Psst. Hey, you. Yes, you. I’m talking to you. The aspiring author sitting there struggling over your query letter. The guy or gal wondering just how to approach an editor, an agent, whomever. The one trying to decide on business formality or sass, beautiful prose or wit, eye-catching originality or appreciable directness. The writer trying to figure out just the right way to walk up to this person who could hold the key to your career as a published author and say “hi.”

Well, hi.

No, seriously. It’s as simple as that. Just say hi.

Yes, you’ll need to tell me about your book. A little about yourself, too, though don’t overwhelm me. But really, just to start off with, say hi. Smile. Be polite, be friendly, and give me your message. It’s just like making friends.

And just like making friends, it requires a little tact.

Tact means not complaining about how you don’t like the submission format. Tact means not trash-talking other writers. Tact means not whining about how stupid you think the publisher or agent’s requirements are. Tact means not deriding the other agents and editors who rejected you. Tact means not proclaiming yourself the One True Savior who understands the truth of the publishing industry and will show us all the light of your genius.

Tact also means keeping your crazy quite firmly under your belt where I can’t see it.

You wouldn’t let it all hang out like that when making a new friend. Don’t let it hang out with me. There’s time enough to show me how quirky-awesome you are, when I know you well enough to appreciate it. On that first meeting, what I need to know is that you’re sane, you write well, your story engages me, and you’re capable of understanding the business aspect of this entire crazy machine.

So just say hi, and hope we hit it off well enough for your book and my editing schedule to be friends.

We won’t be friends. We can’t be. I can’t be your friend and do my job. I can’t worry about hurting your feelings when I’m chopping apart incorrect modifiers or urging you to drop the passive voice and use more active verbs. I can’t be your friend when trying to train you out of your little bad writing habits, even if I’m doing it in your best interests so your talent can shine through and showcase the good writing habits that made me love your story in the first place. I won’t be your friend, because friends can’t be honest with friends about their writing.

But we’ll be friendly. We’ll learn to love each other and hate each other–but more than that, we’ll learn to depend on each other through revisions and deadlines, galleys and proofs, cover art quibbles and panicked last-minute changes. We’ll learn each others’ senses of humor and share inside jokes swapped via tweets and MS Word comment boxes. We’ll tease each other about quirks, find out strange little things about each other, and know each other in ways that often, friends don’t. Writing reveals a lot about a person. So does editing. So do those moments at three o’clock in the morning, when we’re both ready to tear our hair out trying to fix that one last sentence before the book’s due in to production the next day.

And when your book releases I’ll share a drink with you in celebration, although I’ll never come to your kids’ birthday parties or help you shop for Christmas. I don’t care about photos of your dog in sunglasses or slideshows of your vacation to Redondo Beach, and please don’t tell me about your hot date last night or the guy you found your wife in bed with. I don’t want to know. I’d rather not picture you that way, and it’s really not my business.

So no, we won’t be friends. But we will be establishing a unique relationship that, if all goes well, could last for many years and through many books. You wouldn’t start a friendship by approaching a stranger and criticizing their choice of those shoes with those slacks. You wouldn’t walk up to someone in a bar and, without even saying hello, begin a spiel of negativity about every person who ever hurt you in the past.

So why would you start a relationship with an editor or agent by antagonizing them?

“Interesting” is a strange word, with so many positive and negative connotations in modern vernacular it’s a wonder anyone can be sure what you mean when you use it. It can mean fascinating, disturbing, intriguing, annoying, fantastic, or “oh god, the horror, the horror! Mine virgin eyes; what has been seen can never be unseen!” There’s also the Chinese context, my favorite proverb of “may you live in interesting times” – which basically boils down to a polite way of saying “I hope you die in a fire.”

Trust me when I say I’ve used it in all these contexts after nearly a month of digging through the Lyrical slush pile.

I’ve seen some great queries. Compelling writing, clear plot summaries, professional address and presentation. I’ve also seen sloppy, poorly-written queries, bland queries, queries that aren’t queries at all…and some delightful gems bordering on sheer cracked-out insanity. These wanderers off the beaten path have informed us of everything from their life stories to their sexual fetishes to the weight of their dogs’ testicles in precisely measured ounces, which is key to the accuracy of the were-sex in their paranormal romance. (The latter two are thankfully not linked. Um. I hope.)

