So I’ve been thinking a lot about rejection – it sure is the staple of this business. The more I thought about it, the more I kept realizing that I reject about 99% of the queries that cross my desk for pretty similar, pretty familiar reasons. I’m just one guy, of course – I know for example that Paige, who does a lot more commercial fiction than I do, uses slightly different standards – so take these comments with a grain of salt and know that they simply might not apply to your type of work. But they may help, as you struggle to navigate the dark waters of literary agents and publishers.
Jeff’s Rules of Rejection
Part 1: Reasons for Rejection
The following are some general coordinates on why I step aside instead of asking to represent a book project.
Category 1: The “Easy No’s.”
1. Not an area I represent. The easiest reject of all – the one that requires absolutely no thought on my part – is the letter that hits my desk asking me to represent stuff that I’ve never represented, never had an interest in representing, and have no interest in representing in the future. I know that writers may have a tough time figuring out what kind of material falls into this category, but spend a few minutes and research whether the agent’s listed somewhere what s/he simply doesn’t want to represent.
These kinds of easy-no’s fall into two categories: a “no” because it’s outside the publishing area the agent represents; and a “no” because it deals with subject matter the agent doesn’t want to represent.
(a) In the publishing area, all agents have certain strengths and weaknesses – stuff they know how to sell, and stuff they simply have no clue about. I know that I, personally, have no clue about children’s books, for example. Never have, probably never will. (I did sell Chip Shields’ YA biography of Harper Lee, I confess – but that’s because I represented his adult biography, Mockingbird. It’s not a genre otherwise that I’ll ever have much to do with.) Ditto romances – I’ve never read one, and am not going to start now. Murder mysteries make me run the other direction. Westerns don’t resonate. I just don’t read these kinds of books, don’t know what’s current on the shelves, don’t know the editors who do these of things, don’t know the criteria for what a good one would like. In short, I don’t want to represent them.
(b) The second kind of project that I know that I don’t want to represent can be defined more by its subject matter. Some types of projects which otherwise might be up my alley are, for other reasons, projects that I wouldn’t want to take on. Some agents may actually tell you this kind of stuff; others don’t – so, again, it may be harder to figure out. I make it really clear on my website, for example, that I don’t do books with children in peril (kidnapped, murdered, victimized, and so forth). It gives me the willies to read about little kids being killed or seriously hurt. I have a young kid myself, and the very idea of having to contemplate that kind of a scenario puts me in an absolute tailspin. Does this mean that books with children in peril are completely unpublishable? Ask Alice Sebold, author of The Lovely Bones (narrated by a dead girl) – the book was a runaway bestseller. Does it mean that I read The Lovely Bones? I confess that I tried – I wanted to see what the fuss was all about – and I got to the point where the killer was going to murder the girl and I literally (I’m not kidding) threw the book out of the window because I didn’t want it in the house with me. It’s a gorgeously written book, but the subject matter is not the kind of subject matter that I’m comfortable handling. Period. Despite my clear instructions in every place where people ask me what I do and don’t represent, I’m still flabbergasted when I get letters along the lines of: “Dear Jeff, I wrote a book in which a young girl was raped, and I know you don’t handle that kind of thing, but I wanted to write you anyway because it’s a great book” – and all I can think of is yuck, and how quickly can I pass on this one.
2. Signs of a problem author. The next category that’s an easy No is the author who has already indicated, in his first contact with me, that he’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth dealing with. Agents can often sense this group a mile away. “Dear Agent,” these letters often begin (and most of them do begin just that – “Dear Agent” – no name, no company name, as if we were all interchangeable widgets), “I have sent my query to 50 agents and none of you have had the decency to respond” – or “Dear Agent, no one will publish my work,” or “Dear Agent, I’m living in a houseboat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and I only have access to email every third Thursday” – or “Dear Agent, I’m sending this to you via email because I’m broke and can’t afford the cost of paper” – all of these are indications that it’s going to be difficult to work with the author. Sometimes authors are such fabulous writers, or have such an amazing story that we take the chance; but very many other times we just steer clear because it doesn’t seem worth the effort. So do yourself a favor – no matter how many times you’ve been rejected (we’ll get to that below), don’t come across as belligerent, or clueless, or desperate. Sound confident and comfortable – quickly and succinctly tell me about you and your work, and when you’ve done that, stop.
