COURTING AN AGENT:
The Power of First Impressions
By Christina Hamlett

There's a lot of similarity between courting a prospective agent for your work and testing the waters of a new relationship. Specifically, (1) Do you have enough in common to sustain a long-term association, (2) Were you introduced by someone who knows both of you, and (3) How much should you reveal at the start if you want to ensure a satisfying pursuit?

Suffice it to say, many new authors approach literary reps in much the same fashion as those who have been out of romantic circulation for awhile: nervously, desperately, and placing far more weight on the outcome than on the process of defining what exactly it is they want from the experience. Time and again, I've counseled writers who have been so thrilled that someone--ANYONE--has finally agreed to pay attention to them, they end up sabotaging themselves and/or tolerating all manner of shoddy behavior.

Herein are some tips for not only ensuring call-backs from the right people but heeding warning signs about the wrong ones. (If they work for your love life, too, so much the better!)

If you were seeking a potential mate, would you flip open a telephone book and call the first name your pencil-point dropped on? Of course not! Yet how many writers use a similar technique with the rationale, "Don't they all work pretty much the same way?"

The fact of the matter is that agents--good agents--specialize in representing certain types of projects and genres. The time and effort invested in establishing contacts at publishing houses has paid off for them in terms of reputation; editors recognize that manuscripts which have crossed these agents' desks and been forwarded for review are the cream of the literary crop. Agents on top of their game are savvy about what's selling, what's not, and what has the highest potential for crossover marketing.

So how do you know which one is the best match for you?

Track Record: Would you pursue someone who wasn't gainfully employed or was purposely evasive about what he/she did for a living? On the same note, would you feel secure with someone who had either (1) never sustained any long-term relationships, (2) blamed all failures on the other party, or (3) couldn't remember any names because none of them stayed long enough?

Availability: Is your target agent genuinely interested in meeting someone new at this time or is their plate already full? Congenial as they may be at a party and ask you to give them a call sometime, the truth is that very few of them actually hope you will.

High Maintenance: Will the agent expect you to foot the bill for all postage, photocopying, phone calls and adult beverages? Likewise, will he or she expect you to pay out large sums of money in order for him or her to tell you how wonderful you and your novels are?

Exits and Exclusivity: How difficult/expensive will it be to extricate yourself from an unpleasant arrangement? (i.e., agents who demand a commitment of two years whether they sell anything or not.) You should also be wary of those who demand that you not see anyone else, even though they have yet to declare their own intentions toward you or even return your phone calls.

Expectations: Most agents will expect you to keep working after the honeymoon period is over. New authors, on the other hand, have the rosy view that their days of struggle are finally gone now that their future is in someone else's hands. "One book wonders"--alas!--are rarely enough to pay the rent for either of you. If you want an agent to stay committed to the partnership, how committed are you to keep supplying exciting manuscripts on a regular basis?

Watch out for make-over artists. How many times in our younger years were we besotted with those who possessed a never-ending list of improvements we should make to ourselves--different hair, different clothes, different hobbies--the end result being that the custom-tailored persona got dumped anyway for someone uncannily similar to whoever he or she was originally.

Agents can be just as critical. While constructive advice certainly has its place, the last thing you need is someone who tries to reshape your style to fit the limitations of their own sales ability. I briefly was involved with such an agent who tried to turn every mainstream plot into a formulaic romance. Why? Because the romance market was the only one where she felt comfortable.

Always keep in mind that although an agent may possess the map to get you to your destination, the car still belongs to you.

Back in the adventurous 70's, I often found myself coaxed into blind dates by well intentioned friends. I justified this practice by the wistful thinking that (1) the odds of being fixed up with a loser were remote, and (2) my friends knew me pretty well. The reality, of course, was that Mr. Right never materialized from any of these encounters, nor are any of these friends still in the picture.

The publishing business, fortunately, is a little brighter in terms of matchmaking, owing to the openness with which established agents will consider new authors recommended by associates who have indisputable judgment. This is obviously a different level of networking than that found among co-workers who will set you up with virtually anyone who has a pulse. The reason is that there is more at stake in the professional arena than around the water-cooler; to unwittingly vouch for an author who has neither the product, the discipline, nor the attitude to be of value to the agent translates to only one thing--a diminishment of trust. Even if the next "find" should be pure gold, it only takes one dud to generate skepticism ever after.