What were these writers thinking? Sure, these facts are…interesting. Informative. Sometimes unique. But they’re also far too strange and intimate, and vastly off-topic from what your query letter should be about: your book, your previous publishing credentials (if any), and why you chose this publisher or this agent. I doubt anyone would feel their precious Rover’s harbls were an appropriate topic of discussion in an official letter to a business partner – so what’s the logic of mentioning it in a query?

To start with, let’s take a look at the erroneous assumption that your query is wholly private. It’s a special secret between you and the agent or publisher, a little locked diary entry with a single key that you share between you, making moon eyes at each other as you pass it back and forth and hold it to your pulsating hearts (which, naturally, beat as one when you love someone – thank you, this has been your 80s flashback for the day). You poured your heart into it, your soul, and included every quirky, offbeat detail that you hope will make you unique and endearing – no matter how inappropriate those details might be. And when the day’s done you’ve made a special connection, because of this private thing you’ve shared with that precious someone.

Wrong.

First off, it’s possible you’re sending your super special query to an intern who’ll take one look at it, make a face I won’t even try to describe, and toss it in the trash. Second, if it makes it to the agent or to your chosen contact at the publishing house, it’s quite possible they’ll pass it around to everyone else at the establishment. Not to be malicious, no, but for one of three reasons: 1. they’re interested in the project and want counsel from their peers, 2. they’re not interested but think someone else might be, or 3. you sent a query with pictures of cats doing the nasty as relevant to the theme of your supernatural shifter story, and they want to be sure everyone knows your name in case you come across their desks with a fresh pile of crazy.

Do they do this out of spite? No. But industry professionals do talk, they do look out for each other, and at the end of the day memorable queries do sometimes come up. “Memorable” is a word like “interesting;” it can mean something awesome, or it can mean you’ll go down in infamy as the Cat Smut Dog Harbls writer.

Recently literary agent Michelle Wolfson got dragged into a bit of intarwebz drama on Twitter. She posts #queryquotes as she reads queries, with 140 characters of insight into things that make her go “hmmm.” (And “ech.” And “what is this i don’t even.”) Although she makes sure the quotes are anonymous and removes any identifying details of the stories, this sparked an argument with a published author who felt she was demeaning writers for the sake of her own cruel amusement. Many writers, editors, and literary agents jumped to her defense (although it proved pointless; it’s hard to argue with someone who’s fencing with a Nerf bat yet is convinced he’s holding a rapier). They pointed out that #queryquotes is meant to be humorously helpful, not hurtful. Yet many detractors were less worried about what she said, and more worried that she posted excerpts publicly. Was Michelle violating writers’ privacy by publicly posting lines from their queries?

No. Not just no, but hell no.

Step back and look at this with a little perspective. You’ve written a book, and now you’re letting that little bugger out into the world. Fly, little pages, fly, and hope that one day you’ll be read and appreciated by thousands or even millions of people. When you’re actively seeking publicity, you have no right to privacy as far as those words are concerned. People will read your book, they’ll talk about it, they’ll quote you, and sometimes they’ll say not-so-nice things – and you can’t do a damned thing about it other than wear yourself out flailing about. You can’t even cite copyright law, as long as they’re only quoting a few lines. Fair use is a bitch when it’s used against you, but it’s still fair use.

Your query is an extension of your book. You’re sending it out into the woolly wild hoping to find that one person who’ll love it enough to launch your publishing career. If you aren’t prepared to have your query seen publicly, then you aren’t prepared to deal with the ups and downs of making a published book available to the widely diverse and highly opinionated world at large.

So here’s a rule of thumb when crafting a good query: if you’ve written something you’d be embarrassed to see on #queryquotes, read to your mother, or have flashed on the big screen during the Superbowl halftime show, stop and take a closer look at your query. Ask yourself why that section is embarrassing you, then delete it. Keep deleting until you have something you’d be proud to place on public display. Rover will thank you. So will all the agents and editors whose minds you saved from irreparable scarring via TMI.

Because if it’s too embarrassing to be seen by the general populace, it doesn’t have a place in your query.

So as I said in my last post, I’m now a traitor (if you ask Kerry, Michelle, Janet, and Jeffe, anyway – I see ya’ll over there). I’ve crossed over to the other side, and am now an editor for a small publisher. I not only work on refining accepted manuscripts, but also review submitted manuscripts waiting in the publisher’s slush pile. We’re always looking for great new manuscripts in the submissions pool, and it’s part of my job to throw in my two cents on acceptance or rejection.

