(Here I go again, blogging about writing. I realize that I blog about this more than anything else. It’s what I do. Even if you’re not a writer, I hope you realize there is wisdom for all professions within the writing industry, and keep reading anyway.)
You know that whole first impression cliché? I’ve been thinking about that, and I kinda want to talk about an important part of our image as professionals.
When first we encounter someone in our industry, chances are it will be online, rather than in person. Not that the in-person part isn’t important—because I cannot stress enough HOW big it is to have that personal contact—but realistically, when we submit work to agents or publishers it’s generally cold. That means first impressions are formed solely on the quality of our query and sample pages.
If you’ve ever read an article on submitting, you should already know how important it is to send only your very, very best work. So I’m going to skip that lecture. Also the query lesson. (But if you need help in those areas, you can look here or here.)
So we work and work and work on our sample pages, and then we work and work and work on our query, and then we think…ahhhh. Now we can submit, right?
Actually, you’re just getting started. I mean, yeah, you can submit, but if you want to make a good impression, it’s also important to do some research first. I know, I know, we write fiction to AVOID research.
So what do we have to research and why?
1. First, research any potential agents/publishing houses to find out if they represent or publish the type of work you have.
2. While you’re there, look to see if they have something on their list similar to yours so you can mention that in your query. Trust me, it looks good for you.
3. Finally, (and people, this is the BIG one, I think) check their submission guidelines. Every company and every agent is a little different. Some want just a query, some want five pages, some ten, some three chapters, etc. Some have questionnaires, some want just a twitter pitch.
There are a bazillion different quirky things these professionals might expect. If you do it right, you have a chance. But if you don’t, it’s possible your submission will be deleted unread.
The good news: the majority of publishers and agents have websites where you can go to find the pertinent information. Really, truly, there is no need to email them individually to ask (although, in extreme circumstances, that might be okay, depending on who it is—most agents prefer not) because the frequently asked questions are generally covered in one section or another.
Your query package is the first part of you these people will get to meet. So IMO, it’s uber important to put on your proverbial conservative makeup, spray down your “stray hairs”, and wear something nice to the party. Make a good impression, and you will NOT be sorry.
Have a great time at the query party. And hey, while you’re there, find me and say hi.
Happy Friday!
Showing posts with label submissions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label submissions. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, May 21, 2010
I Can Do Hard Things
This week I did something I’ve been putting off for at least a month, probably more. I started submitting again. Not that I ever stopped, but after another round of revisions, it almost feels like a whole new adventure.
Once again, I needed a bunch of people to tell me I could do it. Elana, Heather, Rachelle, Keith, Danyelle—they all rallied around me to tell me that yes, I can do it. And they’re right. I can.
When I really think about it, sending submissions—and consequently getting rejections—isn’t any harder than ninety percent of the other things I do in life. It’s not harder than that thing I did last week, or last summer, or two years ago or four.
I’ve lived through a lot of stuff I’ll never talk about here. But I’m not unique in that. We’re all human. We all have to deal with difficult things. And for the most part, we do. Something comes at us and we take it, deal with it and react in our own distinct way. Hopefully, we’re then able to grow and learn and become better people. Or different people. Whatever.
The point is, as stupid as it sounds, whenever I get ready to send more submissions, I have to psych myself up. I remind myself that this process is really only as hard as I allow it to be. Some submissions are harder than others because I’ve pinned more hope on them. But in the end, even if I only ever get rejections on this book, I am still a writer. I’ll write other books. I’ll keep submitting, and eventually, I’ll find someone who loves my stuff enough to represent it, and then someone else who wants to publish it. I believe in myself enough to know that.
I would be lying if I said rejection isn’t hard to take. It is. Very, very hard. But as my good friends remind me over and over again, I can do hard things.
Then I look around, see my family and friends and know they’ll still be here even after a thousand rejections. And I remember all the harder, more life-altering things I’ve lived through, and I think, meh. Agent / publisher rejections aren’t as bad as I like to pretend.
Then I click send, and laugh when I get my first rejection an hour later—even though it’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night.
I do not curl up and die. My life isn’t forever ruined or destroyed, or even altered in the least. One down, a hundred more to go. No worries. You know why? I can handle it. I can do hard things. And so can you.
Once again, I needed a bunch of people to tell me I could do it. Elana, Heather, Rachelle, Keith, Danyelle—they all rallied around me to tell me that yes, I can do it. And they’re right. I can.
When I really think about it, sending submissions—and consequently getting rejections—isn’t any harder than ninety percent of the other things I do in life. It’s not harder than that thing I did last week, or last summer, or two years ago or four.
I’ve lived through a lot of stuff I’ll never talk about here. But I’m not unique in that. We’re all human. We all have to deal with difficult things. And for the most part, we do. Something comes at us and we take it, deal with it and react in our own distinct way. Hopefully, we’re then able to grow and learn and become better people. Or different people. Whatever.
The point is, as stupid as it sounds, whenever I get ready to send more submissions, I have to psych myself up. I remind myself that this process is really only as hard as I allow it to be. Some submissions are harder than others because I’ve pinned more hope on them. But in the end, even if I only ever get rejections on this book, I am still a writer. I’ll write other books. I’ll keep submitting, and eventually, I’ll find someone who loves my stuff enough to represent it, and then someone else who wants to publish it. I believe in myself enough to know that.
I would be lying if I said rejection isn’t hard to take. It is. Very, very hard. But as my good friends remind me over and over again, I can do hard things.
