Outside, looking in: the reality of being a querying writer

The book industry begins with writers. 

Sure, its fuel is commercial sales, trends, profit and loss, metadata… But it begins with one person (occasionally two) sitting in a room, staring at a blank screen. Then, eventually, beginning to fill that screen, before finally writing "The End".

I began writing seven years ago and have written three novels and am about to start my fourth. I fell into many of the newbie traps: thinking my books were finished way before they were (apologies to anyone I queried at that point), not being clear enough on essentials like the "singular narrative thrust which propels the story forward and keeps you hanging on to find out what will happen next".

What I didn’t realise, when I started out on this path, was that my screen would, in time, be swapped for a window. One for which–while I can stare in at the friendly world of publishing–I cannot find the accompanying door. 

Now, if that’s because I’m a white, middle-aged, middle-class woman–with all the privilege that entails–then I’m absolutely fine about taking a back seat, letting all those voices which for decades have been under-represented take their place at the front of the queue. But equally, a voice that I don’t think is often heard is that of those thousands and thousands of writers still querying, week after week, and getting nowhere.

I would advise anyone who’s querying with a choice of books to self-publish one of them. It will teach you so much more than a £649 one-day course ever could

Querying can take whole days. Tailoring each query to each individual agent takes hours. And I totally get that agents receive hundreds and hundreds of queries and need to have a system. But for the person querying, accommodating each individual system takes so much time as well. Standing in bookshops or libraries, scanning the acknowledgements at the back of comparable authors’ books. Reading up on each agent’s likes and dislikes. Finding the specific books they’ve mentioned. Even ordering a couple. Then Googling their name and seeing what you can find more generally in order to tailor your opening paragraph. 

I’ve volunteered at literary festivals. I’ve read, cover to cover, The Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook, editions 2016–22. I’ve reinvented myself as a feature writer for industry magazines and am now in the wonderful position of having a monthly literary column. And yet, I still cannot find the door–nor even the queue.

I would advise anyone who’s querying with a choice of books to self-publish one of them. It will teach you so much more than a £649 one-day course ever could. Although ultimately it will probably cost you a lot more, once you’ve paid for several rounds of professional edits; a book cover (or two); your ISBNs; your Facebook and Amazon advertising; your domain names; your free copies for book reviewers; your launch party; your Publisher Rocket, Vellum, Canva… 

It will teach you about writing to market, how hard-won each sale is, how important genre is when it comes to placing your book, how much repetition of exposure matters. But the best thing it taught me? That, having done it alone, if ever I do manage to be published traditionally, any support I’m given will feel like a miracle.

I know there are many people moving over from trad to self-publishing, or starting out that way. The excellent Facebook advice group 20Booksto50K is full of writers making a lot of money from their craft. Although how they manage to produce, for instance, a book a month is quite beyond me. And underscores the fact that there are a lot of books out there. 

“Perhaps I’m just not good enough,” I say to myself. Along with the phrase frequently streaming across my brain: no one cares. But my book (a standalone contemporary romance) has had more than 60 five-star reviews, and with the majority coming from people I don’t know, surely proves I’m doing something right. 

I’m not complaining. Even if this sounds like I am. I understand the frustrations that agents have–the hundreds of queries dropping into their in-box. But, as an outsider, it feels like something is broken in the industry’s business model. Something I’ve also heard people saying from within. How often I’ve thought that, having spent years honing a book to be the very best it can be, instead of spending up to two hours writing a query I might just put out a tweet offering to clean an agent’s house for a day–including all their kitchen cupboards. For I sense burnout. But I’m pretty sure there’s also burnout for un-agented writers. I used to think that breast-feeding and piles were the hardest things I’d ever experience. Turns out querying is even more soul-destroying; and it certainly lasts a lot longer.

Nothing is harder in this process than being ghosted by an agent. And it happens a lot. You get an initial enthusiastic email. You send your full ms. Then nothing. Ever. Again. Do you cross them off your list, or do you hope they’ve just not got to you yet? It’s a really hard thing to deal with, leaving you in a horrible limbo. The words "no one cares" growing ever louder. Rejection is exhausting. But specific criticism, even just one sentence, is actually really helpful. 

I will keep querying, because self-publishing a book has made me realise it’s not the path for me. Too technical. Too series-driven. And I will keep writing too. My fourth book will, I really hope, be the one that is unequivocally a profitable bet; one that an agent will feel they can invest their time in. Although I thought that about my third book too. 

Until then, I’ll be the one standing on the street, looking in through the window at the sparkling lights of traditional publishing. Where everyone is so friendly, once you’re finally in.