That’s right, I said it. The R word. Dreaded, hateful, but inevitable, it’s something I’ve dealt with often enough from a writer’s perspective. It’s a little strange from the other side of the desk, and frankly it sheds an interesting light on the entire process when I think of sending my own books out to agents or publishers. When I look at my own work I now try to see it as another editor would, weighing its merits and seeking out its flaws with a more detached eye. Honestly, I think it would do most writers good to spend just a month reading through the slush pile at a publishing house or literary agency to really hone your critical perceptions.

But since not everyone can do that, I thought I’d share my first week of wading through the slush. Not to be cruel to the authors, or to embarrass them; any identifying specifics have been removed so not even the authors themselves could tell if any of these refer to them, and this is just a small sample from the overall submissions pool so it’s a bit of a roulette as far as which ones I chose. Despite a tendency towards overt honesty and tactless dissection, I don’t want to hurt or humiliate anyone; I’m just offering a glimpse of what goes through my head as I review, and an idea of what factors led to my final vote – not just the negative comments, but the positive ones as well.

The process:
For every submission I read the query, the synopsis, and the first and last chapters. Generally I can tell about halfway through the synopsis if a story’s just not for me, if it’s not right for the publisher (Lyrical publishes genre fiction, primarily with romantic or erotic themes), if it’s starting to fall apart, or if the story and writing suffer from problems that just can’t be blamed on the fact that synopses exist to torture authors, editors, and agents alike. Still, the chapter review gives them a chance to surprise me – to grip me so thoroughly I don’t want to put the story down. If the first and last chapters look solid and the synopsis offers hope of a well-constructed plot, I skim through the rest from beginning to end to look for major deal-breakers and mentally note any issues that could make me lean toward no, but aren’t killing it yet.

Only if it passes that trial do I stop and make the time for an in-depth read from beginning to end, in the hopes of saying yes.

I haven’t said yes yet – but here’s my commentary from ten instances where I had to say no.

The Rejections:

1. Interesting premise, but feels contrived and a bit unfinished; the synopsis indicates that some plot threads are closed off messily or simply as an afterthought when they’re no longer convenient. Writing is fairly solid in technical construction, but lacks style or an engaging voice. Could be workable, but would require a great deal of author/editor collaboration to tighten up the prose and give it a decent hook. As a whole, it didn’t really pull me in.

2. Bill Engvall calls himself “15 degrees off cool.” I love him anyway. This author’s story is 15 degrees off right, but I kind of like the idea anyway. It has promise, although I admit I was fairly lukewarm on the idea and probably would have skipped reading a sample if not for a good hook. The synopsis starts off strong, but doesn’t deliver on its promises; the plot seems to get lost with characters whose behavior erases any chance of empathizing with them. Looking through the first chapter, there’s a strong voice, good characterization, but very poor technical execution and sloppy prose (and some painful comma abuse), as well as a tendency to use words that aren’t quite what the author means. Overall it just doesn’t work, but I wish it did. The idea really interested me, but I think the author should have done some major paring, rewriting, and strengthening before submitting.

3. Keep wavering between hot and cold on this one. I love this genre, so that caught me…but just reading the quick outline made me say “And…? Is that all?” (Which could be a good thing or a bad thing, as it did leave me wanting more.) Unfortunately the synopsis did the same. Although it clears up some questions, it feels lacking in substance and impetus once it nears the end – as if the author got close to the end and said “screw it, let’s just be done with it.” Which is a shame, as I think the concept is strong enough to hold up when written well – although it is a little derivative and the conclusion seems to come too easily. The writing’s mechanical, but can be fixed with variations in structure. There’s a lot of potential, but there’s also a chance it’ll fizzle badly and require a lot of work, especially in the latter half.

4. It drew me, but something’s rather off about it. I couldn’t help but wonder why the author chose this perspective. I’m honestly not sure what to make of the style. It’s very literary and atmospheric, but suffers from poorly fleshed-out characters. I’m…puzzled by the story, to say the least. Very intrigued, yet at the same time a bit put off. It seems a bit stereotypical, and the main characters seem detached from from the conflict. And even though it’s interesting, I don’t think Lyrical’s the right market.

5. I’m already shaking my head before even opening the docs. Heavy, heavy, heavy. I love a weighty story with some good meat and a penchant for subtlety in conflict rather than outright slap-dash action, but this just takes it too far. It’s dry, very dry. Too much navel-gazing, not enough actual story. It’s too bad, because the prose is good, the voice strong, though it’s repetitive – and I think the author is a little shaky on perspective. Entirely not suited for Lyrical.

