Thursday, May 12, 2011

she woke up and brushed her teeth. also, there were zombies.

In today's episode of Literary Agentish Wisdom from Someone Slightly Less Inexperienced than Others, we'll explore the bane of my existence: The First Five Pages. Also known as The Best Flippin' Writing You've Ever Done In Your Life. Ever.

Why do the first five pages of your manuscript need to be the bee's knees on steroids? Because, other than the query letter (which really isn't anyone's strong suit), this is the first encounter that an agent has with your story. If it's not made of awesome, it will be the only encounter the agent has with your story. When an agent has one hundred queries sitting in her inbox, she isn't pouring over every sample page. She isn't going to fall in love with something that reads the same as the last four manuscripts. And she may, heaven forbid, start skimming the boring ones.

So yours can't be one of the boring ones. You want your sample pages to POP! like comic book onomatopoeia. You want them to grab the agent by the heartstrings or the guts or the eyeballs and hold them without bail. You want the agent to have the same excited feeling after reading those pages that you had after writing them.

You don't want your sample pages to be:

The Morning Routine*

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

I hit the ‘Snooze’ button on my alarm clock and buried my face in my pillow. It was my first day at Toasterville High, and I was absolutely dreading it. What if I didn’t make any friends? What if I was too far behind in my classes and they wouldn’t let me graduate at the end of the year? More than anything, I wished that I was still back in Monkeywrench Heights, at my old school with my old friends.

“Jessica? Are you up yet?” my mother, Jane Joeschmoe, called from downstairs. When I only groaned into my pillow in response, Mom tacked on, “Don’t make me come up there and get you myself!”

For a few seconds, I contemplated letting her make good on that threat. But I really didn’t need a fight with my mom on top of everything else, so I eventually dragged myself out of bed. Shivering in the cold November air, I quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, I studied myself in the mirror. Same curly black hair. Same bright green eyes. Same freckles. No one at Toasterville High was going to look twice at me.

I grabbed a pair of socks and my sneakers and padded down the stairs into the kitchen. Mom was dressed, as usual, in a tailored blazer and pencil skirt. She had the same wild hair that I had, but she somehow managed to make it behave in a tightly controlled bun at the nape of her neck. I knew that she wanted to look extra-professional for her new job.

Mom turned away from the coffee maker and raised an eyebrow at me as I searched the unfamiliar cabinets for the PopTarts. “Are you sure you don’t want to dress up a bit for your first day?” she asked.

“Yup,” I responded shortly, dropping the pastries in the toaster and sitting down to pull on my shoes.

She sighed. “What about that nice blouse that Grandma Joan got you for Christmas?” She sighed again and studied my shoes. “And I could lend you my silver heels. Those would really make an impression.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. “Yeah, Mom. When I fall on my face and get eaten by the pursuing zombie horde, it’ll
really make an impression.”

Geez, I'm falling asleep just writing this. The alarm goes off, the heroine gets dressed and brushes her teeth, then eats breakfast...we've all read stories that start this way. You can probably finish the scene yourself: she'll talk to her mom a bit more, another family member might show up to spice things up, and then Mom will say, "You'd better get going - don't want to be late for your first day!"

Lesson #1: If the agent has read the same scene twenty times before, it's not The Best Thing Ever.

Also, I'm going to take this moment to point out one of my personal pet peeves**: the look-in-the-mirror-to-describe-the-character trick. Not only is it overdone, but it's just so obvious. There are better ways to sneak in descriptions.

also, must we mention how bright her eyes are? might as
well throw in something about her long, dark lashes, too.

The other major problem with this opening is that, up until the very last sentence, it could be from any story. Jessica might wake up, brush her teeth, and then solve a murder mystery. She might wake up, brush her teeth, and get sucked through a wormhole into a parallel dimension. Or she might wake up, brush her teeth, and battle a hungry zombie on her way to school. Until the very end, we just don't know.

Lesson #2: If your sample could be the beginning of any story ever, it's not The Best Thing.

Maybe you already knew both of those tips. Maybe you're positive that no one has written exactly what's in your sample pages; there is no way that this is the start of any story but yours. That's all well and good, but make sure that you haven't written:


The Expository Overload*

When the world didn’t end in 2012, everyone thought we’d dodged a bullet.

