Writing: Query Rejection Letters

Part I:
As a novelist, and what sometime feels like a part-time query writer, I have published to my web site, my random thoughts on the subject of literary query rejection letters.


My intentions initially were to vent some frustrations, but I am also hoping to appeal to literary agents who are encumbered with the arduous task of responding to writers' queries occasionally or on a daily basis (I know my opinions weren't solicited, but it's my web site, so I got permission). I get the impression that other writers “get” where I'm coming from or have felt my pain at one point in the query process or another.


I assume (never a good thing to do) that accepting and reading queries are part of a literary agent's job description (after all, they do advertise that they accept queries), and although we all, at some point, wish to un-claim and detach ourselves from the mundane, tedious parts of our jobs (like organizing a year's worth of receipts for my tax preparer, in March! Why do I wait until the last minute?!), unfortunately we must dig our heels in, cry a little bit, and do it. I don't know about literary agencies, but where I work, we are not only held accountable to the tasks we perform, but we're appraised on each of the tasks outlined in our job descriptions, even the mundane ones. By the way, I can only take a wild guess that a literary agent's job requirements and/or expectations goes something (not precisely) like this:


Skills: interpersonal, communication (written and verbal), technical, business writing, editing (a plus), fill in the rest.
Competencies: Commitment/Attitude, Initiative, Industry Knowledge, Customer Satisfaction, Communication, Teamwork, Leadership/Partnership, Problem Solving/Decision Making, Good Judgment, feel free to add to this.


Here's the thing. On an average, I've spent, what, a year, or less (if I'm lucky), creating a well thought-out, clever, and viable piece of work, with a catchy and memorable title (spilling my guts and pouring my heart into each word, sentence, paragraph, page, and chapter). Then I solicit a critique team to dissect, ridicule, criticize (and not always constructively) and basically tell me if the manuscript sucks or will sell. Okay, chock up another couple of months on re-writes, fillers (that's where my daunting, but mostly adventureous, research gets applied and embedded), and fine-tuning before I shell out a year’s bonus on editing. More corrections are made, and I read through the draft for the twenty-sixth time. Am I crazy or am I really re-thinking the tone of the ending?! ugh...


At the point I've completely alienated myself from society (we have a black president now?), the outdoors (how long has it been winter?), my friends (my facebook status hasn't been updated in six months!), my family (I'm an aunt, again? Oh, she's two?), and my last relationship was five years ago (I got nothing on that one), I'm finally prepared to submit the final draft of my heavily massaged work of art.


Part II:
I have devoted infinite stolen hours (don't ask from where I've stolen them) researching literary agents’ web sites (carefully selecting agents who accept my genre (NEVER submit the wrong genre to an agent!)), read hundreds of reasonable, and then some down right insane submission guidelines (really? You will measure my margins?), and, have followed each and every one of them to the letter (even the insane ones!). Now, I'm getting more excited because I'm getting closer to meeting the keeper of the publisher's gate! Kinda reminds me of the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz. All I want is a book deal....please.


In 2007, I spent a king’s ransom on:
· Boxes of quality plain white stationary (want to make a good first impression so they'll know I’m serious and professional)
· Boxes of 24 lb. bright white wove No. 10 self-adhesive envelopes (don’t want their lips to come in contact with the toxic glue when they return their rejection letter)
· Hundreds of first class postage stamps (one for each query letter I send, and one for the SASE (if I want to receive my valuable rejection letter))
· Hundreds of 9 1/2” x 11 white envelopes (to mail the query letter, the synopsis, the sample chapters, and the SASE without creasing them)


I do all this to make the agent and agency happy, and ultimately, me, too, and even though I'm making light-hearted comments here, I realize how serious the violation could be should I skip or inadvertently omit a step in submitting my manuscript (right to the slush pile! Oh, the humanity!)


My subtle, or almost obscure, point being, I give the utmost respect to the agents, the agencies, the guidelines, and the process (but it obviously takes more than respect to receive an acceptance letter).


Part III:
However, is it too much to ask for some appreciation of the attention to the details of my efforts in return? I did all of that to get rejected? Okay, I'd be certifiably crazy to think that every agency will favorably give me the nod (like when the Wizard showed compassion and let Dorothy and friends pass through the gigantic green steel doors so she could get a book deal...er, I mean, return home) It's not the rejection that's got my quill in a quandary, it's the manner in which I get rejected.


