In addition to a post about the important qualities of the one page summary, there’s a writing prompt for summaries at the Get Me Out of the Slush Pile! forum, this week only. Go and look at the way other people write their summaries, view the feedback and participate.

There’s even a summary contest, where an eyecatching midgrade or YA winner will get a full manuscript requested. If your writing isn’t midgrade or YA, don’t let that stop you from going over and browsing the entries — there’s still a lot to learn from seeing how other people do it, and what sorts of responses they get.

There’s nothing explicitly “wrong” with any of the words or phrases I’m recommending against, below. The problem with them is that they almost always steal the power or the opportunity from a moment that could be stronger.

There’s a certain amount of linear flow that gets established in a narrative. It can usually be assumed that things are being reported more or less in the order in which they happened. Unless you set the expectation early-on that things are going to jump around, the reader is going to accept that they’re not. Words that reinforce that linear order, therefore, are unneeded. Sometimes redundant, sometimes awkward, they have a tendency to interrupt the flow of the narrative by pointing out what is already taken for granted.

* Starting sentences with “Next,” or “That’s when…” can come across as redundant or clumsy by stating a chronological progression that’s already assumed.

Usually I see sentences starting this way in sections where a lot of actions are strung together in a row. “The ground shook. That’s when the candle fell off the table.” If we’re assuming a linear progression of time, we can assume that the candle falls at the point in the story when you mention the candle falling. “That’s when” is redundant, and I find it distracting.

Inserting narrative, reactions, or even environmental details to break up a list of actions, or condensing the action and avoiding some of the the step-by-step progression altogether, are good ways to get rid of create a smoother and stronger flow.

* When a sentence starts with “In that moment…” you’ve already supplied the end of the moment before it’s begun. It’s much more powerful to let the moment hang there, let the reader experience it, and then take it away.

Writers use “In that moment” to mean “this is how the character was feeling or what he was thinking at the time / in response to some event”. Again, though, narratives usually set up a chronological and linear flow which makes the phrase redundant. It’s already assumed whenever a character expresses an opinion or emotion that they’re experiencing it “in that moment” and at that time. It’s stronger to hit us with the emotion, the thought, or the realization. “In that moment, fear gripped him,” gives us a cue, whether we realize it consciously or not, that in the next moment the fear will pass and it will be okay. By cutting it to “Fear gripped him,” now we’re gripped too, because we don’t know if or when that fear is going to end.

* Sentences in dialogue can start with “So.” In dialogue, it can even be a sentence by itself. In narrative, a sentence beginning with “So” is almost always awkward.

Cause and effect is also a feature of the linear flow of a narrative. Since everything builds on what came before, a reader will naturally assume that if a realization is followed by an action, the two are likely related. “The doorbell rang. So she got up to answer the door.” Chances are, she wouldn’t be answering the door randomly if there hadn’t been a cue that someone was present, so the “so” is redundant.

Even if we change the period to a comma and leave the “so” in the middle of the sentence, it feels like a weak bridge to me. The cause and effect is assumed, and the narrative time could be better spent on characterization. What does she have to do before she answers the door? Set a cup aside, maybe, or shoo a cat off her lap? How does she feel about the doorbell ringing? Surprised? Annoyed at the interruption? There’s nothing explicitly wrong with “so”, but it’s redundant, and therefore distracting. It often starts a sentence in places where cause and effect is already implied, or where an opportunity to make the text richer and stronger has been missed.

* Be wary of repetition or over-explanation of action. This is especially common in combat scenes. Sometimes the same action is covered repeatedly for several sentences, or is returned to after the narrative has already moved on to something else. In a movie, you can have a slow motion shot repeated several times from different angles. In text, unless you’re specifically employing it as a device and deliberately returning to a moment from several different POVs, it will weigh down the pace at best, and confuse the reader at worst.

“The sword passed through flesh like it wasn’t even there. With a lunge, the swordsman sliced the enchanted blade through his target, cutting frictionlessly through armor, muscle and bone.” — These two sentences say the same thing. More than that, though, they repeat the same moment. If the stab only happens once in the story, it should only happen once in the narrative. Instead of overexplaining a point, give it one really good, strong image and move on.

