Oriana–the ninja proofreader–finished four weeks ahead of schedule, which means I can implement her extensive list of suggestions for The Last Track. Working through the first eighth of the manuscript took two sessions, so ten to fourteen days of editing for the remainder seems a feasible goal. She even offered a second pass at the manuscript after I finish. Very nice of her, indeed.
I have a running betting pool with my friends about whether or not I’ll hear back from the agent who requested the manuscript before BEA, and a second bet whether I hear back at all. The subject of agent follow-up on requested materials is a subject I covered over the years, but it boils down to this: the standard form–the de facto standard of literary agents–is a non response. Basically, they say no by saying nothing.
Collaborating with Oriana reaffirms my suspicions. Early in her career, she worked for a publisher and then an agent, as a screener. She spent her days in a room with manuscripts stacked floor to ceiling. Her task was simple. To reject 99.5% of the manuscripts in the room, without exception, and notify her superiors when that mythic .5% landed on her desk.
Many factors influenced whether a project ended in file thirteen or file call back. Presentation mattered. Personal tastes mattered. And emotion mattered. The mood of her coworkers. If a coworker had a bad day, they might return to the office after lunch and nuke everything, without reading more than the first page. Or maybe not even reading that. Screeners in effect, the very people who have the least experience in the business, wield some of the greatest power over the unpublished novelist because they determine access to the decision makers.
I do not mention this whilst trolling for a badge of courage; rather, I mention it because of a great insight hiding within her story. The churn rate of screeners is enormous. Typically, they last three to six months in the position, either moving up or out. It’s not uncommon for the entire lot in an office to turn over in six months.
Which means an agency that said no in January, might very well say yes in June.
Interesting insights from Oriana.
Some say that agents log all queries, so if you resubmit after 6 months, it’s wise to at least change the name of the novel.
Fingers crossed that something comes of it, but if not there are plenty more agents.
Thanks, Debra. I will keep everyone posted.
Though I fought it for some time, I just basically let go of outcome on this project. Either I hear back from the agent who requested the manuscript in a few more weeks, or I don’t. Either way, life goes on, so does the search.
From Oriana, I gathered logging incoming submissions would be too much work for assistants. The job of shifting through piles stacked to the ceiling is hard enough without keeping accurate records on past rejections. They’re more concerned that the author enclosed a self-sealing SASE–otherwise the most likely destination is file thirteen.
The self-sealing bit is a useful insight. It’s a sobering thought that the type of glue on your envelope could make the difference between getting published or not.
At the very least the self sealing SASE factors into getting a reply via post.
The method an agent uses to contact an author in response to a query can reflect their interest in a project.
1) Phone call. The agent can’t get any more interested. This is the biggest risk they can take with their time, so they must be pretty certain it’s worth the investment.
2) Email in response to a snail mail query. They are interested, but could go either way. Promptness is a factor here. The sooner their response comes after the initial contact, likely the more interested they are.
3) Written response to snail mail. Wait and see.