6. So derivative of other published novels that it borders on generic and wanders dangerously close to plagiarism. Plus the plot seems to peter out in the last third; an attempt to create tangled threads just makes a muddle that loses my interest. I rather enjoyed the writing style, though; it’s clear and fairly well-paced, and with editing could make for a tight, strong voice. I’d be willing to take a look at a more original revision.

7. Couldn’t get past the first page. The technical problems hinted at in the query and the synopsis just exploded in the story itself, along with a much larger dose of Mary Sue than I can generally handle. Too much backstory, and no appeal whatsoever. Might work for someone who really loves the concept, but it’s not for me.

8. Strong voice, compelling, an entertaining and funny homage to its genre. I haven’t had time to read through the whole thing so I can’t say for certain without a synopsis, but if the rest of the book lives up to the promise in the first and last few chapters I’d say yes – although there are some issues in the last few chapters that need clearing up, as this is another one that peters out towards the end. Too much exposition, not enough action, and the wrap-up is a bit inconclusive. Really would need to see the synopsis to give a solid stamp of approval.

(Note: yes, this is still a no. If I don’t see a synopsis to tell me there’s something worth reading in the meat of the book, I don’t have hours to spend digging to find out. Not everyone uses synopses, but when they’re the only thing standing between you and a full they’re evil, maddening little lifesavers. Sometimes I might be able to set aside time for a full read before a submission rotates out, but when I’ve got production schedule deadlines looming that won’t always be the case. I won’t always have time to give people the benefit of the doubt without the synopsis to justify the effort.)

9. The setup picked me up, gave me hope, then dropped me on my face. All this buildup to gloss over the central plot? Don’t do that to me; my fragile heart can’t handle it.

There are stereotypes that could easily alienate readers. The author can write, but can’t tell a story. There’s no plot here; just events. The symbolism is much too overwrought, a flimsy skeleton that can barely support a story that didn’t have much meat to start with. I’d pass.

10.Totally the wrong genre. MG or YA pitched as adult, when the voice and storyline aren’t even remotely suitable. The synopsis spatters events together with little connection, yet for such a busy story nothing of significance to the plot seems to happen very often. The writing takes a lot of risks, but lacks the technical ability and style to support any boldness.

Pass.

Well, hope that’s been enlightening (or that you at least found my sad attempts at humor somewhat amusing). Who knows, I might do this again at some point – but for now I’m signing off, and hoping that next time I dive into the slush pile I’ll find something that makes me say “yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

Disclaimer: This post does not represent the opinions or commentary of other Lyrical Press editors or employees. These comments are my opinions only; the comments of other editors are private and confidential, and should not be inferred from my statements. In other words, we’re different people with different thoughts on why stories do and do not work, so don’t assume that my decision to publicize my thoughts means my comrades in slush would say the same things.

Similar to my post about the ever-so-clever fellow offering a literary agent a 50% commission deal via Craigslist (and setting himself up for scammers), I’ve been boggling over the recent rash of Craigslist posts seeking a literary agent. I even saw one hokey-looking agency post seeking authors and screenwriters, one that screamed “scam” in flashing red lights. But this one…oh, this one does indeed take the (cheese) cake.

Female Writer Looking Agent (NYC)
Date: 2010-02-05, 12:50PM EST
Reply to: gigs-nbh2m-1587342071@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

Talented, sexy up and coming Writing is Looking for a NO Bullshit Agent.

She has many short stories already written.

A novel in the works…that could easily be turned into a trilogy.

Notes for a mini soap opera for Spanish TV

As well as a draw filled with notes for other books

If your looking for a fresh, new & edgy writer then look no further

# Location: NYC
# it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
# Compensation: TBD

I’m going to sidestep the obvious problems with this “Writing’s” so-called talent and put my red pen down before I end up leaving permanent marks all over my screen. I’m also going to ignore the fallacy in looking for an agent on Craigslist; I’ve covered that already. Instead, ponder this:

What does her gender or physical attractiveness have to do with her ability as a writer?

Gender can play a strong role in an author’s platform as a woman writing about women’s issues, gender issues, feminism, and any number of other subjects where the perspective of a strong female writer is a selling point (there are entire shelves in bookstores reserved for these kinds of books).

But somehow I get the feeling this isn’t what our illustrious Craigslister intends.

