It's That Time Again

I terminated the agreement with my agent over thirty days ago, and she didn’t want to represent my most recently completed book, anyway. I compiled a list of publishers who will accept unagented submissions. I prioritized the list. I chose six who will accept simultaneous submissions to query first. I created a table of all the documents I need for the submissions, and who gets what. (Queries alone go to A,B, and C; bios go to B and D: D wants the first 100 pages; F wants the first three chapters; D, E and F want synopses, each of different lengths.)

I’ve found every conceivably justifiable reason to put off actually writing the query and the synopsis and the bio. Now I’m actually going to have to do them.

Shit.

How Much is Too Much?

I recently parted ways with an agent and have begun trying to place a novel with a publisher on my own. The process is as tedious and frustrating as I remember it, and could be used as a tool for AAR to encourage writers to hire agents. If creating a law can be compared to making a sausage, wading through what’s involved to find a publisher is like having to find and kill the required animals, butcher them yourself, and then make the sausage.

I’m not complaining, though it probably sounds a lot like it. (When I complain, you’ll know.) This is my decision, and I’m good with it. I had an agent, but over time she and I came to have different visions of where my books should be marketed. Now it’s on me, and that’s fine. I don’t ever want to wonder if I didn’t get published because an agent only wanted to approach big publishers, even if the book was better suited for a smaller house. Now it doesn’t matter if the fault lies with the book, or with the approach: it’s on me either way. I’m good with that.

Here’s what’s hard. I was researching small publishing houses last night and found one I thought worth submitting to, until I read their guidelines. They want the whole manuscript via e-mail. Fine. They’ll need it for four to six months, unless it requires a second reading, which will take longer. Not so fine, but what can you do? They also will not notify me if they don’t want the book, only if they do, and, by the way, don’t even think of calling for a status update.

Well, then, they can kiss my ass. I don’t think it’s asking too much to send a e-mail rejection. “Dear Sir or Madam: No thank you,” would be sufficient. I’ve seen short story markets that do this, but they have definite end dates on their windows: if you haven’t heard back by March 15, we’re not interested. That I can live with.

I realize I’ve just crossed a potential publisher off of a list that’s tight to begin with. That’s okay. I think their approach is unprofessional and patronizing, no matter what they say about wanting to find and promote new writers. I’m also willing to admit I’m a hard ass from time to time, and it sometimes is not in my best interest.

How much jerking around will you allow a publisher to do before you say enough, particularly when they aren’t paying you (yet)?