An Update On My Querying Journey

I debated whether or not to write this post. A part of me reserves the belief that I shouldn’t talk publicly about the often disheartening process of querying. But another part of me feels that I might explode if I don’t write down some fraction of the mixed emotions I’ve experienced over the past month.

As some of you may know, I began querying my YA fantasy novel, HYMNS OF SALT AND TERROR, the second week of January. I began with a small batch of five queries. From those, I have received three form rejections and one personalized (and encouraging) rejection.

I took some time to rewrite my first few pages, because based on the small amount of feedback I got back it appeared that though the premise intrigued some, the first sample pages were not doing the work of pulling them in.

No problem, I said to myself. I can do this.

After the minor re-write and a bit of polishing on my query letter and comp titles, I sent out three more queries and crossed my fingers. Only three, I know, but slow and steady, right?

A form rejection rolled in a week later from an agent I had really had my heart set on. I began to (perhaps prematurely) worry. If I’m not getting at least partial requests at this point, then is something glaringly wrong with my novel?

I saved the rejection to a separate folder and noticed that #SFFpit, a twitter pitch contest for science fiction and fantasy, was happening in a week.

Instead of sending out more queries, I crafted ten pitches and scheduled them to go out on Wednesday, January 30th. Then I promptly forgot about the contest, focusing instead on moving back to school after the winter holiday.

On Wednesday morning, I went to the gym without checking my email or twitter feed. When I got back to my room around 9 am, I did a double take at the notifications waiting on my phone. Keep in mind, I have a very minimal twitter presence. I think I had 25 followers prior to Wednesday. By the end of the day, I had near 100.

I watched my notifications light up throughout the day as kind strangers retweeted my pitches and commented words of encouragement. I watched as agents who had long been on my list liked my pitches. I sat glued to my screen for the rest of the day, only tearing my eyes away to go to class and work. Another rejection rolled in that day, but I couldn’t have cared less.

All in all, I got twelve requests from industry professionals, Of those twelve, eight were from literary agents that I was keen to query. That night, I researched their agencies, their manuscript wish lists, their current clientele and sales records. One agent requested a full manuscript. Another the first one hundred pages. Two more the first fifty.

I went to bed, my head reeling, determined to send out the requested materials the next day.

I have a rule that I do not check my email before I’ve eaten breakfast. So it was not until I was sitting in my university’s dining hall with a friend that I opened my laptop to see if a professor had gotten back to me on a question.

Instead: it was a reply to one of the three queries that I had sent out two weeks before.

I read the ticker line that gmail teases after the the subject, and knew instantly that this was not the same beast as the form rejections I had gotten before.

A request for my full  manuscript.

Reader, I fell out of my chair. My friend thought I had a stroke.

So much had happened within the course of two days. I did not know how to feel. The agent worked at an agency that represented some of my favorite authors. She seemed to love the writing in my sample pages.

I took an hour to calm myself down before sending her the full.

The rest of the day I sent out the requested materials from #SFFpit in between classes and meetings. It is so surreal to be able to say that two agents now have my full manuscript while at least three have my partial.

This should be a sign of things looking up, right? I should relax, admit that it’s now out of my hands, and feel proud that at least I’ve gotten this far.

Well, if you think that, then you do not know what cavernous pit of self-doubt and anxiety gapes in a writer’s mind.

The next day I immediately began to panic. I skimmed through my novel and found a million things wrong with it, a thousand places I wished I had re-written, a hundred fumbles of sentence structure that I should have refined. I scoured twitter. I refreshed my email every thirty minutes. I worried that even though I had piqued the interests of several highly respected agents, that my pages would ultimately disappoint them.

I thought, I’ve tricked them with my pitches and my first pages. 
The work itself can’t live up to their expectations, whatever those may be. I am a snake.

I was paralyzed by the fear of misleading them, of letting them down.

Phew. Yes, I am aware that that is not a healthy brain-space to dwell in. But on that one day, in the wake of sending out requested materials to nine agents, it was a very real emotion.

So I did what I always do when I feel like control has slipped between my fingers. I put on a face mask. I ate ice cream. I drank pinot grigio with my friends. I called my mom.

And now, I know that all I can do is wait. It may be months before I hear anything back. But I have calmed myself with the assurance that even if they are rejections, I will learn so much more from them about where to begin my fourth round of revisions than I have learned from any form rejection thus far. In the meantime, my new project awaits.