This young lady, fresh and edgy up-and-comer that she is, wants to sell herself on sex appeal.

Not on the strength of her writing, not on the value of her story, but on being young, sexy, and fresh.

This is the same misguided sentiment that causes writers to include headshots with their queries, rather like the Bon Jovi look-alike who left so many agents tickled a few weeks ago. It’s the same lack of understanding of the industry and lack of interest in self-educating that leads writers to post on Craigslist when they should be building a strong query letter and sending it to individual agents.

And it’s the same ignorance that’s going to get this poor girl disappointed when she finds out her C-cups probably won’t sell her novels, short stories, or soap opera.

Now, I won’t pretend that some agents and publishers wouldn’t use an author’s sex appeal to sell books. But frankly that’s a bonus, sprinkles on the cupcake that an agent or publisher might use if it’s there, but won’t care about when making decisions about a book’s value. The only things that will matter are the words on the page. Not that Roman nose or mile-long eyelashes; not the tight ass or the legs that go on forever. You can’t sashay your way into a publishing contract. And you can’t tell someone you’re hot and talented, and have good ideas.

You have to show them your talent. (Your talent, not your cleavage.) You have to show them a finished product that makes them care about your story, and show an understanding of the industry that makes them happy to work with you as a client. Believe it or not, most people want you for your brains…not your body.

Your appearance is not a selling point. Your story is.

So write the best story you can. Write something worth selling, that will have more lasting merit than fleeting, shallow physical traits.*

…and then dear lord, child, learn to proofread. Seriously. Did you even glance at the post before you hit “submit”?

 

 

*You know, I’d do the nice thing and contact her, give her a little gentle nudge towards AgentQuery and AbsoluteWrite and many other wonderful sites that explain the proper way to obtain an agent, but I’ve found more than once that it tends to bite me in the ass.

I’ve written two posts and then deleted the drafts because they weren’t quite right, weren’t really things I felt like discussing here…or they seemed preachy without any real point. I haven’t been blogging much because really, there’s only so many times that you can hear “I’m working on X story, I had problems with X story, I fixed them / I moved on to Y story when I got stuck.” So I’ve only been blogging when I feel I have something worth saying, and for the past week most of what I’ve had to say about writing, querying, etc. has been things I prefer to keep to myself. So…I guess, just for the sake of posting once this week, I’ll just pop on a vague status update in listy-list form:

• Haven’t missed a day on the 1k a day challenge yet.
• Discovered this may not be the best for my writing process, as forcing it is a good way to kill a story. Live and learn. Hitting the goal of 1,000 words doesn’t make them stink any less when all those words are trash. Eau de Literary Roadkill.
• Revived NIHILISM in story form. Go ahead and groan, Sihaya and Indikaze. SHINJI THE ANGSTBUNNY LIVES.
• Started watching Sita Sings the Blues, which has amazing animation and music.
• Got a few more partial requests on SHADOW’S BREATH.
• Got a few rejections, too. Either nice personal notes saying it’s a good story, I’m a good writer, but it’s not for them…or the usual “dear author” form letters. Onward and upward.
• Told my doubts they can kiss my shiny metal ass, and figured I can try to write a better story while waiting to see if an agent will pick up SHADOW’S BREATH.
• …though I also finished chapter one of SHADOW’S VOICE. Not working on that seriously, though. Sell SB first, then worry about the sequel. Although Roman is now popping up in my dreams. In Cabo. With the Kingpin. Yes, from Marvel comics. You really don’t want to know.
• Got really sick of hearing a thousand contradictory, argumentative predictions on the future of publishing. Also, the Apple tablet. Sweet honking baby jesus.
• Made some shiny new writer friends on Twitter. The large majority of them are batshit insane. That’s okay. I fit right in.
• Got a few good nibbles on editorial jobs; response so far has been positive. Looking good. And behaving myself in public while I try to get a foot in the door. Which means I probably shouldn’t be calling people batshit insane.
• Took a stab at writing a classic romance novel.
• Failed spectacularly and hilariously. I’m a little rusty on what goes where when there’s a woman involved.
• Realized drab, blow-by-blow lists like this are dull as hell.
• Signed off.

Wow, has it really been a week since I posted? Feels like an eternity. I just haven’t had anything worth saying – but today, something caught my eye. On Twitter, I follow a user who’s basically nothing more than a feed of all the writing and editing jobs posted to Craigslist in every major city. And as a flood of posts rushed by, I saw this:

Seek Literary Agent (World)

“What?” thought I. “Surely this can’t be right.”

