lizvogel

Posted by Guest Column

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/fearless-querying-learning-love-query-letter

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I fell in love with The Beatles when I was a boy. I loved every song on every album, except one song—Paperback Writer. Mind you, it was driven by a great guitar riff and was toe-tappingly catchy, but the lyrics were too painful for my eight-year-old heart to bear. If you’re unfamiliar, the entire song is a letter to a publishing house asking—no begging—a “Sir or Madame” to read this aspiring author’s book. Though I did not yet know I would pursue a book-writing career as an adult, I could already feel my loathing for the strange form of communication that is the query letter.

This guest post by William Kenower . Kenower is the editor in chief of Author magazine, a sought-after speaker and teacher, and the author of FEARLESS WRITING. He’s been published in The New York Times and Edible Seattle, and was a featured blogger on the Huffington Post. His video interviews with hundreds of writers, from Nora Ephron to Amy Tan to William Gibson, are widely considered the best of their kind on the Internet. He also hosts the online radio program Author2Author, where every week he and a different guest discuss the books we write and the lives we lead.

Twenty years later, after finishing my first novel and realizing I needed a literary agent, I discovered my feelings about the query letter hadn’t changed one bit. I didn’t like anything about the experience of writing one. I didn’t like not knowing the person to whom I was writing, I didn’t like summarizing my big, delicious novel in two paragraphs, and I especially didn’t like needing this person to like my book. This is selling, and I am not a salesperson; I am a writer. So I held my nose and wrote the query, and the results were predictably disappointing.

I used to think I was more or less the only one who felt the way I did about the query letter, but I have since learned that I was far, far from alone. I also used to think the problem with query letters was their form: It seemed inherently dishonest and manipulative. I was taking this thing I loved and turning it into an advertisement—and I didn’t like advertisement. I ignored them if I could. However, I have since learned that my distaste for queries had nothing to do with the form or the intent of the letter, but the actual, butt-in-the-seat experience of writing one.

You see, it doesn’t matter whether I’m writing a poem, an essay, a novel, or a query letter, the moment I begin trying to get into my reader’s head I feel lost and confused. I have absolutely no idea what other people like. For instance, I am still a little surprised every time I learn that someone else loves The Beatles, even though for a time about half the planet seemed to love The Beatles. Other people’s likes and dislikes remain that mysterious to me, and can certainly provide no guidance for the unmarked path along the blank page. Regardless of the form, I must trust my own curiosity and imagination to guide me through anything I write, even a query letter.

[Want to land an agent? Here are 4 things to consider when researching literary agents.]

So the only way to enjoy writing a query letter, and indeed to write the best query letter possible, is to forget completely about the agents to whom I am writing. I must forget about selling my book, forget about the market and what I have or haven’t published prior. Instead, I must remember the book I wrote. I must remember how much I love it.

And while I may not know you, and I may not know what you like to read or write, I know that if you wrote a book, you love it. You may be shy about admitting it, but it’s still true. You love it because you spent six months or six years writing it, and you never would have finished that book if you hadn’t thought it was cool, funny, sexy, profound, or exciting. To write a query letter, we must all first remember why we wanted to finish our book, why we first thought the world needed a book like this.

Most importantly, I must go back to that place from which the book came. It’s the same place your book came from. It’s a place you can’t describe to anyone else, a place you can’t name and are perhaps embarrassed to talk about; but you know this place well, this trustworthy, creative garden. It has been a friend to you as long as you have known it, and it is meant to serve you in anything you create. Go back there, and as you sit down to write a query letter, remember why you loved your book and why you wrote it, and let the query letter be another opportunity to share what you shared in the book.

The discomfort I used to feel crafting a query was just insecurity. But insecurity is not weakness; it is not a personal flaw. Rather, it is the very instructive experience of looking for my confidence where it isn’t. It is instructive because it is uncomfortable. If it were comfortable, I might keep doing it. Fortunately, the moment I look to anyone to tell me the value of me work, I feel miserable. It’s as if I wouldn’t allow myself to love The Beatles if my friend didn’t love them just as much as I did. The moment I decide my love for what I’ve written is enough, that I need not read other people’s mind to share my work with them, I am resting in my inherent confidence.

