There was another edit, of course, and Chapter Nine is no more.

Its chewy bits remain scattered throughout the first chapter, but most of it is in the bin where it belongs. It was a massacre of darlings.

And it felt good.

But the time for feeling good is over, because I’ve decided to give Pitch Wars a shot.

From some of the accounts I’ve read, Pitch Wars can be a wonderfully brutal and harrowing experience.

Excellent.

I’ve gone through the list of this year’s mentors, and there are four I’m looking at. So now it’s time for further research, planning, and plotting. And online stalking.

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After reading and re-reading the query, to ensure it ticked all the boxes, I realized this letter sounded better than my synopsis. Therefore, I was soon copy and pasting lines from my letter into my synopsis.

I deleted a few words. Then I deleted a few more.

Feeling like I was at the controls of a power juicer, I watched pulp fly from my synopsis as it went from 477 to 456, ultimately resting at 282 words.

I look back at that first synopsis and shudder.

Apologies for all the juice analogies.

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After polishing my first three chapters, drafting my synopsis, fine-tuning and personalizing each query letter, researching and selecting the most suitable agents, I sent off half as many queries as intended. The goal was six, so three more to go.

Reading comments on Query Tracker is helpful, as they give a good idea of what to expect in terms of rejection content and turnaround. If I hadn’t read the comments, I may have felt a little defeated when my first rejection came just 10 hours after I sent it.

So, armed with that tired adage of “every no is one step closer to a yes”, the rejection didn’t feel good, but it felt like something. Each hurdle, no matter how big or small, feels one step closer to being (I loathe the term) a “real” writer.

After all, it’s better to be a little known writer than to forever lament how “I always wanted to write”.

The post rejection cherry popped appeared first on Russell Cordner.

The (p)research I did, reading everything I could on finding and choosing an agent, didn’t make it sound simple, but didn’t prepare me for this. Maybe I’m putting too much thought into it, being too discriminating, but I don’t think so.

One common sentiment I saw often was that choosing your agent is a lot like choosing your spouse. (It should also be noted that’s a two-way street.) But perhaps the quote I like most, doesn’t come from the myriad of sites and blogs and tweets about writing and publishing.

It comes from an article about sniping defenseless animals in the wild.

I’m in no way suggesting anyone start shooting agents (unless it’s with a water pistol full of champagne while celebrating a book deal). After all, I just got started in this. But just toss the word agent in front of the quote, and it sums up everything I’ve been learning quite nicely.

(Agent) Hunting requires research, patience, flexibility–and a willingness to fail.

It couldn’t be truer. A few days ago, I decided to start my first batch of queries by contacting a half-dozen agents. I would aim high, personalize each query, and send them off.  Apparently not learning from my experience thus far, I naively thought: “This shouldn’t take long.”

Even so, I decided to give myself ample time, planning to send (only) two queries a day. Perfect. I’d have six queries sent off by the weekend. 20 hours later… I’ve sent two queries. One yesterday and one today.

Getting back to the hunting quote, the 20 hours are the result of research, and it is definitely requiring patience (and persistence). I’m sure quite soon I’ll encounter flexibility. And I’m counting the days until I get that first rejection!

That should test my willingness to fail.

The post big game hunting, agent hunting. same-same but different. appeared first on Russell Cordner.

Now that I had my “final” draft ready, my query written, the synopsis painstakingly crafted, and a few agents researched, I was ready to send my submission. Still, it was best to take a few minutes to double-check standard formatting rules. This shouldn’t take long.

Reading endless articles and posts about what agents consider ideal, I came across:

“The ideal emailed submission includes… a covering letter, with a synopsis and the first three chapters attached as two separate files.”

“Your safest bet is to include sample pages in the body of the e-mail, under your closing line several spaces.”

“Don’t send attachments. Links to a website [URLs] are ok.”

“Remove all [URLs] links to websites.”

“In a day and age when gender is no longer binary… the safe and courteous way to address the agent is:” Dear Jane Smith.

“Dear Ms. (or Mr.) Last name COLON. No first names, no nicknames.”

“Simply use the first and last name.”

It goes on, and on, and on… so I won’t.

Everyone agrees that your manuscript must be double-spaced. But what about if pasting it into the body of the email?

Yes, it should be double-spaced. But also, no, it should really be single-spaced. Double-spaced is easier to read on devices, but also, single-spaced is easier to read on devices.

Awesome.

Eight hours later I was ready to send my first query.

The post the query conundrum appeared first on Russell Cordner.

So, there’s that.

I opened my travel-battered copy of The Novel Submission Road Map (coming soon for $19.99) to see where I was heading next. That was four days ago.

The next step was straightforward enough: Look at your first three chapters.

Well, that’s easy. It hadn’t even been two weeks since I finished editing my third draft, and those first few chapters were obviously part of it. They must be in great shape. This was going to be a breeze!

Regardless, in preparation for this leg of the journey, I figured it couldn’t hurt to read a few articles on opening chapters. Short, punchy, to the point–that’s what sells. That’s what draws the reader in. That’s what agents want to see.

Short. Hmm.

My first chapter was no problem, clocking in at just over 2,500 words. But that second chapter, at a few keystrokes under 11,000 words, was definitely a point of contention.

Quickly, and quite simply, that gargantuan second chapter became three chapters. The book reads better by just that alone. Unfortunately, the end of Chapter 2 became the end of Chapter 4, so it won’t make the cut to send to agents, and I really wanted it in there. But some agents ask for the first 50 pages, so maybe I’ll include with those queries should they arise.

After slicing up Chapter 2, I took my red pen to page one. Then page two. Then three. And so on.

It took much longer than I’d anticipated, and four days later I had a stack of paper with a lot of red ink on it.

Today was spent typing up the edits, and I finally arrived at my destination. All I need to do is compile it all together, and I’m good to go.

Tomorrow, it’s back to researching agents.

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As my stroll down Compression Street, went from 1000, to 820, to 504, to 477, it became clear that, like most painful, grueling things in life, writing a synopsis is highly beneficial. It’s not only a good writing exercise in itself, it forces you to view your manuscript in a new light.

During my research into this horrible little process, I read one tip saying it’s a good idea to write the synopsis before you write the book. Then it’s already out of the way.

Not. A bad. Idea.

I also came to feel that compression is not as good a descriptor as squeezing or wringing. But maybe now I’m just moving commas around.

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But I’m new to this and learning as I go. And as I’ve been focused on writing and eating, auditing, editing, I haven’t exactly been reading ahead. It’s like I’m driving cross-country, checking the map whenever I hit the next town.

And the town I just pulled into is called Synopsis.

This town sucks.

Evidently I’ve got to take the 130,000 words I’ve toiled on over the past year and condense them into 300. Or 400. Or, maximum 700, depending on who you ask.

It should chart the main plot, but shouldn’t outline it. It should entice the reader, but should not be marketing. It must give a feel for the book, but not mention its themes. Got it.

One of the many posts I read on The Synopsis proclaimed “it shouldn’t take long”. They were clearly talking about how many words it should be and not how long it takes to write one. Because after six hours of working on it, my synopsis is 820 words.

I know there’s only one way out of this miserable, one-horse town, and it’s straight down Compression Street.

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So begins Day One of my journey down Traditional Publishing Road.

The day has consisted of gathering names and profiles of agents and agents and more agents.

Fortunately, there is the internet.

Also fortunately, agents need writers, so they’re not too hard to find. Weeding through them and finding the ones that are A.) a good match, and B.) simply good, is a different beast altogether.

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