3. Projects that defy conventions. Sometimes books just can’t be categorized easily. The book itself may be amazing, but I just wouldn’t know how to sell it. I recently saw a wonderfully written memoir that needed, for a variety of very valid reasons, a great many gorgeous color photographs in each chapter to illustrate the author’s points. Is this a photo book? A memoir? Both? I didn’t know, and didn’t know what publishers would work on something like that, so there was no question that I’d have to step aside on it. If your book is that kind of a project, do yourself a favor and go to your local bookstore and try to find a book on the shelf like yours – if you can’t, if there’s nothing that comes close, you may be barking up the wrong tree to be talking to literary agents and standard commercial presses: we just don’t know how to publish and market your kind of book. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other specialty or regional presses available to you, though – it just may take some digging to figure out what those presses are..
Category 2: The “Easy No’s” That Are Harder To Explain Why They’re “Easy No’s.”
Often I take one look at a project and think, “Nope, not for me,” but if I were asked to explain why, it may be a bit tougher. So bear with me if what I’m saying now makes less sense.
4. Writing not strong enough. Hands down, this is the most common reason I don’t take the project on. The writing is, or may be, serviceable and solid – but it just may not dazzle me enough. Stilted dialogue, too much backstory, wooden and unbelievable characters – all that kind of stuff – is usually the reason I don’t take the project on. Does this mean that you’re a terrible writer? Maybe, but maybe you’ve just sent the project out a little too early – it’s just not ready to go, yet. You still have to build up those writer muscles – develop that ear for dialogue, say, or learn the delicate balance in trying to tell a forward-moving story while still giving the reader enough background to orient himself. I’ll talk a bit more about this below, in Part 2, so don’t think you’re done hearing me whine about the writing.
5. Premise not compelling enough. This is a fairly tricky one, I confess, and so much of it depends on your (the writer’s) own salesmanship. I know the kind of books that I represent all tend to have a couple of things in common – when I (briefly) tell someone (an editor, another agent, a friend, whoever) about the project, I usually elicit a “wow” from them, or an intrigued look, and many interested follow-up questions. That “wow” factor can’t be manufactured, and to me it’s a very good indication that it’s the kind of project I represent. If I read a coverletter someone sends in, or hear someone tell me about their project at a writer’s conference, and I don’t feel that kind of a “wow” response, that’s one indication that the book isn’t quite up my alley. Of course what’s “wow” to one person is “ho-hum” to another – but do yourself a favor and learn to talk about your project, or write a project, that engenders that kind of a response, especially if you’re writing fiction.
6. Grammatical errors. I might not pass on your book just because of a misplaced comma or two, but it is certainly something I notice immediately – and several grammatical or punctuation errors – especially in your cover letter – might be easily be enough to tip the balance away from wanting to read more. So be careful that your commas, apostrophes, and semi-colons are properly used, for example.
7. How I’m contacted. Although the contact method itself may not completely turn me off, I do know that it’s a reason that many of my colleagues reject a manuscript, so it’s worth discussing this in some detail.