Does anyone else find themselves flailing on the emotional roller-coaster of querying? I’d love to hear your story.

Happy writing, happy querying, happy roller-coasting!


© 2019 Stellular Scribe

Rejection and Gratitude in Writing

My dear scribes:

Today, January 10th of the year 2019, is a historic day in my writing history. It is a day that I hope to look back on with fondness and invigoration.

Today marks the day of my first rejection from a literary agent!

When I was younger, the thought of sending my work out into the world, of bleeding out something that for so long had been kept quiet and secret, was enough to freeze my fingers at the keys. And then to have that piece of my heart rejected? Suffice to say, I feared the denial of agents and editors more than rejection in my personal day-to-day relationships. What was some dumb boy’s affections to the opinions of my literary betters?

But today I received my first rejection (not one week after sending out my first batch of queries, might I add), and I can’t help but feel…gratitude.

That might seem odd. And I’m not claiming that rejection doesn’t sting. But at this early stage in my career I can only afford to consider the positives.

I am grateful to have even been considered, because that means that I am officially in the game to play. If one rejection gets me down, then I’m in the game only to win, and winning isn’t possible without playing every card.

I am grateful that the response even showed up in my inbox, because a rejection is better than radio silence. I can now cross the agent off my list and send out another query in its place.

I am grateful that it was a personalized rejection. I hear that form rejections are common due to the sheer amount of queries that agents receive. So the fact that this particular agent took the time to comment on what she thought worked and didn’t work in my first few pages is extremely valuable to me. I know that my query and synopsis caught her attention with my concept and setting. I also know now that I need to work on kinks in sentence structure — which is feedback that I can use and that will be an incredible asset as I continue querying.

I am grateful for the rejection itself, because it means that this particular agent is not the right fit for me or my book. No doubt she provides terrific representation to a great number of writers, but without that initial spark in the querying process, there is no way that she could be the champion of my story that I would need her to be. Publishing is subjective, and that is simply a fact.

I am not going to post every time I get a rejection (because that will quickly get old as more roll in), but after reading my first rejection I was overcome by a sense of accomplishment. I needed to mark this moment, so that when I become discouraged I can look back and remember the things to be grateful for in a rejection.

Like I said before, I can’t afford to dwell in self-pity. I can only pick up my pen, revise again, and send out more queries.

Have you dealt with rejection in the literary sphere? What was your initial response? How have you grown from it?

Happy writing,


2019: The Year of the Query

I’m not in the habit of setting goals for myself come the New Year. This is in large part because I always, always, always have the same handful of goals guiding my every step, no matter the season.

And that driving ambition? To put a book out in the world.

Though with such a challenging objective, it makes sense for me to break it up into smaller pieces. That’s why, in 2018, my goal was to finish writing and revising my book.

I am proud to say that I accomplished that goal. My sixth book, a YA fantasy called Hymns of Salt and Terror, has undergone three rounds of revision, and is complete at just under 90k words. It isn’t perfect, and I’m sure that I could still find ways to improve it, but agonizing over that fact will only stagnate the process.

Now, after three years, I finally feel ready to query.

I have no delusions about the publishing world. Starting next week, when I send out my first batch of queries to literary agents, I will be exposing myself to rejection. I will be wide open, vulnerable. The future of my book is now out of my hands. 

So I designate 2019 the year of the query.

But I don’t want to be all consumed by drafting better letters or writing more revisions (though I will certainly dedicate time to those). I want to start writing something new in 2019. I think, after being so close to this project for so long, I will rejuvenate in a change of story, perhaps even in a change of genre. 

So my goal for 2019 is not “to get an agent” or “to get a book deal.” My goal is to cast my line into the waters of publishing, and to write ever more.

It’s easy to become overwhelmed by goals because so often we frame them as a thing that we want to achieve or possess. I find it much more assuring to stake my agency in actions. If I commit to the act of something, I do not constrict myself with the narrow outcome. I open myself up to possibility.

Perhaps I don’t get an agent at the end of this road, but I know that no matter what, I will get somewhere.

© 2019 Stellular Scribe


He holds the arms of the fever,
the wrath of the water,
and their bodies are enlarged with dreams.

They are the bodies of crushed marble,
gold, amber bone extraction,
the raw materials behind the Hereafter,
when the Nile remained in the luster of Lebanon.

A gem of her old light
softens the tongue of its severity.
And he, the only poet in the night sky
kisses her collapsed face
to taste tomorrow binding.

© 2019 Stellular Scribe