It goes without saying that my manuscript is brilliant. Fresh, fun, funny. Brilliant. Like I said, it goes without saying. So after rave reviews from all I press-ganged into reading it, I set about researching agents and writing my query. And writing. And writing. I honed it until it was sleek as a seal, certain it would glitter alluringly among the far-less fresh, fun and funny masses. I formatted my manuscript to have it at the ready when the calls came pouring in. I scoured every online reference to the selected, preliminary agents, reading the “don’ts” as though they lead to the key to the divine hereafter. For all I know they will.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009.
With a pounding heart, I paste my three carefully crafted and personalized queries into three separate e-mails (NEVER send a mass-distributed e-mail), taking care to include a specific reason I chose that agent (ALWAYS tell them why you are querying them). I use the title Mr./Ms. AgentLastName (NEVER address the agent by their first name, or much worse, Dear Agent), and first send them to myself to make sure that they don’t look strange. Finally, I let them go into the cyberverse and nearly suffer cardiac arrest every time the phone rings the rest of the day. Which it does. A lot.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009.
I have a continuation of the conversation I had with my father the night before. “You don’t want quick replies,” he says, “quick replies are bad.”
“You’re probably right,” I say, as he’s almost nearly always right.
Wednesday, February 25, 9:39 a.m.
There it is, in my mailbox. RE: Query. I don’t even take the time to take a breath, I just open it. It’s two lines, which can’t be good.
“Dear MyFirstName,” it says. “I’m Agent1’s assistant,” and the gist is an exceedingly polite but firm no thanks. The use of my first name is a bit bold, I think, considering I have never met either Agent1 or Agent1’s Assistant and I used the formal to address Agent1, but I cut the assistant some slack, perhaps s/he couldn’t judge my gender from my name. At least that part was personalized, even if the form rejection was likely pasted in.
Obviously there is something wrong with Agent1. Anyone with sense would want to read the manuscript after that seal-y sleek query.
Wednesday, February 25, 2:40 p.m.
I get my second RE: Query e-mail. Uh-oh. My Dad was so right.
“Dear Author,” it begins, and I long for the days (or hours, really) when I was “Dear MyFirstName.” Another polite, if even less personal, no.
Obviously, there is something wrong with my query. Sorry query. Tomorrow I will dismantle you and see if there are any salvageable parts.
Anon0writer 