If you set your readers an expectation of a linear, chronological narrative, you can make it do some of the work for you. Cutting out the repetition that points to the framework you’ve already established will make your narrative stronger, give your moments the dramatic tension they deserve, and tighten your pace. Overall, you’ll have a more powerful, and more polished, book.

For your reading pleasure: Grammar Vampires. (originally posted July 31, 2008.)

You’ve probably heard of grammar nazis, or maybe grammar police: these are people who patrol vigilantly, armed with their dictionaries, their thesauri and their love for words. They answer a deeply-rooted calling which urges them ever onward to stamp out typos, improper subject-verb agreement and rogue apostrophes wherever they may dwell. It’s a noble battle, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes the defenders of grammar get a little… well, overzealous.

I am not a grammar nazi. I’ll state that right now. For one thing, as much as I can appreciate the term in the proper spirit when others use it, personal beliefs and cultural heritage keep me from ever being comfortable applying it to myself. For another, it’s not really my style.

I eagerly seek out errors on menus and signs; spotting them is something of a hobby (albeit a shamefully geeky one), and often a source of great amusement. These are in the public domain, so I consider them fair game. I don’t, however, pounce on my friends, my family, my acquaintances, my casual email conversations, my forum discussions… you get the idea.

I fully appreciate that proper writing is important, and that pointing out an error is a necessary step to prevent its repetition. At the same time, I feel just as strongly that there’s a time and a place for such things, and I think it’s equally important to keep a sense of perspective about it. I may choose not to get into deep online conversations with someone whose spelling and grammar are atrocious, but at the same time, there are some situations where all that really matters is that people can make their points understood. Everyone makes typos. Everyone lets their fingers get ahead of them now and then. I see no benefit to antagonizing my peers by pouncing on their every mistake. All that does is, well, antagonize people. It doesn’t show off my knowledge or earn me any respect.

I like to think I’m a bit more subtle than that. I don’t rage about grammar; I’m not militant or aggressive about it. If I’m asked to beta-read or offer advice I’ll gladly do so, but I don’t force my red pen upon my friends or anyone else.

That’s the key to grammar vampires: they’re perfectly capable of correcting your mistakes, but they’ll only do so if you invite them in.

Most of these suggestions assume that you’re a professional in the field, or an aspiring professional, but I think they can be applied all around.

1. There will always be someone More Important Than You, and More Successful Than You. Don’t be bitter toward these people for having what you want, and don’t cling to them to try to find out their secrets and soak in some of their wisdom or karma. They’re just people, just like we are, and sometimes it’s a relief to them to be treated like normal people. Treat them politely and as equals, and you’ll find that they’ll treat you politely and as equals, back.

2. Most of the people at a smaller, writer-biased convention are there to network, just like you are. If you’re talking to someone and a person you know approaches, don’t just wave or make them wait. If you don’t know for a fact that they know each other, introduce them and include them. Most conventions supply nametags, which make this a simple task. A professional or personal introduction can go a very, very long way. Everyone should do this, and it surprises and upsets me that more people don’t. By introducing people you know from different circles, or introducing people you know to new contacts, you’re spreading the habit and encouraging them to do the same. You’d want that introduction if it was your friend talking to someone cool. Offer them the courtesy, and you’ll be more likely to receive it from them.

3. If you’re representing yourself as a professional, look and act the part. Dress a little better than the average con-goer. It may mean that you don’t get to wear the witty t-shirt or let your cleavage hang out, but if you want to make a professional impression on people, unless those things are part of the persona you’re choosing to adopt, a nice business-casual look might be better suited. A shirt with a collar or a blouse with jeans, or slacks, can still be in a color scheme and style that don’t brand you as a total outsider, while making you look classy. Be conscious of your personal hygiene, too. Don’t torture the person you’re talking to with your garlic breath from lunch! You’ll always end up meeting the person you most want to meet when you’re least prepared to meet them, so I use that as a guide: dress the way you’d want to be dressed to meet that person, at all times.

3a. Take care of yourself. Most conventions are at hotels and convention centers – places surrounded by cheap fast food, expensive fast food, and little else. Stay hydrated, get enough sleep, and remember that caffeine, sugar, alcohol and carbs aren’t the only food groups, even if you do need to range a little further afield, or pay a little more, for the rest. Remember your vegetables and your vitamins, and your body will thank you.

