Looking for an Agent

it, and part of me feels utterly like an ass. Like a poser. A wannabe. Only professionals have agents, right?

I’ve been writing since I was a tween. Living in a small town with parents who’d never gone to college, and a mother who never finished high school, I had no idea how to get published. I discovered that by editing my high school paper I could publish my own stories, but that felt like cheating.

In my days of formal schooling, publication became purely academic. Serious scholars published serious papers. I tried to have some of my poetry published in my college literary magazine, but the editors said it was too depressing.

Although I’ve been writing fiction since the 1970’s, I didn’t start trying to publish it until 2009. I was scared and unsure of myself. My first publication won a small prize, and a subsequent story won a more competitive recognition. Those who publish books, however, were less kind.

I tried to find an agent. Young—well, not really young, but naive—and not knowing how it worked, I sent pitches and received form letters back telling me that my work held no interest for serious literary types. I’ve held that experience close to my heart.

When my Medusa novel was done, and I knew it was good—a writer knows when something they’ve done is good—I eagerly sought an agent. No one got was I was trying to do. An independent publisher accepted it eagerly, then cancelled their contract.

I fear agents. I need an agent. Screwing up my courage once again, I found an agent with a perfect profile. Her website said, in friendly tones, that she was accepting queries. I sent a query only to receive an email stating she was not accepting queries and my email would be automatically deleted. Why don’t I trust agents?

A second possibility appeared. Trembling, I sent my query. Immediately I received an email back saying mine was rejected (there was no attachment) because of the high probability that it was spam.

I will persist, but I will always feel foolish for doing so. Until I have a contract that is actually honored, I will feel that my voice is simply of no interest to the publishing elite.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

Gothica

The other day I asked a friend to define “gothic.” Heavy, dark, supernatural—these were a few of the words suggested. When autumn comes my thoughts turn gothic, and I’m always looking for good gothic things to read. I have blogged in the past about how reading literature that isn’t great is good. I’m serious about that. You can learn a lot by reading poor writing. Some gothic literature is more the former than the latter. Like Dark Shadows novels. Dark Shadows was running on daytime television when I was a child. As a teen I began to read the novelizations, by Marilyn Ross, whenever I could find them. Belles lettres they’re not. Gothic, most decidedly so. That’s why I keep coming back to them. They aren’t scary. In fact, they’re formulaic and predictable. But so, so gothic. Spooky mansions, the Maine woods, forlorn vampire, faded wealth. Even, yes, dark shadows. The stories create a mood I find difficult to locate elsewhere. Inspired by the most r

K. Marvin Bruce

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