No one suspected that 2013 was the real culprit.

In February of 2013, the first zombie animals began showing up. Roadkill on the highway would scrape itself off the pavement and limp into the woods. Pigs at the SuperYum Bacon Factory who were supposed to be dead suddenly leapt up and squealed. The sewers teemed with schools of once-dead goldfish that had been flushed. And even though the zombiepigs and zombiesquirrels didn’t speak any human language, everyone knew what they were saying as they devoured their fellow creatures: braaaaaaaaains.

Scientists experimented on zombierats, and discovered that they weren’t technically dead. Their bodies still functioned normally; the rats still slept and mated and peed as usual. It was the brains that were different – the parietal lobe looked like someone had chewed it up and spit it back out. The doctors ran numerous tests and realized that a totally dead rat never turned into a zombie. It was the
practically dead ones – the ones who still had a sliver of life left, even though there was no mortal way to save them – who suddenly developed a taste for brains. It was all thanks to a mutant protein called the Undead Prion (UP), which moved into a dying brain and made itself at home.

Zombierats, though creepy, wouldn’t have made a huge impact on the world. But, of course, it didn’t take long for the Zombie Plague to spread to humans. Obviously there was mass panic. For a while, people went around shooting anyone who looked a little undead around the edges. Hospitals were abandoned as the dying morphed into the undead by the hundreds. The whole town of Winicksworth, NJ was devoured when their local news anchor went zombie and told them on live TV that standing outside with blindfolds on and ignoring the screaming was the only way to survive a zombie apocalypse.

For a while there, it looked like the end of the world. You couldn’t kill a zombie with bullets or knives or poison. A samurai sword through the spleen did nothing. Running them over with a semi did slow them down, but not for long. Thanks to the mutation, the undead felt almost no pain and healed almost immediately. They were almost indestructible.

Luckily, zombies are highly combustible.

Look, no one brushed their teeth! And what are the chances that Superstar Agent has read about zombiepigs before, huh?

if they read wired or gadgetreview, they totally have.

Starting your story off with a prologue/world-building segment like this one is more unique, and therefore better in my opinion**. Now we know that this is (obviously) a zombie story, and reading about roadkill is marginally more fun than reading about PopTarts.

One of the problems I thought I'd bring up here is that occasionally, writers try to sound smart even when they're actually nincompoops. In this case, I throw out some medical lingo: the creatures want to eat brains because of damage to the parietal lobe! Aha! Unfortunately, damage to the parietal lobe might mess with your language and motor skills, but it's not going to turn you into a cannibal and wipe away your sense of morality. That's not something that only experts know - it's something that the general, nonmedical populace (i.e. me) knows. It's something you can Google, for goodness' sake! With so much information readily available on the web, you shouldn't be writing about how George Washington led the Confederates during the Civil War or how a mixture of Kool Aid and mouthwash can corrode steel.

Then there's the slightly more vague way of going about things; instead of explaining the exact science behind how something works, you shrug and say, "Nobody knows." Nobody knows why the zombies don't really feel pain - it just has to do with the mysterious mutation. Accept it; move on.

Depending on the sort of story you're writing, this isn't necessarily a problem. In a dorky sci-fi story like this one, that obviously isn't taking itself too seriously, readers typically aren't going to take the scientific explanations too seriously, either. If your story is magical or implausible, your readers probably won't be looking for a reasonable explanation for things. J.K. Rowling didn't have to explain the physics that allow broomsticks to fly; Stephenie Meyer didn't need to go into detail about exactly how many of Edward's internal organs still functioned normally. This little tidbit is probably most important for historical fiction and science-based novels like those by Michael Crichton - the history and science need to be believeable.

Lesson #3: If you haven't done your research and it shows, it's not The Best Thing Ever.

The other iffy thing about starting a story this way is the fact that the story itself really doesn't make an appearance - just the backstory. We don't meet any of the main characters, and though we can guess that the conflict probably has something to do with zombies, we don't know how the protagonist will factor into that conflict.

You see this sort of thing a lot in fantasy and science fiction stories, because they're the ones that need to introduce the reader to a world with different rules than our own. That's all well and good, but if your story starts this way, you're walking a fine line between laying necessary groundwork and burying the reader in a mudslide of exposition.

