HOW TO WRITE A QUERY LETTER

Dear Prospective Literary Agent,

How are you? I am well.

Nope, that’s dumb. Forget I said that.

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Dear Agent,

I have written a book. How, you ask? I have no idea. Life is a mystery and I am confused all of the time.

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Dear Agent,

I don’t suppose you’d like to represent a book that I wrote, would you?

No, I thought not. It’s fine. If I were you, I wouldn’t represent it, either.

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Dear Agent,

HOW DOES ANYONE EVEN WRITE ONE OF THESE THINGS??

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Dear Agent,

I feel more than a little unequipped to write this letter, in part because, up till a few days ago, I thought query was pronounced like “very.” In my defense, “quee-ree” is difficult to say and it sounds ridiculous.

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Dear Agent,

Attached please find a picture of a check that I am sending to you as we speak. Don’t think of it as a bribe; think of it as—

Nope. Bad idea. Reel it in, Muller.

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Dear Agent,

It’s snowing today. Out of my kitchen window, I can see a little boy playing in his backyard across the alley. He’s balancing on a swing by his stomach, limbs akimbo, twisting the swing up and letting it twirl him around and around as it untwists. It’s the tired swing of a boy who’s been playing in the snow for a long time and whose range of motion is restricted by too many layers.

Watching him gives me perspective. I’m so frightened to send this book I wrote into the world to be judged—not because I think the book is irredeemably terrible, but because I’m worried I’m not good enough. I don’t have enough followers; I hate to network; I have no contacts in the publishing industry. Now that the fun part of writing is over, I’ve been doing a tired tummy swing for months now.

But you have the power to change all that. You can read this query letter, skim the first pages of the book, email me for the full manuscript, call me to discuss and make an offer of representation, pitch the book to publishers, secure a contract, and in only two to three years from now, this sad, slow, twisting swing can finally stop! WHATTAYA SAY?

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Dear Agent,

Ever think about how weird the word “parallelogram” is? Try saying it. So weird, right?

Please represent me.

Writing Contest

“The Youth’s Friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a fortnight ago,” said Anne, trying hard to speak as if she were accustomed to having sketches accepted every mail, but not quite succeeding.

“Anne Shirley! How glorious! What was it? When is it to be published? Did they pay you for it?”

“Yes; they’ve sent a check for ten dollars, and the editor writes that he would like to see more of my work. Dear man, he shall. It was an old sketch I found in my box. I re-wrote it and sent it in—but I never really thought it could be accepted because it had no plot,” said Anne, recalling the bitter experience of Averil’s Atonement.

“What are you going to do with that ten dollars, Anne? Let’s all go up town and get drunk,” suggested Phil.

-Anne of the Island, L.M. Montgomery

O HEY! The Write Practice and Short Fiction Break have chosen my story, The Cidery, as the grand prize winner of their 2017 fall short story contest. HOORAY! 

I would like to say that the honor is prize enough for me. I would like to say that. But I cannot. Because writing, my friends, is not an art form that lends itself to making a living quickly or easily. If I wanted to make an entry-level salary from writing alone, I'd have to win 79 more contests like this one. So far, I have won...one. So even though I should be content to be recognized and satisfied with the validation that I'm not a talentless hack, I'm afraid that the allure of feeling a check in my greedy little paws again is stirring something inside me, some shameful lust for filthy lucre.

What am I going to do with my winnings? I could spend it practically. We need...lamps, and things. But I am not known for my practicality. Alternatively, I could buy:

  • 400 donuts
  • Seven and a half hours of karaoke
  • 24 copies of John Green's Turtles All the Way Downwhich comes out today (with enough left over to buy half a dozen Reading Donuts!)
  • A 15-foot trampoline with mesh Don't-Kill-Yourself-Enclosure (for some reason I thought trampolines cost so much more--what a lovely surprise!)
  • One hour of an Elvis impersonator's time
  • Enough balls to make the attic into a ball pit, thereby achieving The Dream
  • 1/36th of a trip to swim with narwhals
  • Two sets of these taxidermy bride and groom minks (since it's our two-year wedding anniversary today and I've been struggling to find the perfect gift for Bill)

But I think I know what I want to buy. It's a secret wish I've harbored for years, something very special and close to my heart which will bring me (and others, perhaps) joy for years to come.

 

 

 

...HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK THIS BAD BOY WOULD COST?

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