query letter

vientiane, laos

or, the one in which i reveal my bitter, bitter soul. or, the one in which i bite the hand that feeds.

i know i'm in laos. other side of the world, right? out of sight, out of mind. maybe it's just me, maybe it would be any of us, but if i spend enough time staring out bus or train windows (taking the past week into account, i'm averaging about four hours per day), thoughts inevitably return to whatever great existential dilemmas exist over there. of course, the small stuff too.

thoughts, i've had a few. the phases of our lives are never so distinct as we imagine, the asian ones included. as i stare out at palm trees and rice paddies contextualizing the present, it comes into focus as the lumpy, delicious chunk of the otherwise-blended dragon fruit smoothie that includes past and future. i am speaking of ambition and/or self-entitlement, depending on one's point of view.

there are three literary agents with a full copy of my manuscript. in total, they've had twenty-five months to review the "project" and hit the reply button. somehow i feel that today will also not be the day. the first one took something resembling interest two years ago and was the first to receive it early last winter. sometime last summer, there was an apology for not getting back sooner and the assurance that i was their "priority numero uno." whenever i see a placid body of still water, i squeeze a tear onto a clenched fist and say a silent prayer as a gesture of solidarity with whomever happens to be "numero ocho." the second agent asked for a copy based upon the recommendation of a reader and friend of mine. i still, however, have not received a reply from the brief email asking for confirmation that she received the manuscript. it's really not that big of a deal as the forty dollar postage was easy to cover: at the time, i was raking it in from working five jobs. with the third, i could tell the interest was tepid from the start. i don't think he expected me to attend that reading and he probably solicited the manuscript because it was the quickest means to the end of being free to go home with that blonde. i honestly don't blame him.

it's sobering to realize that it's not what you know, but who you know, and that your cupboard doesn't have a whole lot of who. to my relief, i can at least bait up a couple hooks and toss out some query letters. in case you're unfamiliar, the query letter is the equivalent of a cover letter for writers to submit to agents. it's formulaic and incumbent upon the writer to prepare one that both captures the agent's attention and adheres to professional standards. it's like aspiring to be the best at coloring within the lines. i've submitted fewer than a couple dozen, embarrassingly because i had faith in the aforementioned to, ya know, get back to me. in all honesty, the most uplifting have been the two or three anonymous agents who responded briefly and with their own fingers on the keyboard. they were unequivocal rejections, but each bore the sentiment to keep going laced with that element of human sincerity that seems to be so lacking elsewhere. to them, i am grateful.

and to everyone else, i will say that sharing is caring. for those in the writing clergy, consider the following to be a cliffs notes for how to make it in america. for everyone else, this is what i will be writing and submitting upon my return. i introduce, the query letter:

dear graduate of prestigious liberal arts college/ivy league institution:

[paragraph one] this is where you have your "hook." it all begins with one sentence that both encapsulates your novel and seizes the attention of the potential agent. of course, your hook could say that you have written a "heartwarming/heartfelt" tale dealing with topics such as apartheid, hiv/aids, and poverty, but be careful: the agent will know that there are writers capable of such a feat, but they are published and you are [see paragraph three.] it is also advisable to mention in this paragraph how you came across the agent. if they owe your father a favor, put that down. that's gold. if you found their name on a database of literary agents, the rest of your query should be targeted to their unpaid intern.

[paragraph two] this is a brief synopsis of your novel. it is advisable that you give this aspect consideration well before undertaking the writing process. remember: an agent has to know what is "trending." if your opus does not align with the demands of the marketplace, yours is already an uphill battle. i'd suggest writing about teenage virgin vampires. swedish murder mystery with a tinge of rape is also hot at the moment. if you're the one who pens the raping-scandinavian-teenage-virgin-vampire saga, the world will beat a path to your door. of course, not all have to fit under the auspices of the trend. established wordsmiths can write as they please. [see paragraph three] should adhere to the guidelines mentioned above.

[paragraph three] this is your opportunity to say who you are. child or reality star? consider the contract in the mail. have you written a business tome featuring a number (seven ways to sell shit to shepherds, nine traits of the remarkably self-indulgent, et al)? start planning the book tour. if you are a former child/reality/sports star who has lost more than twenty pounds, welcome back to the klieg lights. for everyone else, the seas are choppy. if you, say, come from a middle-class family anywhere between the coasts, your vessel likely does not have what it takes to navigate. if you're white, bearded, christened john and live in brooklyn, the tough news is that your demographic is already well-represented. your best hope is that the query letter reader is not left with the impression you live in your gradma's basement, spending your days in tin foil and feverishly masturbating to stave off the panic attacks resulting from too much acne medication.

[paragraph #4] a nice salutation. tradition holds that you should reiterate that your work is finished and ready to submit. the final word count should be mentioned and is not entirely important for those already isbn'd. if it's more than 110,000, this could pose a problem for [see paragraph #3.] thank them for their consideration.

sincerely,

[see paragraph #3]