4. Have a business card, a bookmark, some kind of something to hand to people. Carry them in your pocket or somewhere else in convenient reach, in some kind of protected way so that they’re not going to look like they’ve been in your pocket all day, but keep one extra card outside that container and flush to it, so that if you’ve only got a moment, you can hand off a card without having to fumble for it and make someone wait. Some conventions give out badge holders that are designed really nicely for this.

5. The best way to track down someone Important is to look them up in the programming guide, attend their reading, panel, or signing. If it’s a signing, you’ve got a few dedicated moments of their time, but it also brands you as a fan and not an equal. If you hang around after a reading or a panel, they’re in their “on” time then, unlike when they’re heading out for dinner with their friends or family, and they’re probably going to expect to be approached. If they’ve got a time commitment and they have to run off to something else, accept it gracefully. It happens. Otherwise, wait patiently with the other people who are hanging around to have a word with them, introduce yourself and say hello when it’s your turn.

5a. If you’re approaching someone Important as an equal, introduce yourself with your professional credentials, offer them your card if you can, and compliment them on some aspect of the talk they’ve just done. Don’t hand them something to sign. That instantly brands you as a fan. There’s nothing wrong with being a fan, but a fan is not an equal. If you want to be seen as an equal, forego the autograph just this once. The personal connection you could potentially make with them is more important.

6. Time can really get away from you at a convention. Flip through the schedule ahead of time, or in a quiet moment. If there are things you really want to do or see, list them out for yourself and keep aware of your list, or you’ll probably end up missing some of the things you were looking forward to. My list always has a few interesting options, where available, for each time slot. If I end up skipping the ones I’m not as into, that’s fine, but if I find myself at loose ends, or if I’m with a group wondering where to go, I have access to something I think would be interesting, or that features someone I’d like to see, without having to dig through the schedule for it.

7. Talk to strangers. Conventions are great opportunities to meet people with like interests and unexpected connections in common. You will miss out if you don’t network with new people. Even if they aren’t Big Name Important People, they may still have a lot to offer and there’s still potential for a friendship or even a professional opportunity that may surprise you. You never know what someone else does, or who they know! Going to a convention with a group of friends or colleagues is a lot of fun, but step outside your circle, too. Talk to the person next to you in line. Maybe they’ve traveled a long way, or have an interesting story to share. At the very least, it’ll be an engaging way to pass the time.

8. Be very aware of body language. If someone’s eyes start glazing over, if they start looking around and beyond you, or angling themselves away from you, it’s time to thank them gracefully and let them go. It’s uncomfortable to be cornered, and it’s uncomfortable to watch someone being cornered. I’ve been held hostage after panels by people who “don’t hear” my polite nudging that I have somewhere to be, or in one case, wouldn’t let me go even when a colleague came to take me away to our next scheduled event. Don’t be the guy (or girl) that people need to escape from.

9. Have fun! Don’t attend a convention with a checklist of people to talk to, or you’ll stress about it and forget to enjoy yourself. A convention, and even a panel, never turns out exactly the way you plan, and it’s the parts that deviate from your expectations that usually turn out to be the best and most memorable parts. Go with the flow, have fun, meet who you meet, and remember that you can’t be everywhere at once and you can’t do everything there is to do. Enjoy being where you are, and remember that there’s always the next one to do the things you miss out on.

I’m not currently scheduled for programming, but you’ll be able to catch me at Philippa Ballantine’s reading at 10:00 on Saturday in the Garden Room.

The Dragon Moon Press guidelines specify fantasy, science fiction, and ‘gentle horror’, so the question, “What’s gentle horror?” was probably inevitable.

While I have a soft spot for the phrase, I didn’t invent it. I wish I could say that I did, but it was already in the guidelines as I inherited them. What it means to me is something that I’ve adopted and adapted as I’ve worked at Dragon Moon and become more familiar with the “feel” of our somewhat eclectic catalog.

Sometimes requirements are vague on purpose. Instead of narrowing things down to a rigid box, phrases are open to interpretation specifically to invite you to bring your own personal definitions of them, and to invite you to be creative and push the boundaries.

Publishers, and this probably won’t surprise you, do like for authors to be creative!

By gentle horror, I don’t mean “Attack of the Killer Zombie Cottonballs”. It has nothing to do with Satin [sic] devouring your soul.