a. Wrong method. Some agents only accept email submissions; some only want a hardcopy; others prefer the contact to come via donkeyback, or stork, or with balloons and chocolate attached. Spend a few minutes and figure out how best to approach the agent – it’s not impossible to figure out. We’re pretty good at spelling this kind of thing out clearly. If we prefer to see a hardcopy with 50 pages and a synopsis, send, via snailmail, a hardcopy with 50 pages and a synopsis and a SASE for your reply. If we prefer to see an email with no attachments, don’t attach your manuscript. Just follow the instructions. Why is this so important? Well, for me it’s a little like #2, above – signs of a problem author. If we’re dealing with someone who can’t follow direction, what will happen when I turn her loose to deal with a publishing house? The editor says please respond by X time, or the publicist says please do the following interview in the following way – and what if I’m dealing with an iconoclast who will make the publishing house miserable, so they all start calling and yelling at me? Moral of the story: submit the material in the manner that the agent’s already outlined. If the agent doesn’t have any clear guidelines, then a simple letter, SASE, and the first handful of pages of your manuscript might suffice.
b. How I’m addressed. I don’t know where you went to high school, but where I went, my teacher drummed into me that the proper way of opening business correspondence is: “Dear [Title] [Last Name]:”. So, in my case, it’d be, “Dear Mr. Kleinman:”. Not “Dear Jeff Kleinman” or “Dear Jeff” or “Good morning Mr. Kleinman!” or “Sirs:” or “Dear Sir or Madam”. That same high school teacher also taught me that it’s proper to use a colon (:) at the end of the line, rather than a comma (,), because commas are used for personal rather than business correspondence, but I understand that rule has relaxed in the past few years, so I’m trying to overlook the commas. In any case, the point is – get the agent’s name right; spell it right; address it to someone personally, and make it appear that you actually wanted to write to that agent, and not just to a name you got out of a book (or copied off the bathroom wall).
Category 3: The Pause & Think Abouts.
This category has a lot of overlap with Category 2, so no yelling at me if I seem to repeat myself.
8. Genre tough to break into. Certain genres, for me, are hard to publish into – self-help editors, for example, seems to be looking for an author with a really enormous national platform, since the new author may be going head-to-head with Dr. Phil, for example. Prescriptive travel editors (like Fodor’s) seem to already have their publishing program planned out, and books assigned. Dating and relationship books also look for the megaplatform author who also has a new/surprising/different concept – which sure ain’t easy to come up with, although people do, from time to time (a la He’s Just Not That Into You). It may be quite difficult for you to figure out if your book fits into that niche, so spend a few moments perusing the shelves of your local bookstore – if you’re a first-time author, for example, see if the shelf has other first-time authors sitting there, and try to determine what those authors’ credentials are.
9. Genre unclear. Sometimes I’m not sure, when I’ve done reading the author’s cover letter, where the book will fit on the shelf. Example: the memoir / photography book I mentioned above. Sometimes novels are paranormal / suspense / mystery / historical / religious. Sometimes they’re business / New Age. Go back to your bookstore and make sure there’s a clear, identifiable place on the shelf for your book, and be sure, in the coverletter, to tell me what it is. You may have a book that fits in a genre but it’s a genre that’s tough to break into – a western masquerading as a mystery, for example. Sometimes it is hard to tell, I grant you that; but try to realistically assess where your book fits. It won’t work to try to trick an agent into thinking it’s a mystery, only to get to page 30 and discover it’s a western – the book needs to be true to what it is; but whether what it is is saleable is an entirely different matter.
10. Smallness versus bigness. This category is much the same as the “not compelling premise” I talked about a second ago. Sometimes I read a book and like it a lot, but I don’t feel that a publisher will be able to sell enough copies to really be able to make a splash. Something about that project reads “small” – and I don’t know any other way of putting it than that. It’s a book that I could imagine getting lost on the shelf because not enough people will be talking about it, reviewing it, reading it, to get it off the shelf and into people’s lives. This, though, is a complete judgment call, so there’s little you can do – except write a gorgeously written book with an “oh wow” premise, of course.
11. Grabbability. I’ve talked about this in previous months, so I won’t belabor the point here, but many books just don’t grab me the way I wanted them to. They may be OK, but they didn’t keep me perched on the edge of my seat, or staying up all night devouring them. Obviously this, too, is a judgment call, but it’s certainly one of the most common reasons that I don’t take on a new project.
