A is for Agent

Look, it's going to buy me twenty-six posts, okay? That is, as long as I can find things in publishing that begin with V, X and Z. Actually, the X isn't hard at all. But you'll have to wait a while for that one.

So I thought I'd do my own publishing A-Z. Knock up a true-to-life, author's-eye view of the industry. Completely from my point of view, of course, which is going to be unlike anyone else's. And no apologies for omissions, errors, or differences. This is what's been happening to me in the business for...well, the last twelve years at least. Starting with agents. Even though A for Anxiety was a close second.

Love them or hate them...think of all those form rejections and nine month waits...having an agent, in my opinion, is essential for an author. Thankfully I love mine. I'm very lucky. (Actually, very persistent, as you will see.) Literary agents are worker-outers, and not just in the financial sense. They work out deals, problems, and make all those phone calls you've been putting off. And they take you out for nice lunches. And stop you drinking too much at parties.

But getting one? It's not as if you can go order one off the internet. Or ring one up and say please represent me. Other agents are willing to take their percentage - estate agents, financial agents, even secret agents are easier to come by than literary ones. So why weren't they biting my hands off?

I've probably written an entire novel's worth of submission letters to 'suitable' agents over the years. Not all replied. Some replied within minutes to email submissions. The average wait for a reply to a submission package of letter, short synopsis and about fifty pages of writing was, I'd say, about two to three months. I hit small, one man agencies as well as the multi-agent giants. And it was always no. No, no, no. If that email pinged back immediately, I knew it was no. How could they have read anything so quickly? A big fat self-addressed envelope through the door? Nope. Nada. Zilch. Always no. Before opening it, I'd kid myself that they'd taken a photocopy of the typescript and were politely returning this one with an immediate acceptance letter and agency contract. It's quite nice to place the envelope, unopened, on the kitchen table, have a cup of tea, and sit and stare at it. Not-quite-broken bad news. Still that hope.

Here are some of my rejections. Just little snippets from letters over the years. I have a thick folder of them.

'I'm afraid that after careful consideration, our editors have decided it's not right for our lists.'
'I am sorry for the negative response but do feel that an agent must be wholeheartedly and unreservedly behind a work if he hopes to sell it to publishers.'
'Don't be too disheartened by this letter. Due to the huge pressure of work, we have to be very selective. We receive 200 submissions per week.'
'We are taking on extremely few new clients at the moment.'
'I'm afraid I don't love the material, so I will have to pass.'
'I wish you better luck elsewhere.'
'I would not be able to place this on my list.'
'I found your material promising but not quite right for my list.'
'I am not confident I could attract the interest of a publisher.'
'It's a dark story, in my view perhaps a little overwrought.'
'I don't feel this is something I could take further.'
'Thank you for your query letter and synopsis, which we have read with interest. We would like to request the first three chapters.'
Thank you for sending us the first three chapters. Unfortunately, it is not up to publication standard.'
'Thank you for sending me the pages. I will be in touch when I have read them.'
'I have now read your pages. I think I am missing something. I was initially stumped by the opening...but then I began to connect...anyway, I will wait to read some more.'
'Thank you for sending me the rest of your typescript. Sadly, I do not feel this is something I would be able to represent.'
'I started to read this with the same enthusiasm I had for your writing first time round...But I found this novel somehow out of date...'
'Clever writing but not my kind of thing, sorry.'
'As explained, I am taking on so few new clients I have to be very enthusiastic before committing.'
'I do very much like your writing but, alas, I don't like this book quite enough to feel I can offer to represent you. But someone else will, I feel sure of it.'

Sound familiar? These are a tiny part of my collection. I'm very proud of them. Many authors say they can wallpaper their living room with rejections. I could wallpaper my entire house. And next door.

Assuming you have a spark of interest from an agent, what happens next? They've read the first fifty pages and liked it, so it's highly likely they might call you up and request the rest of the manuscript. Speaking to an agent on the telephone is a bit like having god pop in for a chat. You're convinced it won't ever happen, even if you do believe.

The first agent I ever spoke to wasn't actually on the phone. It was in Real Life. Face to face. Breathing the same air as him. I'd approached this agent - actually recommended by someone I'd previously met 'in the business' - and he kindly read my work. He invited me to come to his office. This was a very big deal. And I knew, just knew, that I was going to blow it. And I did. I'd been given this opportunity, literally an angel-sent invitation into the inner sanctum of the literary world, and I completely and utterly crumbled. And he sensed it, too.

What did I do wrong? Loads, and it's all too cringeworthy to write about. Probably, if I'm honest, the biggest mistake was that I never followed up successfully with the kind of ideas he was after. At the time, my writing was too experimental for his liking. He represented commercial fiction as well as some very well known TV names. My little offerings weren't for him. He said he saw me, ultimately, as a psychological thriller writer. That was back in 2002. Astute chap, eh? Towards the end of our meet, he asked me: Will you write a novel about a paedophile? I said No, I won't. Go figure.

The next time I met an agent was at a writers' convention. I was writing horror and fantasy, convinced it was where my heart lay. After all, I'd been writing in this genre since I was ten years old. It was a genre-based get together of fans, publishing folk and writers. There were workshops and panels and interesting people. I made some nice friends and good contacts. Plus, highlight of all highlights, I'd booked myself a 'Pitch to the Agent' session. I had ten minutes or so to tell her why she should take me on as a client. She'd already read my material prior to the meet. Nothing scary then.

In fact, it wasn't scary at all. She was very nice. And I don't think I made a tit of myself this time. She even said, if the novel continued in this way (it was an unfinished novel!), then she'd be very interested in representing me. It was as good as a 'yes' for me. I left with a handshake, a smile, and the extra oomph I needed to write the remaining eighty thousand words. A year later, I delivered my manuscript. She remembered me. She read it. Then she rejected me.

That was in 2003. Much writing 'stuff' happened subsequently, including more of the letter-based submissions . But agent-wise, nothing positive kicked-off again until early 2006. I been writing for Virgin Books - two novels - (see future posts for this - probably V and X!). I'd also been in touch with an editor at a big publisher via an 'industry contact' and she was teetering about my book. In the end she said no, but recommended me to a well-respected literary agency. I worked closely with them for a month or two, changing and re-shaping my novel as per their suggestions. They were very good suggestions and the novel was much better for it. I re-submitted and they re-read. Then they rejected me.

Because of the novels I was writing for Virgin books, I'd joined the Society of Authors. Membership includes vetting of contracts. I was at a regional Society meeting and bumped into a writer that I'd met a couple of years before. We got chatting and he said that he'd mention me to his agency, see if they'd perhaps take a look at my current novel. Writers are nice like that.

Three months later, I was sitting in a restaurant in London with my new agent. She'd read my novel (taking only a weekend!), decided she liked it, decided I was right for her list, decided I probably had more novels in me, decided I wasn't an idiot (because now, agent-experienced me didn't act like one) and decided to offer me an agency agreement. Then I got sick and ended up with a heart monitor, which actually recorded on its trace the skip of my many palpitations as my agent rang me to say she'd got me a two book deal. The news is officially recorded in my medical records. The doctors said I wasn't going to die, which was also good.

I should add that my lovely first agent decided after a while that a change of career was in order for her. (I don't think it was anything to do with me.) I was sad to see her go but also delighted to be represented by another wonderful lady at the same agency. In actual fact, it was an agency that I'd approached years before with some of my more 'experimental' work. They sent me a very swift and personal response, encouraging me to approach them in the future.

So, you can see, 'A is for Agent' is very closely related to 'A is for Anxiety'. The moral of this very long tale: Try and get a good deal on discount postage and never give up. They get worn down in the end.