So I clicked. I clicked, and stared in blank amazement – for yes, it was exactly what it seemed.

Seek Literary Agent (World)

Ivy League Latino writer with completed works seeks Literary representation. First Novel is written in the style of Magical Realism; screenplay, television pilot and stage plays are part of the package. There is one short film written in Spanish, as well as a stage play in same. Let’s break into the huge Hispanic literary market. All works have copyrights, and are in professional format.

* Location: World
* it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
* Compensation: 50% of First Sale, standard fee after

Oh. Oh, lawdy.

Don’t do this.

The scary thing is, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like this.

Flat, plain fact: you will not find your agent on Craigslist. Finding an agent isn’t like finding a hookup with someone with compatible fetishes (really? You like to do what with guacamole?), or even like finding a normal 9-5 job. Agents don’t trawl Craigslist looking for new clients; they don’t have time. Anyone on Craigslist claiming to be an agent is either a scammer, a troll, or someone who thought being a literary agent would be “fun,” styled themselves as one, and then went looking for clients despite having no experience, no industry contacts, no plan, and no way of getting their unfortunate clients a deal*.

Agents don’t come to you. You go to them.

They’re too busy handling business for existing clients, dealing with interns, attending conferences, and slogging through the slush of query letters, partials, and manuscripts from potential clients – and when they’re done with that they’re generally off having personal lives, not poking around Craigslist looking for your brand of genius. Don’t expect them to do the work for you. Look up agents who rep your market; resources like AgentQuery, QueryTracker, and the Publisher’s Marketplace are invaluable. Send properly-pitched query letters, according to their instructions; if you don’t know how to write a good query letter, Google is your friend. Find out what kind of writers’ conferences host events suiting your market, attend them, and arrange for face-to-face pitch sessions there.

Take the time to do your research and learn how this business works. Don’t think you’re just going to fling yourself out there, and agents will come running.

Especially when “out there” is Craigslist, where you’re basically painting a target on your back and saying “Screw with me; I’m gullible and lazy, and expect someone else to make my career happen for me.” You’re more likely to find a three-way with a goat** and a purple speckled alien from the planet Grarrwron than to find a legitimate agent.

*There is one exception to this. Once I saw a legitimate agency posting to Craigslist, looking to expand from nonfiction into fiction titles and seeking authors with completed manuscripts. It set off my warnings so strongly that I checked with Victoria Strauss over at Writer Beware, and she confirmed that despite the odd practice, they were indeed legit. Bizarre, and very much not the norm.

**Goats are becoming a trend around here lately. Anyone else find that disturbing?

Lately I’ve seen a rash of writers with the idea that they don’t have to perfect their book as much as possible – because surely when they’re discovered, agents and editors will recognize the potential for greatness and fix the flaws in their book. What? Rejected? But why?

Yet if they do get a critique with their rejection, rather than being grateful they whine because while the agent or editor told them what was wrong, they weren’t given explicit, line-by-line instructions on how to fix it or what they wanted in place of the problem areas. Why? Why didn’t the agent/editor/etc. tell them what to do to make their book great, so they could go on to become the darlings of the publishing world?

News flash: because that’s not their job.

Agents and editors don’t fix mediocre books. They hone and sharpen already-good books. If they tell you there’s a problem, it’s up to you to fix it. When they give you a critique, it’s not a guidebook that you follow letter by letter: swap characters A and B, change this letter, that color. It’s an open-ended ticket, a road with many directions, and it’s up to you to have the talent and the maturity as a writer to decide which path to take. Your critique will tell you the problem; your ingenuity and hard work will uncover the solution.

Will it be the right solution? That depends on how good a writer you are. Agents and editors can give you guidance, can catch your mistakes…but it’s your job to know how to improve your book. It’s your job to use that guidance, to not shirk change, to know your craft well enough to take flaws and turn them into answers. Whether you seek an agent or take other routes to publication, you’ll never find your way if you embark with the idea that your book is “good enough” because someone else will whip it into shape.

Your book is like your child. You wouldn’t expect someone else to raise your children for you, to teach them the values you want them to possess, to show them right from wrong. So don’t expect agents, editors, or even critique partners to fix your book, or to nanny you through fixing it yourself.

Thank them for pointing you in the right direction, and then take responsibility and nurture your book to maturity on your own.