Phew. Enough harping on misery. So you’ve gotten the rejects, or maybe you’re just going out with your project and want to emotionally prepare yourself for them – the question is, what to do about ‘em? What can the rejection letters tell you? I’ll tell you next month!
Jeff’s Rules of Rejection
Part 1: Reasons for Rejection
The following are some general coordinates on why I step aside instead of asking to represent a book project.
Category 1: The “Easy No’s.”
1. Not an area I represent. The easiest reject of all – the one that requires absolutely no thought on my part – is the letter that hits my desk asking me to represent stuff that I’ve never represented, never had an interest in representing, and have no interest in representing in the future. I know that writers may have a tough time figuring out what kind of material falls into this category, but spend a few minutes and research whether the agent’s listed somewhere what s/he simply doesn’t want to represent.
These kinds of easy-no’s fall into two categories: a “no” because it’s outside the publishing area the agent represents; and a “no” because it deals with subject matter the agent doesn’t want to represent.
(a) In the publishing area, all agents have certain strengths and weaknesses – stuff they know how to sell, and stuff they simply have no clue about. I know that I, personally, have no clue about children’s books, for example. Never have, probably never will. (I did sell Chip Shields’ YA biography of Harper Lee, I confess – but that’s because I represented his adult biography, Mockingbird. It’s not a genre otherwise that I’ll ever have much to do with.) Ditto romances – I’ve never read one, and am not going to start now. Murder mysteries make me run the other direction. Westerns don’t resonate. I just don’t read these kinds of books, don’t know what’s current on the shelves, don’t know the editors who do these of things, don’t know the criteria for what a good one would like. In short, I don’t want to represent them.
(b) The second kind of project that I know that I don’t want to represent can be defined more by its subject matter. Some types of projects which otherwise might be up my alley are, for other reasons, projects that I wouldn’t want to take on. Some agents may actually tell you this kind of stuff; others don’t – so, again, it may be harder to figure out. I make it really clear on my website, for example, that I don’t do books with children in peril (kidnapped, murdered, victimized, and so forth). It gives me the willies to read about little kids being killed or seriously hurt. I have a young kid myself, and the very idea of having to contemplate that kind of a scenario puts me in an absolute tailspin. Does this mean that books with children in peril are completely unpublishable? Ask Alice Sebold, author of The Lovely Bones (narrated by a dead girl) – the book was a runaway bestseller. Does it mean that I read The Lovely Bones? I confess that I tried – I wanted to see what the fuss was all about – and I got to the point where the killer was going to murder the girl and I literally (I’m not kidding) threw the book out of the window because I didn’t want it in the house with me. It’s a gorgeously written book, but the subject matter is not the kind of subject matter that I’m comfortable handling. Period. Despite my clear instructions in every place where people ask me what I do and don’t represent, I’m still flabbergasted when I get letters along the lines of: “Dear Jeff, I wrote a book in which a young girl was raped, and I know you don’t handle that kind of thing, but I wanted to write you anyway because it’s a great book” – and all I can think of is yuck, and how quickly can I pass on this one.
2. Signs of a problem author. The next category that’s an easy No is the author who has already indicated, in his first contact with me, that he’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth dealing with. Agents can often sense this group a mile away. “Dear Agent,” these letters often begin (and most of them do begin just that – “Dear Agent” – no name, no company name, as if we were all interchangeable widgets), “I have sent my query to 50 agents and none of you have had the decency to respond” – or “Dear Agent, no one will publish my work,” or “Dear Agent, I’m living in a houseboat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and I only have access to email every third Thursday” – or “Dear Agent, I’m sending this to you via email because I’m broke and can’t afford the cost of paper” – all of these are indications that it’s going to be difficult to work with the author. Sometimes authors are such fabulous writers, or have such an amazing story that we take the chance; but very many other times we just steer clear because it doesn’t seem worth the effort. So do yourself a favor – no matter how many times you’ve been rejected (we’ll get to that below), don’t come across as belligerent, or clueless, or desperate. Sound confident and comfortable – quickly and succinctly tell me about you and your work, and when you’ve done that, stop.