As I've previously rambled about, exposition is tricky. It's necessary if you don't want the reader to be totally confused, but if you lay it on too thick, the reader might not be able to keep it all straight and will end up confused, anyway. Starting your story like this one, with what is essentially a giant infodump, is going to turn some readers away.

Lesson #4: If it's all backstory and not story, it's probably not The Best Thing Ever.

The best way to go about feeding the reader your exposition is to sneak it into the story itself, in small, manageable chunks. Like hiding broccoli in a kid's macaroni and cheese, working exposition into the main couse instead of serving it as a standalone appetizer will make the whole thing easier to swallow.

they'll never even notice!

And if you're not starting with exposition, that means you can start with the good stuff.

"Just what is 'the good stuff', Jessica?" you ask.

"The good stuff," I reply, "is what I've been unsuccessfully attempting to write for the past month, which is why this blog hasn't been updated." See, I have just as much trouble with The First Five Pages as everyone else. It's easy to recognize the things that don't work, and to pinpoint the reason that they don't; it's much harder to identify a formula for amazing writing. So, though I can tell you what you probably shouldn't do, I can't offer a definitive example of what you should do.

(I did try. My first sentence is The stupid zombie knew karate. Also, there was pepper spray involved. Imagine an epic zombie-flamethrower-karate-duel-to-the-death in this space. I'll be imagining that I can write such a thing.)

...but with daniel-san and mr. miyagi as zombies.
it would have been epic, i tell ya.

If anyone else would like to offer their own example of what a great First Five Pages should look like, or share the beginnings of published books that have hooked them, go for it in the comments. Prove that it can be done!


* Though I obviously can't use real examples, I've read queried pages just like these (minus the zombies).

** Disclaimer: Any and all views expressed in this blog post are the opinion of the author, and do not reflect the views of every or any specific literary agent in existence. Side effects of taking this advice include but are not limited to: avoiding the look-in-the-mirror-to-describe-the-character trick; researching obscure things like brain-infecting prions; shaking head and/or rolling eyes; and imagining zombie-Karate-Kid vs. flamethrower-wielding-teenager battles. You should not drive or operate heavy machinery while reading this blog.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

how to write your query, part I

Presenting the first installment in the Literary Agentish Wisdom from Someone Slightly Less Inexperienced than Others series, in which I tell you hopefully-helpful things that I pick up while interning for a literary agent this spring.
Shiny Disclaimer!

I am not a professional - I'm just working for one. I'm not necessarily more qualified to have an opinion on anything writing-related than you are. The following statements are only the opinions of This Particular Writer and are not binding in a court of law.

How to Write Your Query, Part I


#1 Follow The Guidelines

I feel like this one should go without saying (but, from what I've seen, it apparently doesn't). This rule is so important that it supersedes everything else, in my opinion. You could be shopping The Best Manuscript Ever, but that won't necessarily matter if you're sending it to the wrong person. Agents have preferences just like everyone else; some of them are going to love your high fantasy epic, and others of them want to gag when they read anything featuring elves and swordplay. One agent might adore steamy romance novels, while their coworker can't help but crack up every time she reads about heaving bosoms.

"But Jessica, how am I supposed to know if Ms. Superstar Agent thinks heaving bosoms are sexy or laughable?" you ask. Luckily for us, there are tons of snazzy places on the World Wide Web to look up that very information. AgentQuery has this handy search feature that lets you check cute little boxes that describe the genre of your story. If, for example, I were to send out a query for Thistleswitch, I might look for agents with these interests:


When I click 'search', I'll get a list of agents who're looking for the very thing that I've written! Isn't that nifty?

Another great place to find out what an agent is looking for is the agency website. There are so many of these that I can't possibly link to them all, but if do your research (which you should, if you're serious about this publishing thing) you'll be able to find agents who love what you love (namely, your manuscript), and avoid agents who don't give a monkey's ladle about your genre.

Real Life Example: Mystery Agent Enigma* doesn't represent picture books. Somehow, I've still seen three picture book queries in the past month. They could have been great picture books, and maybe an agent who works with picture books would love them, but it's just not this agent's thing.