To me, what distinguishes gentle horror is the proportion of plot elements to horror elements. I’m open to manuscripts which have scary and suspenseful elements to them, not all-out frightfests or bloodbaths. I’m looking for horror within the contexts of sci-fi and fantasy, not mainstream thrillers.

I’d consider Weaveworld by Clive Barker (one of my favorite books) to be gentle horror. Contrast it with The Hellbound Heart (the book on which the movie Hellraiser was based). There are still plot elements, to be sure, but horror takes much more of a front seat.

Not that Weaveworld is for the weak of heart, either. Gentle horror doesn’t have to be gentle. Phil Rossi’s Crescent, for example, I consider gentle horror, even though it’s a gritty, harsh story with some explicit adult content and nastyness, and there’s very little that’s gentle about it. But contrast it with Jack Kilborn’s Afraid, which will have you covering your eyes with your own intestines before you even realize you’ve ripped them out.

The point is more that Crescent is a science fiction story with a horror element, not straight horror, not a straight psychological thriller, just like Weaveworld is a dark fantasy story with a strong horror element. Gentle horror doesn’t have to be gentle. It doesn’t have to be safe for children; it doesn’t even have to be safe for work. It just has to have horror as a spice, not as the (mystery)meat of the dish.

It was a fun interview; as convenient as e-mail is, it’s always nice to get a chance to meet a colleague and talk about all that stuff in person. You don’t need to be familiar with his work for the interview to make sense, and I think offers a great example of the editorial process and the rapport that develops: we’re both on the same team, working to make the book the best it can be.

Take a listen to the first segment of our Behind the Scenes interview, and enjoy! I’ll be addressing some of the points from the interview in future posts.

More than just a listing of your current works, author pages are designed to be a better-rounded promotional opportunity. You can put up a headshot, a biography, and link in your latest blog posts. Take a look at my client Chris Jackson’s author page as an example.

It’s free, centralized publicity available any time someone clicks your name on Amazon.com, and a potentially useful self-promotion tool, so go and take a few moments to sign up.

This week I’ve been very busy finishing up one fantastic project and diving headlong into another. I feel really fortunate to be able to work with some seriously great new writers, and I have a feeling that these two in particular are going to go far.

Because queries are such a source of anxiety, people tend to overanalyze the guidelines and read too far between the lines. You’re sending something very important out into the ether, getting little to no feedback on it, and it’s hard to know what you’ve done right and where you might have gone wrong.

As I’ve said before, common sense will usually rule the day. Keep a pleasant, professional tone, include all the important things, and you’ll be fine. What tends to get people stuck are all the gray areas; the optional things that you hear about but aren’t sure if you should do.

Remember that this is just one editor’s opinion. I don’t speak for every editor, publisher or agent out there. But maybe one editor’s opinion, explained plainly, will help to give you a sense of the editor/agent perspective.

Don’t try to impress me.

You’ll have heard this one before, I’m sure. Lots of people give this advice, but very few of them tell you what it means.

Notice that I said “Don’t try to impress me,” not “Don’t impress me.” There’s a big difference there. Of course I want to be impressed. We all want to be impressed. The key is that we want to be impressed by your story. We won’t be impressed by anything else.

What this doesn’t mean: Write a bland pitch and a synopsis that’s just a clinical outline of events.

What it does mean: Write an exciting, vibrant pitch and synopsis, but don’t include any gimmicks with it.

Please don’t:

• treat your query like a sixth-grade book report — don’t dress up as your main character (by querying from a fictional first-person POV). Don’t use fancy dialect or otherwise “act” your query. Let your story speak for itself. You can make it plenty interesting without dressing it up in fancy clothes.

• use visual formatting effects to stand out: perfumed pink paper or glittery effects or ornate fonts. All it does is make a query difficult (or in some cases, painful) to read.

• go out of your way to format at all. All that work is going to go away when the publisher does their own layout, anyway.

• include gifts. If someone doesn’t like your manuscript, a bribe won’t change their mind. It doesn’t matter whether it’s creepy, expensive, or matched to the theme of your manuscript.

• make threats, even veiled or playful ones, about what will happen to us, our family, or the fate of civilization if we don’t accept your manuscript.

