not be banished.

So it goes with the query. I see a lot of "shoulds," and I've even seen discussion about this one agent who loathes the "Thank you for your time" closing. But I generally regard it as simply . . . learn the fork basics, but don't worry too horribly if you accidentally keep a fork. You're not dooming yourself. The basics--moving out to in--are have a hook, do your homework, make sure you get the fundamental information across like genre and main characters and plot. Then move out of the way and hope you get to eat at the grownup table.

Beyond that, like so much of publishing, there's actually a giant craps game going on in a small room adjacent to the banquet hall. So don't lose sleep over forks.

Thoughts? Care to share the opening line of your pitch for feedback?

The Query

Ahhh, the query letter. A source of panic for many a writer.

Just because I've sold doesn't mean I've kissed the query letter good-bye either. My agent always asks me to write a pithy sales paragraph for new proposals because I know my stuff best. He tweaks it or may reject it outright and tell me to try a different angle, but he and I collaborate on the pitch--and it's very much like a query letter.

Having spent many years reading other people's queries when I worked in publishing, I learned which ones made me pay attention and which ones made me aim for the circular file.

Here is my do's and don'ts list.

DON'T. I may be in the minority here, because often books on writing will tell you to compare yourself to a famous writer or a popular book. "If you loved The Da Vinci Code then you will love My Great American Novel." This is only wise if your book can truly stand up to the comparison you've chosen to make. Most of the time the ones I've read can't. Think about it . . . you have now prepared the agent to open your package and curl up to a book that is just as good as one of the most successful novels of all time. I think it's great to be enthused about your book, but it's a risk that I have yet to see pay off.

DO . . . Better tactic? "I know you represent Author A, whose work I think is very funny. My chick lit novel also features a witty heroine, but Kate finds herself in over her head when she is hired to train a monkey for the circus. She globetrots to London with the monkey and finds herself embroiled in a murder scandal featuring the royal family. Hilarity ensues." Whatever. You get the idea. A milder comparison. Also shows you did your homework and know the agent represents work similar to yours.

DON'T. Please do not tell the agent or editor that your mom loves the book. While this seem like obvious advice, you would be shocked at how many writers will say, "My reading group of four fellow writers thinks the book has enormous potential." Um . . . four is not some magical number. They're your friends. They're supposed to think you have potential. I also know most of my agent and editor pals in NYC don't pay attention to small contests. I know it feels good to win one, but with one or two exceptions (such as the Golden Heart through the RWA), most agent know contests are often a small pool of entrants. It doesn't mean don't enter them . . . and I know (so please don't post angry comments) that sometimes a contest is judged by a really great editor--so definitely enter those. But listing a contest win of a tiny chapter of a writing organization in a town no one has ever heard of . . . is not really what will sell your work. And remember, you want your query to fit on one page--so each line and sentence counts!

DO. But go ahead and tell the agent if you have workshopped the manuscript with a well-known writing teacher, an MFA program, or something along those lines. My agent is always impressed by good MFA programs.

DON'T. Please don't say your book is difficult to describe. Don't say it doesn't fit into any genre. It is the most unique book ever written. Any of that. The bottom line is if YOU can't pitch it in 50 words or less, you can't expect an agent to.

DO. Hone your elevator pitch. That pithy pitch that will make an agent pay attention. Focus on the character--what makes them unique. Get some of the voice in there if you can. Focus on the central "wow" factor of your plot. Avoid discussion of themes . . . too esoteric for a query. People should be able to read the book and figure out the themes.

DON'T. Please don't tell the agent or editor that you are God's gift to writing. I can't tell you the astounding number of times I have read claims of such jaw-dropping arrogance. Maybe most of you reading this have moments of insecurity, but there are writers out there suffering from grandiose delusions. I read one that claimed he was "the next Steinbeck." And oh my God but he was not.

Okay, so that's my "off the top of my head" post on queries. Feel free to post your pitch if you want . . . or ask questions . . . or share thoughts.

Peace,
E