In a flurry of unaccustomed, industrious zeal, during the week we’d had to make an unplanned return from the warmer, sunnier parts of Europe, I threw myself into yet another round of submissions of my first novel to still more literary agents. This burst of activity was, in part to justify and ‘make the best’ of the precipitate return to [then] chilly England and also because the next three submissions were, according to my schedule, due.
I admit I’ve been dogged and inflexible about following this agenda. In the Bible that is ‘The Writer’s and Artist’s Yearbook’ there is no shortage of advice on finding, selecting and submitting to an agent, however now that I’m past the six month mark the selecting part has become more a case of ‘anyone who accepts new writers’ manuscripts’…and rather than choosing on the basis of their current author stable or the genre, I’m using alphabetical order as a guide.
Literary agents’ websites vary from the pretentious to the austere and from the unapproachable and superior to the fluffy and avuncular. They rightly proclaim their discoveries and their successes, include lists of the prizes their authors have won, the bestsellers, the smiling debut novelists. ‘Come on in’ they say, beckoning encouragement or almost daring the fragile, amoebic beginner to send something. Many still demand postal entry for submission, requiring endless printing out on quality paper, no staples, single sided, double spaced, this, that and the other-plus a mint of postage and don’t forget the self-addressed envelope for the return [that is, if they agree to return it-a number candidly admit to shredding.]
There is no conformity of requirements for submissions. They want the first 3 chapters, a single page synopsis, a letter of introduction and a CV; or they want the first 50 pages, a letter outlining the story and some personal history, or they want a chapter outline, a 500 word synopsis and a CV. Each submission means beginning all over again with preparation. It may not be such a bad thing. Perhaps it weeds out those whose belief in their work is not absolute? Much is said and written about the tolerance of the would-be writer to rejection, but I’d say it is the absolute lack of any kind of response that is demoralising. A few weeks ago I received an email from an agent I’d submitted to last October, kindly saying the work could not be accepted at this time and apologising for the delayed response, a missive which did almost feel a little encouraging, in the face of so much ignorance.
Many agents are cashing in on the rush of aspiring authors by offering various courses, although according to an item I heard on a radio consumer programme, many are cynical exercises in generating revenue, rather than attempts to improve the standard of the great ‘unpublished’. One agent was quoted as rubbing his hands with glee at the prospect of ‘lots of lovely money and they haven’t got a clue’.
I will soon be coming to the end of my schedule of submissions, then I shall be doing what countless other amateur writers have done, ie self-publishing. In the meantime I press on with novel 2; after all, Iain Banks apparently penned a whole 6 tomes before getting one published. And if E L James can get lucky with an e-novel, I’m bloomin’ sure mine can make it!