• submit to a personal address instead of the official submissions address, thinking it’s a shortcut or it’ll get you more attention. We have official channels for a reason. Going outside them is a great way to fall unlabeled through the cracks, or to creep someone out and make a bad impression.

• overhype. If you try to set our expectations too high, you have nowhere to go but down. Don’t tell us what a blockbuster hit the movie version will be, or how many awards it will win.

Contested Territory

Opinion varies on whether you should compare your writing to other authors’ styles in your query. Personally, I’m against it. This is your time to show us your voice and how you’re unique, not how you’re the same as someone else. There’s a place for that sort of comparison and it’s very effective when used properly… but in my opinion, that place is on the book cover and the marketing promo, not in the query.

Opinion also varies on the use of rhetorical questions in a pitch or synopsis. Personally, I’m completely neutral on the matter, but I know that there are agents and editors who hate them. In fact, there are enough agents and editors who hate them that you’re probably safer avoiding them.

Others don’t mind it, but personally, I don’t like to see the sentence that starts with, “My manuscript would be a good fit for you because…” In my perspective, if you tell me the genre and the wordcount and give me your brief pitch, I’ll know whether your manuscript fits my needs or not.

Low-maintenance isn’t the same as boring!

You want to come across as low-maintenance, adaptable and easy to work with. Showing that you’ve read the guidelines and formatted your submission in accordance is a large part of that. Taking a sane tone of voice is another. The less you say, sometimes, the more sane and easygoing you will appear.

The query letter isn’t the place to make demands about contract terms. Hook someone on your writing and you’ll be in a much stronger position to negotiate. Don’t come off as high-maintenance, pushy and demanding before you’ve even said hello.

It also isn’t the place to show paranoia or distrust for the publishing process. A paranoid author who password-locks a submitted file or insists on only sending it hardcopy and registered, or otherwise expresses concern over it potentially falling into the wrong hands or being used for unscrupulous purposes, is very unlikely to be offered a book deal. Publishing is a profession and publishers are professionals. If you can’t trust us to look at your work without stealing it, you’re not going to get very far. Honestly, most of what we see isn’t worth keeping. The work that is worth keeping, doesn’t get stolen. It gets signed.

Control Freaks Beware

There is a certain amount of editorial control that you give up when you sign with a publisher. The formatting and layout will be up to the person whose job it is to do those things. You probably won’t have a say in much of any of that, down to what font they use and what they use to separate the chapter breaks. It’s best to be accepting of that up front, or at least to seem accepting of that.

Down the road, maybe you can make suggestions or requests. They may be considered and incorporated. They may be considered and then later discarded. Either way, the query is not the time. The more conditions you place on your work right out of the gate, the more you come across as difficult to work with. When you query, all that matters is the text. Sell us on your story. The rest comes later.

The art question

Speaking of editorial control, I’m often asked whether art should be submitted with a query. The answer to that is a resounding no. To put it in perspective for you, even authors who write childrens’ picture books don’t usually collaborate with an artist. They write the script, and an artist is paired with them later to illustrate the words.

When you’re working with a large publisher, they will have an art director and an art department in-house. These are people who specialize in knowing what sort of art makes a good cover image and sells a book. You might be able to make a recommendation to them, but providing your own art up front or insisting on working with a particular artist will probably work against you. Even if the art is good, it may not be the sort of thing that works well on a book cover. If the art isn’t so good, it may color perception of the quality of your manuscript. Again, there’s no harm in trying to suggest or request a particular artist at the appropriate point in the process, but the query isn’t the time or place.

Don’t get impatient with the process

Publishing always seems glacially slow from the outside, and I can sympathize that the time from when you send off your baby to when you hear back from someone can feel endless. Publishers are busy, busy people, and it’s an industry that requires a lot of lead time to get a book ready for print. You have to realize and accept that you’re just one tree in a publisher’s large forest. You will be tended to, but in their time, when your slot comes up and your priority rises to the top.

From a personal perspective, if I’m doing thorough edits on a 300-page book, and industry standard pace is 5-10pgs/hour, and it’s not my only project, that’s going to take some time. If you don’t hear from me, it doesn’t mean I’m not working. It probably means I am.