That’s all creative confidence is: deciding your curiosity and imagination are enough. Query letters can seem like an invitation to believe otherwise, but they aren’t. After all, agents want to represent cool, funny, sexy, profound, exciting books. They want to love your book. But they won’t love it unless you remember why you love it while you write you query. That’s your job. That’s always your job. Find something you love, and share it, share it, share it. You know how to do that. You’ve always known how to do that, and once you believe that’s enough, you’ll be able to write absolutely anything, even query letters.

(Note: Query letters do follow a bit of a formula. If you’re not sure what that formula is, I recommend this article.) 

The biggest literary agent database anywhere
is the Guide to Literary Agents. Pick up the
most recent updated edition online at a discount.

If you’re an agent looking to update your information or an author interested in contributing to the GLA blog or the next edition of the book, contact Writer’s Digest Books Managing Editor Cris Freese at cris.freese@fwmedia.com.

The post Fearless Querying: Learning to Love the Query Letter appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/fearless-querying-learning-love-query-letter

http://www.writersdigest.com/?p=218953

Posted by Guest Column

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/got-agent-debut-novelist-diksha-basu

http://www.writersdigest.com/?p=218940

As I finished my MFA at Columbia University, I ventured out into the world armed with a manuscript and prepared to search for an agent. The world of query letters and agent research is daunting and exhausting, and after just a few rejections, I was quickly giving up hope.

This guest post is by Diksha Basu. Basu is a writer and occasional actor. Originally from New Delhi, India, she holds a BA in Economics from Cornell University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia University and now divides her time between New York City and Mumbai.

Her debut novel, THE WINDFALL, is now available wherever books are sold.

Instead of completely surrendering, I decided to ask for help from faculty members who knew my work well. I had taken a few classes with David Ebershoff and I emailed him asking for advice. David immediately replied with a list of agents he thought would like my work and suggested I query them specifically.

I did and I was fortunate enough to get more than one offer for representation. The offers followed similar patterns—an editorial note with an offer to continue the conversation on the phone. Then, after a long and useful call, an in-person meeting—either over lunch or in an office.

At this point, when I had more than one offer, I asked a published writer friend for advice and she said to pick an agent who didn’t intimidate me. As I tend to do, I ignored the well-meaning advice completely and picked the agent who intimidated me the most, and I am so glad I did. Adam Eaglin at the Elyse Cheney Agency intimidated me enough that I knew I wouldn’t miss deadlines. Of course that wasn’t the only criterion. Right from our first email interactions, Adam also seemed to really understand my work: he was supportive while also being critical when necessary, and his feedback transformed how I saw my book.

Over the next two years, I worked closely with him to turn my collection of stories into a novel. Adam is a very involved agent who patiently reads drafts and responds with detailed editorial feedback. In addition to his editorial role, Adam seems to know how to handle my personality well while giving me feedback—he knows when I’m starting to fade and need encouragement.

It’s been almost three years now that I’ve been working with him and he’s become a friend along the way, in addition to being my agent. Although, come to think of it, I don’t hear him call me a friend quite as often as I do.

The biggest literary agent database anywhere
is the Guide to Literary Agents. Pick up the
most recent updated edition online at a discount.

If you’re an agent looking to update your information or an author interested in contributing to the GLA blog or the next edition of the book, contact Writer’s Digest Books Managing Editor Cris Freese at cris.freese@fwmedia.com.

The post How I Got My Agent: Debut Novelist Diksha Basu appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/got-agent-debut-novelist-diksha-basu

http://www.writersdigest.com/?p=218940

Posted by Guest Column

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/handling-risque-parts-writing-romance

http://www.writersdigest.com/?p=218944

I’m a Sardinian-Brit author born and bred in London. When it comes to food and all things family I am a thoroughbred Sardinian; I over feed and am fiercely protective. I love a table heaving with people and conversations zapping at oblique interjections across vats of homemade pasta and farm fresh cheese.

This guest post is by Sara Alexander. Alexander graduated from Hampstead School in London and went on to attend the University of Bristol, graduating with a BA hons. in Theater, Film & TV. She followed on to complete her graduate diploma in acting from Drama Studio London. She has worked extensively in the theatre, film, and television industries, including roles in much loved productions such as Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows, Dr. Who, and Franco Zeffirelli’s Sparrow. UNDER A SARDINIAN SKY is her first novel.