When you send an agent a query for something that he specifically says he's not looking for, it screams, "I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT YOU LIKE OR CARE TO FIND OUT! JUST SELL MY BOOK CAUSE IT IS THE CAT'S PAJAMAS!" It's like going to a restaurant and asking for the house salad, and then being brought the fettuccine alfredo even though you specifically told the waiter that you're on a low-carb diet. At which point the waiter says, "I DON'T KNOW OR CARE WHAT YOU WANT, JUST EAT THIS PASTA CAUSE IT'S THE CAT'S PAJAMAS!"

not pictured: salad

Somehow, I don't think you'll be leaving a very big tip. And the agent that you didn't bother to research isn't going to be leaving you a tip, either (AKA, a request for your full manuscript. We all know how I like my needlessly confusing metaphors.)

On a Related Note: Another important thing to pay attention to when you're checking guidelines for an agent is the sample pages. An agent may want the first five pages of your manuscript, or the first twenty, or the first three chapters. Some may even want the whole manuscript right off the bat. The important part, folks, is to send them. Without sample pages, an agent doesn't get a real sense of the story you're trying to sell. Now, in Mystery Agent Enigma's case, sending a query without sample pages isn't an automatic Reject - but he'll only ask for sample pages if the pitch itself is pretty dang intriguing. The best thing to do is just to send what the agent asks you to send (and if you don't get that by this point, or heck, didn't get that before you even started reading this, there's a problem here).

3-7-11 Update: I read and reviewed ten query letters today, and three of them failed to include sample pages. They should've read my blog.


#2 Have a Pretty Dang Intriguing Pitch

Jessica feels invisible in her new high school. She eats lunch alone, keeps her head down in class, and has nothing in common with her classmates. More than anything in the world, she wishes that she and her parents had never moved to Toasterville.

But everything changes when the tall, dark and handsome Eugene McUberstein starts flirting with her. She discovers that they have a lot in common. Jessica finds herself falling for the alluring young man.

But Eugene has a deep, dark secret. So dark that it could drive Jessica away forever...if it doesn't kill her first.

THE ZOMBIE WHO FELL IN LOVE is a timeless YA novel about love, betrayal, and brains.

Real Life Example (sort of): Now obviously, this isn't an actual pitch**, but it's got a lot of the not-so-stunning elements that I've seen several times in queries so far. I can't tell you how many of my query-reviews have included "pitch doesn't intrigue me" or "vague pitch" or some form thereof.

Let's take a look at the things that make this pitch fit for the Reject pile:
Jessica feels invisible in her new high school. She eats lunch alone, keeps her head down in class, and has nothing in common with her classmates. More than anything in the world, she wishes that she and her parents had never moved to Toasterville.
The pitch opens by telling me the main character doesn't fit in at her new school. Which, aside from not telling me anything about what makes Jessica a unique heroine, is such a predictable opener for a YA story that I'm already bored. If the fact that your main character doesn't fit in at school is really central to your story, that's fine; the best way to get that across and catch the agent (or his intern's) attention is to state exactly what makes her such an oddball. Maybe Jessica collects antique furniture, or loves tightrope walking, or is building a homemade flamethrower in her backyard. I want to know what makes HER different from every other character that's been a misfit in their new high school; I want to know why reading 60,000 words about HER will be more enjoyable than reading about someone else.
But everything changes when the tall, dark and handsome Eugene McUberstein starts flirting with her. She discovers that they have a lot in common. Jessica finds herself falling for the alluring young man.
And here's where we start entering Vaguesville. "Everything changes"? Really, everything? Did her favorite food change? The color of her hair? "They have a lot in common"...like what, exactly? Eugene is also into flamethrowers? "The alluring young man"...what makes him alluring, exactly? Other than the fact that he's "tall, dark and handsome", which should make your Cliché Radar twinge in horror.

Yes, yes, I know that I've said before that I don't mind clichés so much. But I mean that in a broad strokes way: Forbidden Romance stories are all over the place, but they've been around since ancient times because they're fun and dramatic, and the predictability of them lends to their entertainment value. Clichéd phrases, on the other hand, have no place in your query letter. The pitch is your chance to show the agent, in about 300 words, just what an awesomely creative and talented writer you are. By describing Eugene as "tall, dark and handsome", I've just wasted four words on something that I didn't even create, that is so overused that it probably made the agent's intern roll her eyes instead of actually picture the character I was describing. I would be much better off saying that Eugene has haunting eyes and a physique hot enough to melt tungsten.

