THE ONE WHERE THE AGENT BAILED
Cat/genre: YA Historical
My roller coaster ride to publication started several years ago when I began querying US agents for my contemporary YA mystery. Almost immediately, I had two full requests and three months later, I had an offer. I was that cocky writer saying, “I mean, only six queries and I got an offer!” People hated me, I’m sure. But truly, everything seemed to be going my way. This agent was a super star—her clients won major awards—and she represented a friend of mine. Naively, I asked only a few questions on the initial call, still in shock that this “big” agent wanted to represent me.
We worked on revising my novel for almost a year and then my agent decided the book was ready for submission. I was nervous about sending the book out over the summer—when many NY editors took time off—but my agent reassured me and provided me with a list of seven editors she’d send the manuscript to. We discussed how she’d go out to a few editors now, then a few more if/after we got feedback. I was too naïve to know better, so I thought this seemed fair. I now know this is considered a fairly modest submission round for my category/genre.
Then I heard nothing.
Crickets.
I’d heard that being on submission is often horrible, but I later learned it doesn’t have to be so isolating and scary. I should have asked my agent to check in with me every few weeks, or months, with what she was doing and what our next steps would be, but my friend told me this agent tended to go silent for long stretches. “It’s normal,” she said. “Don’t bug her.”
So I didn’t.
Then four months after going on submission, my agent tweeted that she was changing agencies. She had not emailed me about this move and, shocked, I emailed her congratulations and asked for a follow-up talk to get an update on my book.
She replied with a cheerful, “Thanks!” and said that none of the editors had responded to her just yet. She didn’t say whether she had prodded them or if she was going to. She ignored my request to talk in person. “Publishing is really slow,” my friend advised. “You don’t want to annoy her. Just be patient.” So, I waited some more.
Meanwhile, I learned that other clients had received an email about her move and were given new contracts. But I received nothing. Then a few months later, after further attempts to contact my agent yielded no results, I sent her one last email saying this arrangement wasn’t working.
That’s when I finally got her attention.
My agent wrote back to say she agreed, stating that her new agency wouldn’t allow her to retain any unpublished clients. She said she’d hoped this would change and we could continue our work, but turns out that wasn’t feasible. Oh and p.s. one editor had sent a very positive “no” to my book.
That was it.
Hopes dashed.
It took me another several months (not! okay!) to get a follow-up on the rest of my submissions, and though she’d not heard back from any more editors, I was told by another NYC agent I knew that my novel was as good as dead. No one would want another agent’s sloppy seconds. So I did the only thing I could: I started a completely new YA historical mystery.
Another two years after that—after getting eight manuscript requests from US agents but no offers—I revised that new historical mystery one final time. I really loved this book and knew it was a good idea, but I had zero confidence in the publishing industry and felt like it was only a matter of time before this one joined the first novel in my virtual desk drawer.
Then in early 2020, I saw a post about a mentorship competition being held by a fabulous, award-winning independent Children’s publisher. I knew very little about it but figured the opportunity to work with a top-notch editor would be priceless. Honestly, I had nothing to lose, so I quickly emailed in a submission. But with the pandemic slowly eclipsing everything, I forgot about it completely until three months later when their Senior Editor emailed to let me know I was a finalist (!!!) and then two months after that, to let me know I’d won.
I’d been chosen for their mentorship.
Holy crap. Finally. Some good news!
They then sent me an editorial letter, which I discussed with the team on a Zoom call. They asked me to provide a plan to show them how I would approach their suggestions and I sent them an outline detailing what I’d change and how it would impact the rest of the novel. We set up another Zoom call and after telling me they loved my direction and approach, I asked them what the next steps were. To which they casually replied: “We’d like to offer you a contract to publish the book.”
After being utterly shocked and blurting, “You can do that?!?” I graciously accepted their offer.
In spite of my experience with my first agent, I knew I needed a champion on my side to help with contracts and to further my career as a writer. I was shocked when the first few I approached cheerfully declined (who knew having a publishing offer in hand wasn’t a sure thing for representation?). But ultimately, I was lucky enough to secure representation with an agent I adore (and who fully understands my agent PTSD).
While not your traditional sub story, I could not have imagined a more fulfilling publication journey than this one. I’ve definitely learned to never accept defeat and always expect more ups and downs from the confusing and often backward-seeming world of publishing.
I’ve also learned that what happened to me is—sadly—fairly common. If you take anything away from my story it’s that you deserve an agent who is your partner for as long as you both see fit. You should not be afraid to ask for what you need as a writer. No one deserves to be ghosted, especially by the person who is supposed to represent them in a publishing deal. And it should never be ok for an agent—or anyone in publishing—to kill our books’ chances without, at the very least, an apology and an explanation.
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The stories on this blog are posted anonymously so that authors can speak candidly about their experience. If you have a sub story you’d like to share, drop me an email at: katedylanbooks@gmail.com
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