Angling for literary agents

Readers will know this blog exists to support a nonfiction book project, working title Potomac Creek: A Natural History of Life -- On Its Own Terms.  As an academic I've published many things, but trade publishing is a completely new animal to me.  

Blue heron nests 

So I've read (and skimmed) a lot lately about the dos and donts of getting a book deal. One book I looked at -- I  fell asleep and can't remember which one -- suggests blogging about your efforts. The idea is that some people may find how you got your book published an interesting topic in itself. 

I don't know if this is true. I certainly don't have a book deal yet. But I have landed a very respected literary agent, and that's an important first step. So here's hoping this post is useful and becomes the first in a series. (Feel free to offer feedback in "comments.") 

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In the last year or so I've penned a few sample book chapters and placed bits of them in journals and magazines. You can see examples here and here, with another coming soon here. I've also ponged about on social media trying to puff up my "platform" -- a marketing term for a pool of potential book readers (or, more accurately, book buyers). There seems to be some debate about a nonfiction writer's true need for a platform, but no debate about its desirability, so I figured why not do what I can? And I joined twitter just as it became Musk's plaything. What a mess. 

Finally, I decided that this summer -- 2023 -- was the right time to try to recruit a literary agent. Why? Because writing may be an art or vocation but publishing is a business, and agents guide writers on how to fashion marketable book proposals. They also serve as knowledgeable intermediaries with the editors of trade publishers. A good agent will persuade a publisher your manuscript has readers-in-waiting. The agent's reward is a cut of the paid advance and any royalties from the publisher. At least, that's how I understand the bidness at this early stage.

Blue heron feather

So, I typed up the required query letter and prepared some supporting documents, like a book proposal of about 15 pages, and a brief bio. I also proofread my sample chapters. That took about a week. I then stayed up late at night, firing these materials at dozens of agents I'd identified through the online service QueryTracker. I prioritized agents who were 1) open to queries at this time, and 2) for the most part, expressed interest in nature and environment-oriented non-fiction. That latter bit took time because there are hundreds of agents out there, and the great majority seem to focus on fiction, especially romance, sci-fi, and fantasy. (Actually, experts suggest sending fewer queries than I did, too. They recommend separating them instead into small waves of five or six. But summer is my most flexible time, and the clock was ticking.) 

The querying process is cumbersome. Some agents want materials submitted via online forms, some via email. Each wants something slightly different. One agent will ask for a book synopsis that's separate from the proposal. Many require a elevator-style book "pitch," specifying it should be one-sentence, two-sentences, or one-paragraph long.  Some want documents to be single spaced, others double spaced. Materially, the differences are small -- even trivial -- but from the submitter's perspective time-consuming and annoying. Lots of cutting-and-pasting. Agents who asked for submissions via snail mail were dead to me. Their websites, if they had one, were always primordial. I surmised these agents were accomplished but nearing the end of their careers. Perhaps that's unfair. But there certainly is no shortage of comparatively younger agents with smiling online bios who shout their eagerness to rep your work if it's strong enough and you just submit materials online the way they want.

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From there, querying resembled fishing -- something I'm far more familiar with. "How to" columns told me the process of hearing back from literary agents (yea or nay) requires Job-like patience, taking many weeks or even months. Some agents will never reply to author queries due to the high volume of submissions. This is especially the case for schmucks like me who aren't connected to someone the agent already knows. Our underprivileged queries enter the voluminous "slush pile," a charming, wintry reminder that publishing remains a New York-centered business. I figured querying is like casting a line into a very large and unfamiliar lake. I just hoped my "hook" was sharp, and bait smelly enough, to attract a bite or two. 

Blue heron feather

Something went right. Within a few days I got my first bite reply -- from an agent who liked what she'd read, and would be happy to talk when she got back from a short trip. (Judging by agency websites, about 90% of literary agents are female).  In following days I began receiving requests from other agents asking to see more (a full proposal if I'd only sent a query letter before, or sample chapters if I'd already sent the proposal). Within three weeks I'd also collected a number of polite rejections. Some of these came with useful suggestions -- the agents who took time to do this are buttons on the cap of human kindness, even if their suggestions sometimes contradict. But I also had my first offer of representation, and from a well-know agency to boot! I was elated to know that someone with an office in distant New York City saw merit in my musings on swampy, mosquito-infested Potomac Creek. I ran to an author friend for advice on what to do next. 

I quickly informed the agents I'd queried of that initial offer, an act that -- at least in some cases -- seemed to move me out of their slush piles. When one fish takes a nibble, others show more interest. This yielded a couple more phone calls and a zoom meeting. New offers of representation appeared. Within about five weeks of querying I had signed with an experienced and respected literary agent. Honestly, I felt sad and not a little uncertain saying "no" to the others because I liked them and they had offered some really good ideas. The Godfather may say "its strictly business," but it didn't feel that way. It's a people business, too. To any agents reading this: Your online photo matters, at least to writers like me. 

As predicted, about half the agents I queried still hadn't responded by the time I formally withdrew from consideration by any other agents. No harm, no foul. Most fish never even see my lure.

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In short, and risking the ire of fellow queriers, my process of acquiring a literary agent was demanding but not terribly stressful. I know for certain that I did not write a brilliant book proposal -- there are just too many things I still don't understand about commercial publishing to have done that. For example, I struggled to pen a synopsis. Trumpeting one's (modest, in my case) platform seemed kind of shallow and obnoxious, too. And the requirement to list, describe, and place my work amongst comparable titles -- "comps" -- befuddled me. I just visited Barnes and Noble and jotted down recent titles from what seemed to be the most appropriate shelf. I researched those I didn't know from before, but who has time to read them all? Furthermore, while one is advised to select comps from recent titles, my heroes in the genre are stalwarts who published their best books -- those that truly inspired me, and which I'd most like to emulate -- years ago.

Given these uncertainties, I attribute my querying success to a few factors.  First, when possible, I identified agents who seemed likely to want the sort of book I'm offering. Those were the agents who responded the quickest (or at all). Second, as an academic I've composed a number of highly structured grant proposals that proved persuasive enough to get funding. That writing experience helped. Third, timing was my friend. Our problematic relationship with nature and the environment is on the public mind right now (not that many people seem inclined to do much about it), so it's not too hard to make the case that there's general interest in the themes I want to write about -- although I did worry there may be a glut of such books. Finally, my Potomac Creek stories offer a distinctive voice: that of a member of an immigrant family that settled in a rural place and became part of its complex human and natural history. I highlighted this element of my proposal. Agent bios routinely declare their desire to support diverse and new perspectives. I gambled: Who wouldn't be curious about a fellow with a name like mine who plays old-time fiddle?  

Blue heron feather (all photos by R. Singh)

None of that means the book I write will be any good. But it could be good. 

What comes next? While grateful and optimistic, I don't really know. 

But I'm no longer fiddling alone.