Third in a series following my memoir as it moves from manuscript to
published book (May 2018). You can find the first two installments
here.
I
mentioned in the last post that I'd drop back now and then to glimpse what
transpired before I knew my book had found its home. A lot happened before—some of it perhaps helpful to
those currently seeking a publisher for a memoir (or any book, for that
matter).
Dropping
back to spring of 2016, one year exactly before I signed
with University of Nevada Press, I began to query small traditional publishers
who accept un-agented work—boutique literary publishers, some university
presses; and I entered a few book manuscript contests.
Except
for the contests, this meant I needed a compelling query/cover letter. That's
where my background in public relations, and experience getting assignments for
freelance articles helped—and also hindered me. It's one thing to be proficient
at tooting the horn of a client, as PR pros do, and landing article assignments
about topics that I'm interested in but that aren't as passionately close to my
heart, as my memoir. It's quite another to evaluate, position, and pitch your own work—and
harder still to separate one's writing self from one's memoir manuscript.
My
first query/cover letter was good, but not great; a bit too workmanlike and overly
focused on literary craft. I was, perhaps, trying to follow too much differing
advice: mirror the voice of the book – give the full narrative scope as you
would a novel – highlight the published excerpts – focus on author background
and publishing history – sell the takeaway – emphasize the emotional arc. In
the first six months, I got a handful of requests for opening chapters, and was
long-listed for one contest. But no requests for the full manuscript.
I
had an inkling I wasn't being my own best advocate. I was too close to the work
and could not really see what to do differently. Mind you, I routinely help
revise and edit others' query letters and synopses (many of which have led to publishing
deals), but you know what they say about doctors who treat themselves (they
have a fool for a patient!).
We
all have blind spots, and it would turn out mine were labeled: (1) Thinking too
small. (2) Thinking too much like a writer.
I
attended a writers conference in fall of 2016 and—reluctantly but thinking why not—signed up for three slots in the
agent pitch sessions. Faced with a strict five minutes to interest them in my
manuscript and answer their questions--across a tiny round table, with 20 other
tiny round table pitching conversations happening in the room--I had to frame
my story in a compelling way that cut through the noise and what I can only
imagine is the mental exhaustion agents experience in such a setting.
Did
I mention that I love talking to new people, listening, and learning from them?
The
first two were polite and seemingly enthusiastic, asking me to send them
chapters. Just as important, I was able to see—on their faces, in their body
language, the way they moved their gaze from me to my pages—and to hear—in
their tone of voice, pauses, inflection—which of my words, descriptions,
phrasing, and focal points were resonating. And which were falling flat.
But
the third agent delivered the true value of those 15 minutes. He prompted me to
re-evaluate how I was thinking about my
book and how I'd been positioning it
when querying. He listened to my initial 45-second spiel, asked a question or
two, skimmed the first few pages (we'd been instructed to bring along).
Then
he said something like this: Let's assume
it's a given that your work is beautifully written, well structured, highly
polished. I’m not your MFA mentor; you don't have to convince me you're a good
writer. I want you to tell me who your ideal reader is and why they will want to read this instead of a bunch of other books. Tell me why your book would interest someone who is not in the literary world. What might this memoir mean to
someone you don't know? What's the message? Think big.
Wouldn’t
most writers have wanted an hour to draft, revise, and rewrite something in
response to that? But he was waiting for me to reply, then and there, across that
tiny table, in that buzzing room. For maybe the first time, I allowed myself to
imagine my manuscript as a finished book, one that deserved space on a
bookstore shelf, a book that went way beyond little old me telling my story. A
book with bigger sweep. With something to say to strangers, something of value.
After
I finished talking for a minute or so (rambling, more like), he smiled and
said, That's more like it. Now I'm interested.
This
two-minute exchange changed everything.
It
shifted my thinking back to my early PR days. Now I was the client with a product
to publicize. What makes this client's product (book) not only great, but
preferable to others? What—in sales terms—is the (book's) Unique Selling
Proposition? Why this product (book) and not another one?
I
had been thinking of, and perhaps positioning the manuscript as a creative
project, entirely me-driven—which is how one must think of a manuscript while writing it—instead of a book, one of
many competing for attention of readers. It now had to stand out as something completely
separate from me, separate from my writing brain, my personal life, even from my
reasons for writing it.
When
I left the pitch session, I found a quiet spot in the hotel lobby, pulled out
my computer and wrote an entirely new query letter. There would be six more months of querying, but those were dotted frequently with requests for chapters, and, in
the end, five requests for the full manuscript.
Although
it was an in-person unplanned meeting—during which I talked about my
book—with the director of my future publisher (and not my revised query letter)
that led to the offer I'd accept (I eventually had two offers), I credit that
agent I met in a nerve-wracking pitch session six months before, for setting me
in motion on a new track. His challenge that day changed the way I thought
about, and talked about, my book. And
that changed everything.
Other
posts in the series – Part
I (Contract signing, waiting period; working with a university press); Part
II (Final manuscript revisions).
You can find tips on preparing for pitch sessions at this post from Susan Breen.
Images: Flickr/CreativeCommons -- Heart-shaped book pages (TimGeers); Conversation silhouette (TerenceChang/Peautlen);
4 comments:
I am away for a week determined to finish writing my first query letter and book proposal/synopsis,so this couldn't have been posted at a better time. Thank you! I always find your advice clear and concise and it is very welcome as I wade through the suggestions and books on the subject.
Would you mind sharing why you chose to forego an agent and query publishers yourself? I have considered that as an expedient step, but I'm not sure it's the right thing for me to do. I'd love your thoughts...
Thanks for reading, @kario. Glad it's helpful.
Not querying agents was a strategic, and emotional, decision. I wanted to get the manuscript in front of publishers most inclined to like its more literary bent, and figured that ruled out bigger houses an agent typically works with. (Also, I like to be in control!) In the end, I signed w/an agent the week after I got offers--and she was enormously helpful at that confusing juncture.
Wow -- it has been so much fun tagging along as you re-live this process. Congratulations again on the book -- I can't wait to read it!
Uli.
"I want you to tell me who your ideal reader is and why they will want to read this instead of a bunch of other books."
This is the meat of your message that resonates deeply. I'm posting it on my vision board. Thank you!
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