3. Projects that defy conventions. Sometimes books just can’t be categorized easily. The book itself may be amazing, but I just wouldn’t know how to sell it. I recently saw a wonderfully written memoir that needed, for a variety of very valid reasons, a great many gorgeous color photographs in each chapter to illustrate the author’s points. Is this a photo book? A memoir? Both? I didn’t know, and didn’t know what publishers would work on something like that, so there was no question that I’d have to step aside on it. If your book is that kind of a project, do yourself a favor and go to your local bookstore and try to find a book on the shelf like yours – if you can’t, if there’s nothing that comes close, you may be barking up the wrong tree to be talking to literary agents and standard commercial presses: we just don’t know how to publish and market your kind of book. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other specialty or regional presses available to you, though – it just may take some digging to figure out what those presses are..
Category 2: The “Easy No’s” That Are Harder To Explain Why They’re “Easy No’s.”
Often I take one look at a project and think, “Nope, not for me,” but if I were asked to explain why, it may be a bit tougher. So bear with me if what I’m saying now makes less sense.
4. Writing not strong enough. Hands down, this is the most common reason I don’t take the project on. The writing is, or may be, serviceable and solid – but it just may not dazzle me enough. Stilted dialogue, too much backstory, wooden and unbelievable characters – all that kind of stuff – is usually the reason I don’t take the project on. Does this mean that you’re a terrible writer? Maybe, but maybe you’ve just sent the project out a little too early – it’s just not ready to go, yet. You still have to build up those writer muscles – develop that ear for dialogue, say, or learn the delicate balance in trying to tell a forward-moving story while still giving the reader enough background to orient himself. I’ll talk a bit more about this below, in Part 2, so don’t think you’re done hearing me whine about the writing.
5. Premise not compelling enough. This is a fairly tricky one, I confess, and so much of it depends on your (the writer’s) own salesmanship. I know the kind of books that I represent all tend to have a couple of things in common – when I (briefly) tell someone (an editor, another agent, a friend, whoever) about the project, I usually elicit a “wow” from them, or an intrigued look, and many interested follow-up questions. That “wow” factor can’t be manufactured, and to me it’s a very good indication that it’s the kind of project I represent. If I read a coverletter someone sends in, or hear someone tell me about their project at a writer’s conference, and I don’t feel that kind of a “wow” response, that’s one indication that the book isn’t quite up my alley. Of course what’s “wow” to one person is “ho-hum” to another – but do yourself a favor and learn to talk about your project, or write a project, that engenders that kind of a response, especially if you’re writing fiction.
6. Grammatical errors. I might not pass on your book just because of a misplaced comma or two, but it is certainly something I notice immediately – and several grammatical or punctuation errors – especially in your cover letter – might be easily be enough to tip the balance away from wanting to read more. So be careful that your commas, apostrophes, and semi-colons are properly used, for example.
7. How I’m contacted. Although the contact method itself may not completely turn me off, I do know that it’s a reason that many of my colleagues reject a manuscript, so it’s worth discussing this in some detail.
a. Wrong method. Some agents only accept email submissions; some only want a hardcopy; others prefer the contact to come via donkeyback, or stork, or with balloons and chocolate attached. Spend a few minutes and figure out how best to approach the agent – it’s not impossible to figure out. We’re pretty good at spelling this kind of thing out clearly. If we prefer to see a hardcopy with 50 pages and a synopsis, send, via snailmail, a hardcopy with 50 pages and a synopsis and a SASE for your reply. If we prefer to see an email with no attachments, don’t attach your manuscript. Just follow the instructions. Why is this so important? Well, for me it’s a little like #2, above – signs of a problem author. If we’re dealing with someone who can’t follow direction, what will happen when I turn her loose to deal with a publishing house? The editor says please respond by X time, or the publicist says please do the following interview in the following way – and what if I’m dealing with an iconoclast who will make the publishing house miserable, so they all start calling and yelling at me? Moral of the story: submit the material in the manner that the agent’s already outlined. If the agent doesn’t have any clear guidelines, then a simple letter, SASE, and the first handful of pages of your manuscript might suffice.
