RE: What Query Letters Do To Your Face

It's Halloween! So I decided to do a blog post on the thing that currently scares me most-- hold onto your panties, it's a doozy!!!-- my career. I know what your thinking: "Is this chick bonkers? The thing that scares her most is her CA- REER?" *waits while you roll your eyes*. But alas, it's true! It's not exactly my "career" that scares me-- it's the not knowing if I will be able to MAKE this dream my career. My actual current career is college student/bank teller, and I am green-in-the-face sick of both. ME WANTS TO BE A REEL RITER. And who holds my fate in their hands (or inbox, rather)??? The 50 literary agents that I've queried.

A few weeks ago, I sent my first query letters. My original plan was to send it out to my top 5 agents and wait the agonizing 6-8 weeks for a response. But then I started to have my normal little thoughts of self doubt. Me: "WHY would any of these agents want to represent ME? They represent people like Maggie Stiefvater and Veronica Roth and Suzanne Collins. WHAT was I thinking???" And that combined with me being the type of person who has-no-patience-and-wants-everything-right-now decided to send out more letters. I started with 20. Then 30. Now my count is at 50. That sounds pathetic, right? *is ashamed of my impatience*. So far, I've gotten 9 rejection letters and I'm waiting to hear back from 6 other agents who graciously answer every query letter. The rest only contact you if they want to see more material. WHAT KIND OF TORTURE IS THIS????? It's pretty close to the ancient Chinese torture method of tying somebody to the ground and letting bamboo grow through his or her body. (A nice visual for your Halloween pleasure).

After I got my first rejection letter, I shrugged it off. It was no big deal, right? There were plenty more chances for me to get requests, right? But then came the day of darkness. I woke up feeling icky, but had 2 tests at school and no sick days left at work, so I drug myself out of bed and forced myself to go. By the time I got to school, I'd gotten 3 rejection letters in my email. *started to feel kind of sad* I was pretty sure that I'd flunked both of my tests, and while waiting for another class to start, I got another rejection email. That's when the tears came. My throat was throbbing, both my ears were hurting, I was pretty sure that I had a fever, and on top of all that, I had FOUR rejections in one day. ALL THIS HAPPENED BEFORE 10 AM. I was crushed. But I went to work anyway, and when I broke down in tears in front of my boss, I was sent home to rest (to my intense relief (and mortification)). When I got home, I received ANOTHER rejection, and that was just IT. I took a big ole dose of cold medicine for my 101 degree fever and buried myself in my blankets, where I slept for five hours. When I woke to my husband bearing chicken soup and ginger ale, I checked my email once more to find another reply from an agent. I was CERTAIN that it was another rejection, but then I remembered: "HEY! This agent said that she only replies if she's interested in reading more!!!" I opened the email and sure enough, SHE WANTED TO READ MY BOOK. mmmmmmyyyyyyyyy bbbbbboooooookkkkkk!!!!!!!!!

(After popular demand) This was my face then:

Or maybe it was something more like this, since I still had a 101 fever:

So there you have it. After all that depression and anxiety and impatience, I received a manuscript request. I am still waiting to hear back from her, and of course my impatience has taken over again.

My face while I've been waiting:

And waiting:

And waiting:

And still waiting. But I know that there is some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, even if it ends in rejection too. If it does, I know that I need to re-evaluate my story and alter it as such. And my best friend keeps reminding me that Harry Potter and Twilight and such were all rejected multiple times, and that helps me keep my head up a little. :-) 

But to all of you out there who are waiting like me: I FEEL YOUR PAIN!!! I will keep you updated on my face as the rejections (and hopefully more requests!!!) keep flowing into my inbox. AND I am participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time, so I hope to have book two in the series complete by the end of the year! Who's doing it with me?? Have any of you experienced multiple rejection lately? I'd love to hear your comments so we can complain together! :-)

WHAT QUERY LETTERS DO TO YOUR FACE

So I mentioned a few weeks ago that I finished the novel I've been working on for three years. This was what my face looked like that day:

After I went through and edited it, had a couple of people read over it and then edited it some more, then edited again one more time, I thought it was ready for agent querying. As you probably know if you are an aspiring author like me, getting an agent is basically like getting a passport; with it, you can have amazing adventures and go to all the places you've dreamt of going. But without it, no pasaporte, no entrada, and you're stuck in your dinky little hometown (i.e. my awful job as a bank teller)

So after I sent my query letter to my top five agents, I began to realize that the three hundred or so words I'd chosen to describe my novel might not have been GOOD ENOUGH. My face after hitting send:

Most publishing companies do not accept "unsolicited manuscripts", or in layman's terms, "the fantabulous story that you made up and want to get published, but didn't want to have to pay anyone to sell it for you". Literary agents are basically the gatekeepers of author's dreams. They take your work and help you tighten it and perfect it, then they send it off to the magical land of New York City, where book babies are born. But to GET a literary agent is HARD. Hundreds of people hit the "send" button to Ms. Agent at the exact same time you do, putting your query letter smack dab in the middle of the dreaded slush pile. But everyone must start somewhere right? You just have to have that one little spark (out of hundreds) that catches the agent's eye and makes him/her want to read more. So you can imagine my face when all my insecurities began to run wild and I began to seriously doubt myself. "WHAT IF I DON'T HAVE THAT SPARK??? MY LIFE WILL BE OVERRRRRRRR!!!!!" 