How long before you can send a followup? Check the submissions guidelines for a publisher. They’ll often tell you how long they take to respond. Give them another [unit] or two beyond that. If they say three days, give them four or five before you email politely. If they say weeks, or months, likewise. Things come up, emergencies happen, and keeping the books on schedule that are already slotted for production is a higher priority than going through the ones that aren’t signed yet.

Be polite in your query, not demanding or passive-aggressive. There’s no way someone can answer “Have you looked at it yet?” to tell you what you want to hear. If they’d looked at it yet, they’d have told you. Compare:

“I’m writing to follow up on my manuscript, [title], which I sent to you on [date]. It was a pleasure to meet you at [some conference]. Thank you again for accepting my query and I look forward to your response.”

That’s about as non-aggressive and pleasant as you can get. It doesn’t ask someone if they’ve read it, when they’ll read it, or when they can expect to hear back, it just politely reminds them that they have it and how long they’ve had it. It doesn’t get passive-aggressive and say “I know you’re really busy and you probably haven’t had time and I’m really sorry to bother you…”, it’s just straightforward, pleasant, and non-demanding.

When you do get signed, by the way, that glacial pace doesn’t change. You’ll feel like it’s taking ages to get edits back, or to get a cover back from the art director, or that your book is in the can for six months doing nothing while it waits for its slot in the production schedule. Well… it will be. These people are juggling a lot of books and they’ll get to each stage of yours when each stage comes due. Get used to it, relax, and spend that time writing your next masterpiece.

First, before I get into the actual parts of the query letter, a note on formatting guidelines.

Formatting guidelines exist to help editors keep from going blind. They streamline the process, and make things easy on the eyes for people who are sitting and reading for 8, 12, or 16 hours a day, or more. They exist so that your manuscript can be handled in the most convenient and efficient way by a particular handler, and forwarded on most conveniently within that organization, and that’s why they vary from place to place.

Specific formatting rules (like what to put in the subject line or on the outside of the envelope, for instance) may also exist partly to show a particular place whether you’ve read their particular guidelines or not.

You should definitely follow the guidelines as they’re presented to you, even if it means reformatting every time you submit someplace new. Helping editors not go blind is important, and showing someone you want to work with that you’re able to follow instructions is also important.

However, and I know this is easier said than done, you should not stress yourself out about it. Being one point short of perfect compliance, unless it’s a major point like forgetting to include contact information, is probably not going to hurt your chances. A good manuscript isn’t likely to be disqualified over a minor problem on the query letter checklist. As long as you’re professional and use common sense, you’ll probably be fine.

That professional tone is important too. The query letter is the cover letter to your resume. In addition to getting people interested in your manuscript, it’s also your chance to prove that you’re not high-maintenance, pushy, delusional, or insane. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.

If no guidelines exist on a particular point, like font size or number of spaces after a period, don’t sweat it. It means that it doesn’t matter to that particular editor.

Don’t try to make it gimmicky, shiny or eye-catching. Focus on making a pitch and a manuscript that can stand out from the rest even in the same boring typeface and format. You’ll get more positive attention from following the rules than from breaking them. When I see a nicely formatted, low-maintenance manuscript, I breathe a sigh of relief.

So. That said, on to the letter itself.

Your query letter is, for all useful purposes, just like the cover letter you send with your resume when you’re applying for a job. It should be professional, it should be courteous, and it should contain the standard pieces of information that the person reading it is going to be looking for, with no fancy tricks, fillers, or unnecessary information.

Essential information

The first things I look for in a query letter:

• Title
• Word count
• Genre
• Name and contact information

Before you present what your story is about, I want to know how many words I’m getting and what genre to expect. I don’t want to have to wade through multiple chapters — or even multiple paragraphs — to first discover if the manuscript is even going to be a fit. Don’t bother trying to tell me why it’s a good fit. You don’t need to. Show me the word count and the genre, tell me what it’s about, and I’ll be able to tell for myself.

I also don’t want to have to dig for your name and e-mail address. Sometimes things get forwarded and, for whatever reason, the original “sent by” address in the header doesn’t make it along for the ride. Put it in the body of the mail, just to be safe.

Also, please, PLEASE make sure that the contact information you give, WORKS. Even worse than a rejection: when a publisher is interested in seeing more and can’t get in touch with you.

Don’t just send a link to your website and tell me to check out your work there — or, worse, tell me that I have to subscribe to your website in order to see it. Show that you’re serious enough to take the time to write a real query.

