The Day I Stopped Querying

I thought reaching this point would feel like failure, but all I felt was free.

I spent three years in the query trenches, hellbent on landing a literary agent for my book. For much of it, I wasn’t part of a writerly community (didn’t think I qualified), told no one (seemed easier should I fail), and knew no authors IRL. I did have loose impressions as a reader, Google searches with zero context, and a relentless determination to publish the manuscript that had my heart—and hence, my approach was rooted in two beliefs:

1. There are “Big 5-Published Books” (vouched for by an agent), there are “Self-Published Books” (vary widely in quality), and there’s no in-between.

2. If you haven’t reached your goal, all you have to do is keep working harder.

So there I was, slogging away over the query letter, the synopsis, the godforsaken comp titles. Agonizing for hours upon months turned years of my life over a logline. Conducting deep dives on every prospective agent, studying Manuscript Wish Lists like some literary Santa Claus. Running searches on books they repped, how much they sold them for, to which editors. Abusing my eyeballs scouring for nuggets that might establish some personal connection, a “way in” that would stand out.

I obsessed over minutia (fonts! spacing!). I tripled-checked the submission requirements, each hoop feeling purposefully placed for me to trip over. Hitting Submit left me exposed to a stirrups-in-the-exam-room degree (yeah, THAT gross).

For all my meticulous preparation, I still got it all wrong. I queried too early, believing my manuscript ready. I burned through half my agent list using unhelpful comps, a description that revealed nothing of what the book was actually about, and a synopsis that was too detailed.

The rejections were devastating. (Real Writer = Agented Writer, Good Book = Big 5 Book, remember?) I was a reject in the parking lot, unable to land a date for the Big Dance.

But it was fine. Keep working harder and eventually you hit the goal, right?

I hired a developmental editor, in case it was the pages. (It was definitely the pages.) I did a massive rewrite, a few trillion more passes, sought professional help with the query package. Next time out, I was hopeful—and sad; I’d drifted so far from the magic that drew me here in the first place.

I got requests for the full manuscript. They, too, ended in rejection (except those three I’m still waiting to hear back on…).

I had calls with a couple of agents and Big 5 publishers (not because they were interested, rather, they’d kindly donated query letter critiques in support of a good cause, and I still had some vacation payout left). Very lovely, very human people. Far less Old Testament God over Zoom than in my head. They shared a theory as to why all the rejections: the book is written from many points of view (read: nine), it’s a little bit of a lot of lanes, I was a totally unproven author, and all this taken together, it was difficult to imagine from my (overedited-to-death) query package it wasn’t a confused mess.

Read: nobody believes you pulled this off.

(Mind you, they said it way nicer than that.)

I set about making sure they weren’t right. I hired a second editor to work with me on the rewritten manuscript. When she assured me it wasn’t a confused mess, I ran the first 50 pages past another editor. Just to be sure.

Back into the trenches. The nos and no answers flowed on. Working harder was not getting me any closer to landing an agent. Still, I kept sending those queries.

More than one hundred and fifty queries.

I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t know another way forward, and I’d come way too far to turn back.

But all this had me feeling closer to a “real writer” and far less worried about hiding it. I worked up the nerve to join the most brilliant, beautiful tribe of writers, who understood exactly what I was going through.

They shared their insights and experiences.

I worked my way through their books: Big 5, self-published, and…everything in between??

Holy crap.

There’s more than one way into the dance.

I learned some already at the dance were as frustrated and stuck as I was. Huh? It never occurred to me landing an agent en route to a traditional deal was not, 100% of the time, the guaranteed fairy tale ending I’d glorified it to be.

What can I say? I simply didn’t know just how much I didn’t know.

Still, my old beliefs lingered. I confessed to a self-published author the fear behind my querying compulsion: if Big 5 doesn’t want my book, it mustn’t be good, though, right? How am I supposed to figure out if it’s any good?

The reply floored me:

Have you ever picked up a traditionally-published bestseller that you didn’t feel was good? YOU have to believe it’s good, then let readers decide if they agree.

Mind blown.

I recalled one of the publishers I’d spoken with saying there’s a thousand reasons why they might pass on a book, and “only a few have to do with the book.”

Deep down, I do believe my manuscript is good now. I’d never expect every reader to agree, but after all these years of Rejection-Revisions-Repeat, I know now that I’ve pulled off what I set out to do. What if I stopped loitering outside the gym doors, waiting, begging for someone—anyone!—to invite me to the dance?

What if I just…walked in and started dancing?

I wasn’t all wrong. Work harder, and you WILL reach your goal. Just be prepared for that goal to look different up close.

Three grueling years on my knees, and it takes about three seconds to understand I’ve sent my last query. I close my QueryTracker account, cancel my subscription to Publisher’s Marketplace, delete everything #ManuscriptWishList from my bookmarks. I wipe my feeds of all the agents whose every post I’d gotten so used to hanging off of. And as I do, an invisible boulder is lifted from my windpipe.

All along I’d imagined reaching this point would feel like failure. All I feel is free.

I send to small and hybrid presses (no agent required). I receive multiple offers, sign a publishing contract within a month. I’m going to the dance. Not with a date, not solo. I guess you could say I’m going with friends.

I’m over the moon—and I feel like the biggest idiot. I could have done this three years ago!

Except, of course, that’s not true.

I see now the rejections, the constantly improving the pages, the getting better informed, were me finding my way. Putting in the work. Gaining confidence in what was doing until I stopped needed anyone else to believe me, because I finally believed it myself.

To be clear: I don’t regret querying. I’m not saying don’t do it—if traditional publishing is even vaguely appealing to you, you should. For all the work that goes into a manuscript, you deserve to explore every option (to the extent you’re comfortable), if nothing else so you’re fully informed. Besides, offering your work for the scrutiny of agents forces you to tighten your pitch (required regardless), and excruciating as it is, it’s a cakewalk compared to sharing it with readers.

To be super duper clear: This is not me saying the dance sucks, or you’re wrong for wanting to go with a date, or even that it wouldn’t have been nice to be asked.

All I’m saying is, if you want to go, then you shouldn’t miss it for anything.

I could’ve spent another three (thirty?) years waiting for someone to take a chance on me, but I’ve never regretted taking a chance on myself that day. They’re blasting Uptown Funk in here, and I can’t help busting moves.

Don’t believe me, just watch.