Writing the Paranormal Novel: Techniques and Exercises for Weaving Supernatural Elements Into Your Story. (43 page)

For an agent pitch session, the approach is much the same. Find out what sort of fiction the agent handles, who is on her client list, and to what publishers she has sold books. If things seem acceptable, sign up.

Some conferences charge extra for pitch sessions; others include them in the price of attendance. Be sure the price, if there is one, is something you feel you can afford. It's a gamble, since there's no guarantee you'll sell the book or sign on with the agent. If you can't afford to lose the money, don't play.

Before the pitch session, figure out what you're going to say about your book. Prepare the sort of thing that might appear on the back cover. Include the overall concept of the book and the basic plot idea. Be brief and succinct, like you would in a query letter. Yes, it's perfectly okay to use notes on a card — the agent/editor knows you're a writer, not a public speaker.

The pitch session is basically a job interview, so treat it as one. Dress professionally to show that you are a professional. (Jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes are a bad idea.) Bring with you:

 


• your business card
  

 


• a pad of paper
  

 


• a pen
  

 


• any crib notes about your book you might need
  

 


• a treatment
  

 


• sample chapters
  

It's extremely unlikely (though not impossible) the editor/agent will ask for a copy of your treatment or your sample chapters, so you're bringing those just in case. They flat-out won't want your manuscript; don't bother bringing it to the conference. The reason is actually logistical — they won't have time to read it at the conference, and they won't want to haul a four-hundred-page pile of paper home on an airplane when you can simply mail it to them.

When you walk into the pitch session, shake the other person's hand, make eye contact, introduce yourself — and
don't
plunge right into your pitch. Talk to the other person for a moment about something else; make a connection. This makes you more memorable and shows that you're interested in the person, not just in whoever happens to be sitting at that table. Let the editor/agent take the lead and say, “So tell me about your book.”

Toward the end of the session, ask if the editor or agent would like to see sample chapters or the full manuscript. If she doesn't accept this gracefully, thank her for her time, and leave. If she does, ask for her contact information and whether she wants it electronically or in hard copy. Once you're safe outside, allow yourself a little joyful jump — the whole thing might still end in rejection, but you've gotten someone's attention.

One last tip: Hang out in the hotel bar later. If you see someone you pitched to, walk up, reintroduce yourself, and offer to buy the editor/agent a drink (assuming she doesn't seem to be occupied with someone else). Don't bring up your book again. You're trying to connect with the person and become more memorable. (And authors who buy drinks for agents are memorable indeed.)

Four weeks is a reasonable time to wait for a response on a query letter. If you haven't heard back after about a month, you're justified in dropping another e-mail or letter that basically says, “On [date] I sent you a short query letter about my book [title]. Approximately four weeks have passed and I just wanted to check on its status.” If you still don't hear back, it's safe to say the agent isn't interested — don't waste your time with further inquiry.

Most of the responses you receive will be “no thank you” rejections. That's the way it goes, and there's no remedy except to develop the hide of elephant and keep submitting queries. (Meanwhile, you're also working on your next novel, right?)

But one or even more agents may express interest. If you only sent a query letter, they may want to see the treatment and sample chapters — or even the full manuscript. Since it's already formatted, you're ready to send it. Once you've done so, about six weeks is a decent time to wait for a response. If you haven't heard back by then, drop that “I just wanted to check on the status of my book” letter.

Again, most responses will still be rejections. Some may come with suggestions for revision. Since one of the steps to becoming a professional writer is a willingness to learn, I suggest you consider their comments carefully. Editors and agents are extremely busy people, and anyone who takes the time to give you pointers is doing you a huge favor. The last thing you should do is write back with a snarl. That sort of behavior is unprofessional and will get you blacklisted by other places — agents and editors talk to each other and love to share horror stories.

Incidentally, although you can mass-blast queries and samples, you can only send a full manuscript to one editor at a time. (The same applies to agents, but since editors and agents are separate parts of the industry, you can send the full manuscript to one editor and one agent at the same time.) This is because you can only
sell
a book to one publisher at a time. If you send your full manuscript to two editors and both offer to buy it, you'll have to turn one down. The one who loses out will realize she spent all that time reading your book and getting the go-ahead from her superiors for nothing. She won't appreciate it and she
will
remember you. Later, you may find yourself wanting to switch publishers, or that editor may come to work for your current publisher right when you're trying to sell another book. The publishing industry is actually very small, and the segment of it that publishes paranormal fiction is even smaller.

If more than one editor asks to see the full manuscript, however, it's perfectly acceptable to send a second copy of the full manuscript out as long as you say, politely, in your cover letter to the second editor that someone else is currently considering the book. In other words, don't surprise the second editor and you'll be okay. (And if multiple editors are asking for your work, you really need to step up your efforts to find an agent.)

There's a saying among writers that it takes a novel to learn to write a novel. A great many professional writers have at least one novel sitting in their desk drawers (or these days, hard drives) that they can't sell. I certainly do. My first novel is still tucked away in its file, completely unsalable. I also have about three-quarters of my second novel. My “first” novel is actually my third. But I
learned
from that first book I wrote. I learned about plot structure, character development, and how to carry a story through 100,000 words. If your first novel doesn't sell, don't despair — you're in good company. Your next novel will be better anyway, and then you'll show them all.