Let me share (yes, I've kept each and every rejection letter, and no I'm not going to wallpaper my bathroom with them, although I'm sure I have plenty to do so). I'll start out with examples of the worst of the worst (I'll refrain from exposing the agencies so I don't get blacklisted. Plus, I don’t believe in burning bridges unless they were already ablaze. I'm not mad at these agencies, I just think they could do better--much better! I’m just not connecting with the theme of these rejection letters). I've highlighted and sub-titled these pieces of work for the fun of it (gotta look on the side of bright, I always say). Here we go…

REJECTION IMPERFECTION
The winner of the worst rejection letter took this honor because it wasn't exactly a rejection "letter", per se, but instead, handwritten chicken scratch on MY OWN QUERY LETTER! Now, that really appalled me (it took me only two years to get over it and be able to laugh about it now)... rejecting me right across my own query letter. Really? Can they not afford stationary or a printer? Do I really want them to represent me after all? On top of that, I could barely read the writing, but I could tell the message wasn't good. Nothing presented to you in that fashion could hold good tidings. Wait, it gets better. Another agency did the same thing except it was also stamped (yes, a rubber stamp) with a message that said: Please Pardon The Informality. But To Speed Our Reply We Have Answered On Your Own Letter. And that’s supposed to make it better? They rushed to tell me I was rejected poorly in an insensitive, lazy, and cheap manner. I can guess what their mundane task is. I reject you for this! This gets MY SLUSH PILE!

POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGELESS

Then there's the rejection postcard. Really? A postcard? I sent a whole letter and provided the first class postage for you, intended for a whole letter to be returned to me. It was a form postcard at that. I'll give you an A for no misspellings, although you still didn’t address me by my name (writers are threatened with the slush pile if we don’t put a specific agent’s name—correctly spelled at that—on our queries! Shame on you! I’m human, too, and take offense to Dear Writer, Dear Author, or worse, no salutation whatsoever!). So guess what? You get MY SLUSH PILE!


ECO FRIENDLY; WRITER UNFRIENDLY

Okay, I’m all for saving the planet and all, but what’s with the half a piece of paper form letter with no salutation, no date, no signature, no kidding. It closed with “sincerely”, but had all the sincerity of an ashtray. Thanks for responding, but send a whole sheet of paper next time! Welcome to MY SLUSH PILE!

DISCLAIMER SHAME AND DOUBLE STANDARD

Some of the no-no’s of querying, mandated by the agencies, and surely won’t pass the query etiquette test, are as follows:
--trying to sell subsequent projects while soliciting the primary projects (no double-dipping please),
--not personalizing the query to specific agents (no blast emails/letters),
--and sending attachments when querying via email

…just to name a few.

And any writer displaying professionalism will obey the commandments as they’re spelled out in all of the agencies’ web sites. So why are there no rules or guidelines to writing rejection letters? Here are a few of the common disclaimers in the cold rejection letters that I find annoying and unnecessary:

--Because we receive a high volume of mail, we are unable to respond personally to each query
--I apologize for the form response, but the volume of mail I receive makes it impossible to send individual replies in every case
--The agency handles so many letters of query and, wishing to provide a timely response that any author needs and deserves, we have to depart from the practice of responding personally to letters of query
--We apologize for the use of a form letter, but the agency receives such a tremendous volume of submissions that a personalized response is impossible.
--Please forgive this form letter, but due to the volume of submissions we receive we are unable to respond to every one individually, though we do read them all
--Please forgive the necessity of this form letter; we truly wish we had the time to personally contact each writer who sends us his/her material, but it’s just not possible given the number of letters and manuscripts we receive each week

Okay! We get it! You receive a bunch of query mail. That’s kind of a given, don’t you think? Quite frankly, I think the only reason some agencies add this disclaimer is so the rejection letter will be more than two sentences long (We took a look and we hated it. Good luck.)

Since most agencies send form rejection letter (except those who scribble on your own query letter), wouldn’t it be great if writers could create the form letter for them and include it with the query in the unfortunate event that our project does get rejected? I think it should go something like this—with fancy check boxes:

Dear Ms. Liggins,

Thank you for submitting UNDER THE PURPLE MOON for our consideration. However, after much deliberation and serious cogitation, we are regrettably passing for the following reason(s):

__You have the skills of a good writer, however, the theme did not speak to me
__I loved the theme, but I did not fall in love with the protagonist
__I loved your prose/theme, however this subject is not right for us
__I love [enter genre here], but I did not connect with the characters
__Although your material has good energy and compelled me, I do not have the staff to take on a new project at this time

You get the idea. And all the “letters” will close with:
I wish you success in finding representation, and thank you again for the opportunity to consider your work.

Now, at least the positive balances the negative. Softens the rejection blow a bit, right? A little bit at least. Of course, if they’re ever inclined, they can certainly include any value-added information. Like when you receive a rejection letter from a potential job prospect, sometimes (and I mean sometimes), they may include the reasons why another candidate was chosen over you, or what you were lacking in skills or experience that caused them to select another applicant. (Ha! That’s wishful thinking at its best! When was the last time you actually received a response from an employer once you’ve submitted your resume?) I’m just saying… rejection is part of life. But if it’s not done in a respectful, constructive fashion, then it’s just plain mean and nothing positive can be gained from it.

If you agree/disagree or have your own suggestions to this disconcerting process, hit me back. I’d love to hear of your experiences and / or ideas. Good luck to my fellow writers out there with their award-winning query letters!