Then I look around, see my family and friends and know they’ll still be here even after a thousand rejections. And I remember all the harder, more life-altering things I’ve lived through, and I think, meh. Agent / publisher rejections aren’t as bad as I like to pretend.
Then I click send, and laugh when I get my first rejection an hour later—even though it’s eight o’clock on a Saturday night.
I do not curl up and die. My life isn’t forever ruined or destroyed, or even altered in the least. One down, a hundred more to go. No worries. You know why? I can handle it. I can do hard things. And so can you.
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Postman Knows
By Nichole Giles
The other day I played taxi. Well, okay, I play taxi every day but especially on Friday afternoons and evenings. I don’t know why, but my kids have it in their heads that it is my duty as a mother to make sure they are not only entertained, but transported—along with their friends—between various locations of entertainment.
Not that I mind. It makes me happy to see them being social and enjoying themselves. I get nothing done when I spend my night in the car, but that’s beside the point, right?
Okay, so given that I spend so much time in the car, and considering that I’ve lived in our current city of residence for twelve years, you’d think I could easily find just about any home of friends who might invite my kids to a party. You’d think.
Not so. I got my girls and their friends in the car on Friday. We ran a few places, dropping my younger daughter at a party, picking up a friend, dropping off another friend, and then headed for another birthday party. As we’re driving to this place, my daughter reads me the address and I realize I have no idea where this house is. I don’t even know where the street is.
First thing we do is call my husband. He’s lived in this city for most of his life, so I figure he’ll tell me exactly how to find the place. Unfortunately, he had no idea either. At this point, my daughter goes, “Why don’t we ask Leslie’s dad.”
“Why him?” I ask.
“Because, Mom,” she says. “Leslie’s dad knows where everyone in the city lives. You give him an address out of the phone book, and he can tell you the names of the people who live there.”
“Okaaaayyy…” I said. “That’s a little creepy.”
“No it isn’t,” she insisted. “He’s a mail man. He knows all that stuff because he delivers the mail.”
“Ah,” I said. “Okay, then.” So Leslie called her dad and asked for directions. He gave us exact directions from start to end. And let me tell you, I would never have found it otherwise. Then I got thinking about what comes in my mail, and wondered something.
“Hey Leslie,” I asked. “I bet your dad gets to see some interesting things when he’s delivering people’s mail.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, he knows when people move, and what colleges they’re accepted to, and when they get mission calls.”
I nodded. “Yep. I always wonder what the post man thinks when he picks up the submission packets I send out.”
She didn’t know the answer to that. And I’m sort of glad, because some questions are probably best left unanswered. But I’ll tell you this. When I get that big awesome acceptance contract—I hope the mailman isn’t the first to know. When I do, I hope whatever editor or agent is getting a hold of me doesn’t waste time sending stuff in the mail. I hope they get on the phone and call me so I can stand up in the middle of whatever I’m doing—wherever I am—and yell and scream and cause a scene.
Because, I want to be the FIRST to know.
But if you’re ever lost, and need to find your way, forget about using mapquest. Just ask a postman! Those guys know their city. And they give excellent directions.
The other day I played taxi. Well, okay, I play taxi every day but especially on Friday afternoons and evenings. I don’t know why, but my kids have it in their heads that it is my duty as a mother to make sure they are not only entertained, but transported—along with their friends—between various locations of entertainment.
Not that I mind. It makes me happy to see them being social and enjoying themselves. I get nothing done when I spend my night in the car, but that’s beside the point, right?Okay, so given that I spend so much time in the car, and considering that I’ve lived in our current city of residence for twelve years, you’d think I could easily find just about any home of friends who might invite my kids to a party. You’d think.
Not so. I got my girls and their friends in the car on Friday. We ran a few places, dropping my younger daughter at a party, picking up a friend, dropping off another friend, and then headed for another birthday party. As we’re driving to this place, my daughter reads me the address and I realize I have no idea where this house is. I don’t even know where the street is.
First thing we do is call my husband. He’s lived in this city for most of his life, so I figure he’ll tell me exactly how to find the place. Unfortunately, he had no idea either. At this point, my daughter goes, “Why don’t we ask Leslie’s dad.”
“Why him?” I ask.
“Because, Mom,” she says. “Leslie’s dad knows where everyone in the city lives. You give him an address out of the phone book, and he can tell you the names of the people who live there.”
“Okaaaayyy…” I said. “That’s a little creepy.”
“No it isn’t,” she insisted. “He’s a mail man. He knows all that stuff because he delivers the mail.”
“Ah,” I said. “Okay, then.” So Leslie called her dad and asked for directions. He gave us exact directions from start to end. And let me tell you, I would never have found it otherwise. Then I got thinking about what comes in my mail, and wondered something.
“Hey Leslie,” I asked. “I bet your dad gets to see some interesting things when he’s delivering people’s mail.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, he knows when people move, and what colleges they’re accepted to, and when they get mission calls.”
I nodded. “Yep. I always wonder what the post man thinks when he picks up the submission packets I send out.”
She didn’t know the answer to that. And I’m sort of glad, because some questions are probably best left unanswered. But I’ll tell you this. When I get that big awesome acceptance contract—I hope the mailman isn’t the first to know. When I do, I hope whatever editor or agent is getting a hold of me doesn’t waste time sending stuff in the mail. I hope they get on the phone and call me so I can stand up in the middle of whatever I’m doing—wherever I am—and yell and scream and cause a scene.
Because, I want to be the FIRST to know.
But if you’re ever lost, and need to find your way, forget about using mapquest. Just ask a postman! Those guys know their city. And they give excellent directions.
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