On the plus side is the possibility that a third-party introduction can ignite a chemistry that might not have been discovered if they'd been left to their own devices. Who better than someone who knows the likes, dislikes, and objectives of both sides to bring them together in the middle?

The one thing you can't do if you opt to engage a go-between, however, is to (1) assume an outcome of success-by-association or (2) blame the intermediary for any subsequent rejection. The go-between is only a catalyst to get your project in the door; where it goes from there rests entirely on its quality, timeliness, and marketability.

To revisit the courtship analogy, a query letter is like a first date; sometimes in the zeal to make a good impression, a person will either (1) exaggerate the facts or (2) just plain yak too much.

The danger of embellishment, of course, is that sooner or later you'll probably be faced with having to actually produce the Porsche, medical credentials, or celebrity best-friend you so brilliantly fabricated to enhance your appeal. Likewise, the pitfall of divulging every single detail of your life within the first hour of conversation not only is an inducement for the listener's eyes to glaze over but a kiss of death to creating any sense of mystique which might have guaranteed a return engagement.

Among the most common correspondence mistakes new authors make in approaching an agent for the first time are the following:

Dear Ethel: "Ethel" is how you can address her after Ethel, a total stranger, specifically encourages you to. Up until then, she is "Ms. So-and-So." In spite of society's growing trend to put everyone on a first-name basis, you need to remember that a number of agents consider themselves deity-like in stature and, thus, command a certain level of awe and respect. (Oh yes, and it also helps if you spell their names correctly.)

And So Then There's This Scene the Next Day at the Grocery Store That's Actually Supposed To Be a Flashback of When...: Brevity needs to be your operative word in pitching a plot. Much as you may want to share every scintillating detail of your story--including all the names of the heroine's cats--a query letter is not the place to do it. The purpose of the query letter is to provide a tantalizing taste of what's to come and make the reader--the agent--absolutely salivate to get the rest. Oftentimes authors forget the sheer volume of unsolicited material that crosses agents' desks every day; the sight of a neatly typed and concise summary of a book's merits and the author's qualifications to write it will always be a far more welcome sight than an introductory letter that is nearly as long as the book itself. Word to the wise: if you can't sum up your book and your background in less than a page, you're talking too much.

This Novel Will Definitely Be the Next "Gone with the Wind": As fervently as any author dreams of global success, premature proclamations and comparisons are more of a turn-off than an enticement. So, too, is the quirky inclusion of philosophical quotes by people who are renowned, the inference being suggested that the celebrity's remark pertains personally to you and your manuscript. As proud as you may be of your finished product, this isn't the time to assume the role of a critic or psychic and imply in any way that the agent would be a fool to pass up this blockbuster opportunity. Nor would it be prudent to reveal that you have already purchased a new outfit to wear on Letterman or that you're available to start your book tour next spring. These are the kind of letters that make agents roll on the floor in fits of side-splitting laughter.

Finish What You've Started: If your first book exists only in the embryonic stage, an agent will not be interested. For first-time authors, agents want to know that the book has actually been completed. They also want to know the approximate word-count and target market. Even if your book is finished, however, do not send any portion of it unless you have been specifically asked to do so. When that request does arrive, send only what the agent has specified. Don't make the assumption that if 10 pages are good, 150 pages would be even better. If they ask for 10, send 10. No more. No less. Another tip: don't invent genres that don't currently exist. (i.e., A Feminist Sci-Fi Historical Suspense.)

Last but not least in the quest to find the right match is the amount of time you're likely to spend sitting by a telephone or mailbox. In romance, it's the frustration of someone saying they'll call and your naiveté in believing it will really happen. In publishing, it's the expectation that the recipient will see how wonderful you are and not want you to get away; the trouble is that they may take up to 18 months to come around to that conclusion before writing back to see if you're still alive.

The decision of how long to give someone is entirely up to you. Obviously playing the field and having lots of creative irons in the fire helps minimize the impatience of wanting The One to step forward with a solid commitment that will make you both happy. In the meantime, the variety of feedback garnered from multiple sources is a valuable lesson in reaffirming that writing, after all, is entirely subjective and affects different people in different ways. The confidence you'll accordingly glean about yourself and your talent will serve to make you that much more attractive to the right agent who, even at this moment, is probably looking for you.

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