So far it's been 1 week, and I haven't heard a peep from any of the five agents I queried. Which in all honesty, is completely normal. Most agents say it can take them up to six/eight weeks to even GET to your query in their inbox, so it's quite possible none of the agents I queried have even read my pitch yet. But still. This is my face NOW.

So.... Yeah.... The waiting continues. I am completely, 100% terrified of what I have done. But I want more than anything to get published, and finding the right agent is the key to the magical door of that dream. Chasing your dreams is amazing. It's invigorating. It's fun. And most of all, it's SCARY. But I think fear is what makes it all worthwhile. If things like writing a book or diving out of an airplane were easy, nobody would dream of doing them, and therefore, nobody would dream. Here's to making our dreams come true, no matter how terrifying/nail-biting/ulcer-making/sleepless-night-causing they are. 

And meanwhile, every time I hear the "ping" sound that means I have a new email, my face looks like this:

Short Story: A BODY TO BURN

Humans are the smartest creatures on the planet, so surviving in the freezing cold couldn't be that hard. My body could adapt, right?I bit down on my lip, testing to see if I could still feel it. It was cold and tough between my teeth, but I could feel no sensation in the frozen skin. That had to be a bad sign. I shivered deeply as a strong gust of wind blew cotton ball-sized clumps of snow across my face, stinging my already numb nose.

“Are you still alive over there?” I asked Mitchell, who had grown a little too silent for my comfort.

He uttered a grunt in response.

“You know that whole, ‘snuggling to keep warm’ thing is not sounding too bad right now, eh?” I said playfully.

“There is no way in hell I would ever snuggle with you man,” he mumbled. “I’d rather freeze.”

I chuckled and blew into my hands in an attempt to warm them. There was really no use since my breath turned into icy crystals of fog the instant that it left my mouth. The snow was swirling around us so fiercely that it was impossible to tell the ground from the sky.

“I’m starting to think that this isn’t worth it,” Mitchell sighed, scrubbing his hands across his face. “Not even for one million dollars.”

“Speak for yourself,” I replied. “After I win this, I’m taking up permanent residence somewhere where it’s hot as fire year round.”

Mitchell groaned as another gust of wind roared through the trees, piercing our bodies like frozen shards of glass.

We shivered in unison for a while, our blood beginning to congeal in our veins. We were the last two contestants in a survival of the fittest contest—what a stupid idea. I jumped in surprise when Mitchell suddenly nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. I turned to him to protest, but the look on his face stopped me.

“Do you see that?” he asked, pointing a shaking, blue finger in front of him.

I peered through the falling snow in the direction that Mitchell was looking, but didn’t see anything.

“You mean that hot girl carrying coffee and parkas?” I teased him, trying to ignore the ache that enveloped my body. 

“I’ve heard that insanity makes you hallucinate.”

“Seriously, Adam,” he said eagerly, standing up from his perch on the log that we were sitting on. “What is that?”

I squinted, trying to make my vision clearer. I saw it; there was a light reflecting off of the snow. The roar of the wind grew louder at that moment, and I marveled at how it was possible for air to make such a noise. But then I realized that it wasn't the wind yelling at us; it was a helicopter. Somebody was going to save us.

We both began flapping our arms and screaming at the sky. We were going to be warm again. At that moment, I couldn't even remember what being warm felt like.

The trees were too thick for the helicopter to land, and I wondered how they were going to get to us. Then, through the blinding blankets of falling snow, I saw feet descending toward us. A small woman bundled in thick winter gear jumped to the ground from the helicopter’s rope ladder, landing nimbly on her feet.

“So there are still two of you,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Boss was afraid this would happen.”

“You’re here to save us, right?” I asked eagerly, no longer caring about the stupid contest. I just wanted to be lifted into that warm helicopter. I wanted her to save me from this cold. Mitchell took a step toward her, ready to hop onto the ladder as well, but she pushed her hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, the fur trim around her hood fluttering in the wind.

S

he pulled three objects from her jacket pocket and threw them onto the ground. They landed in the snow bank with a soft “whoosh”.  Mitchell and I stared down at them, not understanding. What did she mean, “no”?

She tapped her right foot in annoyance, nodding towards the items: a pack of matches, a tiny bottle of lighter fluid, and a long, carving knife.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” I asked, unable to keep my voice from shaking.

Her expression hardened. “There can be only be one survivor,” she said slowly, like she was afraid we would not understand. “Those are the rules. There has to be a body to burn.”

A body to burn?

“You have one hour,” the woman continued. “Whoever is successful must take the other body and set it on fire. Be sure that the body is coated completely in lighter fluid so it will burn beyond recognition. We will come get you when we see the fire. If neither of you succeed, you will both die.”

What kind of sick game was this?

She grabbed hold of the rope ladder and it quickly began pulling her back into the sky, the snow swirling around her as she climbed. Mitchell reached out to grab the ladder, but his almost-frozen limbs made him too clumsy to be fast. The woman disappeared in seconds, and we were left alone in the dark again.

I did not want to do it. But I had to survive. I had to. Mitchell dove into the snow to grab the supplies, but it was too late for him; I already had the knife.

 Later, as I warmed my hands in front of the blazing flames before me, I smiled. Humans could adapt to the cold, couldn’t they? I sure thought so.