When it comes to matters of a more intimate nature, my British upbringing rears its ever so polite head. Approaching the explicit scenes in my novel, Under a Sardinian Sky, took some work. I had to stop myself circumnavigating the more graphic content. Neither are Sardinians known for their demonstrative natures, nor are they particularly open about sex and the rudimentary mechanics of it. They sing about lost loves—passionate, ancient songs that are featured in the book, which are an important part of the culture. This acapella music is performed by male choirs. Their deep voices never fail to bring me to tears at about measure two.

I remember sending a chapter by my agent for some incisive feedback. I won’t pretend I’d hidden in a Sardinian cave emerging with a written masterpiece in hand. I won’t forget my agent’s direct advice: Be more explicit. When it came to the sex scenes, I first grasped at every flowery word in the book. I baulked at describing the scene with plain honesty. I was so fearful of descending into smutty porn that I threw myself in a weak direction. Some weeks later, tangled with words and possibilities, I realized readers would rejoice in the lovers consummating their feelings if I was open about how the main character was feeling too. I tried to strip down the language so that their physical interaction was not over layered. When the focus shifts inwards—on the characters’ feelings—that was my chance to expand toward the more poetic.

I didn’t shirk explicit scenes. The pivot for a love story is complicit intimacy between two people. I don’t think there’s anything sexier on the planet than the quiet centre of passion, that peaceful nothingness, the silence within the spark, a place where the bodies cease to be only physical, but become a gateway into sensations beyond our frame. You can roll your eyes at my flight of fancy (many do, especially the more pragmatic in my circle), but when tackling the deep interaction between two people, their emotional states must lift them and the readers.

When my husband read the more explicit scenes he was surprised at how openly I had dealt with them. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at the idea of his mother reading it, or her contemporaries (other octogenarians). This preceded a passionate debate about the notion of female sexuality as a quiet act of subversion on some bizarre level; the opposite of the appearance a woman upholds, within a small town, say, or at a certain age. An idea that makes me want to shout and weep.

My story is about a woman growing into herself. A woman’s developing sexuality over the course of her life, the time she devotes to getting to know herself, whilst becoming freer in expressing that with a partner(s), is something I’m a passionate advocate of. It was important to describe my character, Carmela, growing in this way.

Stripping the writing down to the bare minimum has a strong impact in scenes of a less pleasurable nature. When sex becomes an act of aggression, I made a conscious choice to use very plain language. In this way the act speaks volumes, rather than the narrator. I wanted to place the scene before the readers and allow them to feel the horror of the situation without becoming over bearing with language.

It’s such a fine line to tight rope, in a romantic story, when describing sexual encounters. In Under a Sardinian Sky, these scenes are the apex of the love story. Without a depiction, which allows the readers to indulge in the same feelings and physical sensations as the characters, there’s no longer a story, in my opinion. It was a challenge to tread that narrow strait between porn and romance. I did not want to be opaque, evasive, make their passion a fairy tale of the intensity the characters feel for one another, nor did I want it to be titillating for its own sake.

Once I had discovered a gentle, but honest midpoint between the two, I felt free to explore and unfold the scenes. I recorded the audiobook, and I can say I’ve never felt quite so bare before a stranger. I sat alone in a small recording studio, with a male engineer on the other side of the glass. If my British-Sardinian boundaries had not been pushed till then, they were bludgeoned at this point. Beyond the smart of embarrassment (I hadn’t envisaged me ever reading out a sex scene I had created in front of a stranger), there was the tingle of liberation.

To sweep these things under the carpet in a romantic story would weaken the power that draws people to one another. And if the intimate descriptions focus on the deepest levels of the character’s connection to one another, not only on describing body parts and what they do, but how they change the other person in some way, then I think explicit scenes have enormous power. It’s a writer’s duty to delve into the deepest crevices (almost no pun intended) of their characters. Then it’s up to the readers to decide if they will fall in love with them too.

The biggest literary agent database anywhere
is the Guide to Literary Agents. Pick up the
most recent updated edition online at a discount.

If you’re an agent looking to update your information or an author interested in contributing to the GLA blog or the next edition of the book, contact Writer’s Digest Books Managing Editor Cris Freese at cris.freese@fwmedia.com.

The post Handling the Risqué Parts of Writing Romance appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/handling-risque-parts-writing-romance

http://www.writersdigest.com/?p=218944