b. How I’m addressed. I don’t know where you went to high school, but where I went, my teacher drummed into me that the proper way of opening business correspondence is: “Dear [Title] [Last Name]:”. So, in my case, it’d be, “Dear Mr. Kleinman:”. Not “Dear Jeff Kleinman” or “Dear Jeff” or “Good morning Mr. Kleinman!” or “Sirs:” or “Dear Sir or Madam”. That same high school teacher also taught me that it’s proper to use a colon (:) at the end of the line, rather than a comma (,), because commas are used for personal rather than business correspondence, but I understand that rule has relaxed in the past few years, so I’m trying to overlook the commas. In any case, the point is – get the agent’s name right; spell it right; address it to someone personally, and make it appear that you actually wanted to write to that agent, and not just to a name you got out of a book (or copied off the bathroom wall).
Category 3: The Pause & Think Abouts.
This category has a lot of overlap with Category 2, so no yelling at me if I seem to repeat myself.
8. Genre tough to break into. Certain genres, for me, are hard to publish into – self-help editors, for example, seems to be looking for an author with a really enormous national platform, since the new author may be going head-to-head with Dr. Phil, for example. Prescriptive travel editors (like Fodor’s) seem to already have their publishing program planned out, and books assigned. Dating and relationship books also look for the megaplatform author who also has a new/surprising/different concept – which sure ain’t easy to come up with, although people do, from time to time (a la He’s Just Not That Into You). It may be quite difficult for you to figure out if your book fits into that niche, so spend a few moments perusing the shelves of your local bookstore – if you’re a first-time author, for example, see if the shelf has other first-time authors sitting there, and try to determine what those authors’ credentials are.
9. Genre unclear. Sometimes I’m not sure, when I’ve done reading the author’s cover letter, where the book will fit on the shelf. Example: the memoir / photography book I mentioned above. Sometimes novels are paranormal / suspense / mystery / historical / religious. Sometimes they’re business / New Age. Go back to your bookstore and make sure there’s a clear, identifiable place on the shelf for your book, and be sure, in the coverletter, to tell me what it is. You may have a book that fits in a genre but it’s a genre that’s tough to break into – a western masquerading as a mystery, for example. Sometimes it is hard to tell, I grant you that; but try to realistically assess where your book fits. It won’t work to try to trick an agent into thinking it’s a mystery, only to get to page 30 and discover it’s a western – the book needs to be true to what it is; but whether what it is is saleable is an entirely different matter.
10. Smallness versus bigness. This category is much the same as the “not compelling premise” I talked about a second ago. Sometimes I read a book and like it a lot, but I don’t feel that a publisher will be able to sell enough copies to really be able to make a splash. Something about that project reads “small” – and I don’t know any other way of putting it than that. It’s a book that I could imagine getting lost on the shelf because not enough people will be talking about it, reviewing it, reading it, to get it off the shelf and into people’s lives. This, though, is a complete judgment call, so there’s little you can do – except write a gorgeously written book with an “oh wow” premise, of course.
11. Grabbability. I’ve talked about this in previous months, so I won’t belabor the point here, but many books just don’t grab me the way I wanted them to. They may be OK, but they didn’t keep me perched on the edge of my seat, or staying up all night devouring them. Obviously this, too, is a judgment call, but it’s certainly one of the most common reasons that I don’t take on a new project.
Phew. Enough harping on misery. So you’ve gotten the rejects, or maybe you’re just going out with your project and want to emotionally prepare yourself for them – the question is, what to do about ‘em? What can the rejection letters tell you? I’ll tell you next month!