Phrases I never want to see in a query

“I know this isn’t the sort of thing you publish, but…”
and
“I know you’re closed to unsolicited submissions, but…”

I’m going to do a separate post next Monday that touches on what not to do, but this one deserves a special mention right up front. There’s nothing professional about contacting a stranger with the expectation that they’ll bend their rules for you. Sending your query along anyway is one thing. Pointing out in your query that you know you shouldn’t be sending your query is another. You may intend it as an apology to smooth your way, but what you’re actually saying is, “Hi. I read your policies, and then I knowingly and willfully disregarded them. Don’t you want to work with me now?” That’s probably not the kind of first impression you want to make.

Speaking of making a good first impression…

Bad spelling / grammar / punctuation in a query is a BIG turn-off. Everyone makes a typo now and then, especially when they’re nervous. But if the errors are glaring enough that it’s clear to me that you couldn’t take the time to spellcheck and read over your cover letter:

• you’re not serious enough about writing to be published. Or
• you just don’t see that those errors are even there, in which case I can predict that your manuscript will be in the same state. That’s a lot of extra work for me.

The parts of the query letter

A professional, courteous greeting. There may be bonus points for addressing it to the right person, but leaving it neutral is always better than getting it wrong.

An intro paragraph with those essential elements I mentioned above, and your elevator pitch. (More on the elevator pitch, below.)

A paragraph with a longer synopsis. A synopsis is always in third person, present tense, regardless of the perspective of the actual manuscript. It should be just as gripping as the smaller pitch, but this time give a slightly broader picture. And include the ending. Part of knowing whether you have a good, solid story is knowing how you resolve it. Don’t hold the ending ‘hostage’ and make a publisher request your manuscript to see how it all works out. They won’t. Synopsis length and depth is another topic all its own, but it’s handled very well by author Anne Mini over several in-depth posts on her blog. An especially useful post might be the one on constructing 1- 3- and 5-page synopses, but you’ll want to look at the whole series.

A brief paragraph about your published or otherwise relevant credits, if appropriate. If not, just leave it out. If you’re published, give us titles and publishers. You don’t need to mention if you’ve never been published before. You don’t need to mention if you like to read, what your hobbies are, or what your educational and professional background is, unless they’re relevant to the manuscript you’re submitting. If you’ve got a computer science degree and you’re working in IT and your manuscript is high fantasy, it’s not relevant. If you’ve been in the Navy and you live full-time on a boat and your manuscript is a nautical adventure, then that background is relevant. If you’ve been to writing workshops, that may be more relevant than your college degree. A degree in English does not a fiction writer make; it won’t impress anyone, by itself. Solid writing and connections to bestselling authors who might write cover blurbs for you… that’s not going to be enough to get you a contract, but it’s very good for a publisher to know.

A professional closing with your name and contact information.

And that’s it.

Elevator pitch?

An elevator pitch stems from the idea that you have only the length of time that someone’s on an elevator with you, to get them hooked and wanting more. The sort of pitch you’d use as a back cover blurb: it should be a couple of brief, concise sentences that capture the central conflict and raise questions that I want to read the answers to. Think of it as the five second movie trailer.

Just because you’re being professional, don’t think you have to be bland and boring on this. The whole point of this letter, from your perspective, is these few sentences. It’s the only chance you have to hook your recipient. Make it intriguing, make it count, and don’t load it down with detail.

A well-crafted elevator pitch at a conference will hook me into requesting a submission. In a query, it’ll hook me into requesting a manuscript. Properly honed, refined and streamlined, it’s worth its weight in gold.

Hang on to this pitch. You’ll need to expand it into your back cover blurb, you’ll need to refine it into promotional material if you want your book mentioned on a website or listed in a catalog, and you’ll need it for… well, for selling copies to people you meet on elevators. Seriously. I have also seen published authors make plenty of spur-of-the-moment sales with just a backpack full of books and a solid elevator pitch.

That’s it?

That’s it… Except that it’s not.

Paring it down to the basic components like this leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Questions like, “What do publishers mean when they say ‘Don’t try to impress us’?” and “How long should I wait before sending a polite follow-up?” are important, too.

Stay tuned: I’ll address those questions and more, on Monday.