Two happy and Eleven Sad

I've been querying Festival Madness like crazy over the Burning Man Season.  30 queries, and so far 12 rejections.  Man, they are coming back at me like kamikazees.  Form letters, all.  The agents try to create a kind rejection letter, but that is obviously even harder than crafting a good query letter.

In the general gloom of wondering if anyone is ever going to rep this book, I receive a different kind of rejection from a small press publisher.  Yes, it was a form, but it had my name and my book's title  in tiny neat script, very tiny, very neat script and at the bottom was one word.  Sorry!  It was so sweet, because it let me know if came from a real person who maybe understood on a level that a lot of agents do not. It wasn't from the intern or assistant who is the agent's gatekeeper and whose job it is to parse the queries.

So that was a Good Thing, as Martha would say,  to have a small human interaction in this wrenching process.  The other happy thing, a very happy thing, is that when I returned home from a book party tonight (someone else's party, of course), I had a voice mail from a casual friend saying how much he liked The Shadow Warriors.  Totally unexpected.  This is actually someone whose opinion I value.  I don't even know how he got a copy of the book, but I'm so pleased to get a real compliment on my writing.  I've been down about the very snarky, anonymous review someone posted.  You know it's someone you crossed being a bitch, but still. . . it pulls down the average. 

I figure I've logged about a million words by now, and the years go by and writer's come and writer's go and the whole business is pretty crazy. 

In a pensive moment

The suspense novel is almost finished.  The drug lord is on the run to Cuba (and what fun it's been to research that scenario!)  The heroine and the two kids she is watching are menaced by a very bad guy, and her sister is in big trouble down in Panama (more fun research).  Ask me about traveling to Cuba.  Ask me about Panama banking.  Ask me about the Florida current and Hemingway Marina.  I have learned a lot just sitting here with my butt in the chair and  Googling away.  Google some, write some, send out a few more queries.  This is a weird and probably a stupid way to spend one's life. 

#Queryfail day

They had "Query Fail Day" on Twitter yesterday, and some literary agents tweeted about the worst queries they had ever received. I read a blog that had summarized them and I have to admit there were some lulus. Fictional novelists, take note. Your novel is, by definition, fiction. And writers, if you have been abducted by enemy aliens, don't tell the agent. Pretend this is fiction.

I have sent out a lot of fruitless queries in my day, but none that would shame me. At least, I don't think so.

Lately, I've been having trouble with agents responding, which is to say they don't. This is the problem with email queries. You email the agent. She says, "sounds good. Send 50 pages" or whatever, and you do. In "reply." Right away, before she forgets.

Except, then something happens, and you hear nothing. Nada. Niente. So you send a friendly email follow up, and she replies that she must have lost it, send again.

And that's the end of it. Again, nothing. Except by now you're too embarrassed to send a second reminder. And you also ask yourself if you really want an agent, no matter how big the name or the agency, who keeps losing your writing. I mean, is this any way to run an agency. So I'm moving these queries to the "no response" bucket. And crossing the agent off the list. Gee, she seemed nice. Sharp. Good reputation. Why did she lose my stuff?

Maybe there should be "agent fail day" (#agentfailday) and everyone could bitch and moan about queries that went into the ether. No names, of course. You don't want to burn any bridges. Never burn bridges.

Suck it up. That's the ticket. Jeez, why didn't I think of that?

Grapeshot