When an agent calls or writes to say she enjoyed your book and would like to represent you, feel thrilled, but don't celebrate quite yet. You'll need to talk — probably on the phone if you don't live nearby — to do a little interviewing. Ask the agent exactly what sort of services she provides, what experience she has, and what books she's sold. (The latter are likely listed on her Web site, too.) You're perfectly within your right to ask for references. You also need to ask about the commission.

The agent's job, you see, is to negotiate on your behalf with publishers, editors, and anyone else who wants access to your work. It's her job to know what rights are acceptable to sign away and for how long. She knows what undesirable clauses the publisher is likely to slip into a contract and how to get them removed. She argues about money, royalties, percentages, and the dozens of other details with the editor or publisher, leaving you, the writer, free to enjoy a purely artistic relationship with these people. You don't have to worry about arguing money for half an hour with someone and then having to talk with the same person about rewrites for chapter seven.

In exchange for all this, the agent takes a
commission
, which is a percentage of everything you earn on any book she negotiates for you. Most agents charge a 15 percent commission on domestic sales and a 20 percent commission on foreign sales. Good agents do not charge for phone calls, copying, or other office costs. Since the agent's income is tied to yours, it's in the agent's own interest to work out the best contract possible for you.

Once you've interviewed the agent and decided you want to sign on, the agent will send you a contract. One tip: Avoid a clause that ties the agent or agency to you for a certain period of time. The agent may leave the agency or the industry, or you might discover you don't like the agent's work after all, but you'd be stuck there until the contract ran out. Instead, make sure the contract allows you or the agent to end the relationship with appropriate notice, usually thirty days. However, the agent will still collect commissions on any books she negotiated for you before you terminated the contract.

If an editor calls you to say she wants to buy your book, thank her profusely and say your agent will call her. When the editor asks who your agent is, tell her you're in negotiation with someone right at that moment (if you have any queries out with agents, you'll be telling the truth), but you don't want to give a name until the negotiations are final. Thank the editor again, get off the phone, and contact the agent at the top of your wish list either by phone or e-mail. Tell the agent about the offer, and I guarantee you'll get a fast read on your book. Don't worry about losing the editor's offer — publishing moves slowly, and the editor's offer will be good for weeks.

Then go celebrate.

There's no law that says you have to use an agent, and some authors choose to operate without one. Some do it because they can't find an agent they like, and others because they don't mind handling the bargaining and the paperwork themselves, and would rather save the commission. If you're well acquainted with contract law and the publishing market, enjoy haggling, and don't mind spending lots of time on the phone, you can go this route perfectly well. Frankly, I don't recommend it unless you have no other choice. My own agent writes novels of her own, and even she hired an agent to represent her work.

True story, though the exact details have been changed for anonymity's sake: A few years ago, I was browsing through a bookstore with fellow writer Sarah Zettel, who happens to be one of my best friends. We were talking about fantasy novels in general, and one of the clerks overheard us. “I've written a fantasy,” he said. “I've got an agent, too. Things are going great — she hasn't charged me very much.”

Sarah and I exchanged uh-oh looks. After more than two decades of friendship, we've developed a working mental telepathy, and both of us knew the other was thinking:
Which one of us should break the news?
I finally took a breath and asked a quiet question. “How much have you paid her?”

“Only about a thousand dollars,” he said.

“Okay,” Sarah said gently. “Here's the thing. Your agent isn't above-board. She's scamming you. Real agents don't charge up front. They only get paid when you do.”

“She's right,” I said. “If you pay an agent up front, she has no incentive to sell your book — she already has the money.”

The guy looked like I'd just kicked his puppy. “That's not true,” he said. “That's not what she told me.”

Sarah pointed to the bookshelf. “Well, those are my books, and those are Steven's. We really do know what we're talking about.”

“Here's what you do,” I said. “You write that agent a letter demanding your book back and ending your relationship with her. Then you look for a good agent or publisher.”

He still didn't want to believe us. Who could blame him? He'd already sunk a thousand bucks into his belief that his agent was doing right by him, and believing us would mean he'd wasted all that money. Sarah and I gave him a little more information about finding an agent and then fled the bookstore. Even though we hadn't done anything wrong — in fact, we'd helped him out — Sarah and I felt horrible. At least we'd stopped the guy from sending that crook of an agent more money. I hope.

There are a lot of con artists out there just waiting to pounce on you and your manuscript. You can avoid almost all of them by remembering one ironclad, never-break-it rule:
The money flows toward the writer.
Never, ever write a check to an editor or an agent. Here's how the real thing works:

When a publisher owes you money, the accountant sends a check for the full amount to your agent. Your agent cashes the check, deducts her 15 percent, and
on the same day
sends you the rest. By overnight mail, if you request it.

Publishers also send you free copies of your book, usually between ten and twenty. (The exact number will be specified in your contract.) If you need more, you can usually buy them at cost, not retail. Some publishers will even send you more free copies, if you ask nicely.

Con artists will tell you all kinds of sweet lies: Established authors do their best to keep new talent out of publishing because they see you as competition. (Actually, the prevailing attitude is “The more, the merrier!” and every editor in the business is dying to discover the next J.K. Rowling.) Authors must “share the risk” in putting out a book. (Actually, if an editor thinks your book is financially too risky, she'll simply reject it.) Everyone charges reading fees these days as a price of doing business. (Actually, no one charges reading fees — except the crooks.)