And then we come to the center of Vaguesville:
But Eugene has a deep, dark secret. So dark that it could drive Jessica away forever...if it doesn't kill her first.
I've seen too many queries end this way. It feels like a dramatic cliffhanger. He has a secret! Gee, there's danger! Oh, she could die!

And then you realize that that's all it says. The only thing I know about the entire plot of the novel is that Eugene has a secret and there'll be some life-threatening danger. What's the secret? Why does it have the potential to kill the heroine? What is the plot here? You've got me.

Leaving the agent with questions about your story isn't a bad thing; it gets them invested in the story and makes them want the full manuscript. But you need to leave them with the right sort of questions. Instead of wondering what the heck the plot of your story is, the agent should be asking themselves how the plot could possibly be resolved. While "his dark secret could kill the girl he loves" sounds dramatic, in a pitch you want something a lot more concrete; something more like, "Eugene is a zombie with a hankering for human brains. If he wants to be with the girl he loves, he'll need to find a way to do what no other zombie has done and quell his constant urge to bite her face off. And even if he does succeed, will Jessica be okay with dating an undead corpse, or will she use her homemade flamethrower to send him back to the pit from whence he came?"

nah, zombies are cool.

...okay, that's not a fabulous pitch, obviously. But at least it gives us more to work with.

Now sometimes, even if a pitch is vague and convoluted, having really incredible sample pages will save the day. Which is why it's important to, say it with me now: include the sample pages. Very good.

On a Related Note: Even if the plot of your story has been done before, it hopefully has at least a few unique qualities that make it stand out. Emphasize those qualities in your pitch. You don't want the agent's intern describing your story as, "Pretty much Twilight with zombies."


What We've Learned:
1. Know the interests of the agents you're querying. React accordingly.

2. Send sample pages from your manuscript when they're requested.

3. Make your main character and plot seem as unique as you can.

4. Stay away from vague or cliched phrases that don't tell us about the plot.

* My boss, for those of you who didn't read the post before this one.
** But THE ZOMBIE WHO FELL IN LOVE will probably be my next great masterpiece, so don't go stealing it.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

coming soon

You may have noticed that I haven't posted anything here for about a month. This is because I haven't written anything in a month. But I've been doing something that is arguably more helpful for a future publishing career and more interesting to any fellow authors who are hoping to glean something from this blog.

I've got an internship with a literary agency. I'm working under an awesome literary agent (who's asked to remain anonymous, and suggested the pseudonym "Mystery Agent Enigma"). For the past month I've been going through query slush, reading and evaluating manuscripts, and even sending rejection letters and crushing dreams. And it's been awesome.

So expect at least a few posts about my experience behind the Agent Curtain.

Monday, January 17, 2011

zombies vs. unicorns

I just finished reading a book made of awesome: Zombies vs. Unicorns.

Yeah, you read that right.

Yeah, my mouth dropped open, too.


The premise alone is great (zombies vs. unicorns!), and then you add the fact that it's an anthology of short stories by some of the best authors on the YA shelves: Scott Westerfeld (Uglies, Midnighters, Leviathan), Libba Bray (A Great and Terrible Beauty), Cassandra Clare (Mortal Instruments)...Meg Cabot, Garth Nix...half a dozen other big names. When I saw it in the bookstore, there was no way I was not buying it and reading it immediately.

It's just as fantastic as it sounds. Go read it, now.

(And for the record, as much as I love Holly Black, I'm firmly on Team Zombie.)

Friday, January 7, 2011

wonderland, narnia and oz, oh my!

One of the literary agents on my radar right now, Daniel Lazar, has something written on his profile at Publishers Marketplace that got me thinking:

"For fiction, I love stories that introduce me to new worlds -- or even better, recreate the ones I may already know."

I agree wholeheartedly with that. I love The Looking Glass Wars and Tin Man for their creative takes on Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz, respectively. Wicked was popular enough to become a Broadway musical, and there have been half a dozen new takes on Never Neverland. Like Lazar, I love reading stories based in worlds that I already know; embedding nostalgic hints of classics inside new and creative stories is just plain awesome, in my book.

But (you knew there would be a but) I have a couple of questions about this whole style. Not that I'm necessarily expecting anyone to have the answers to these questions, but what's a blog for if not for ranting?

First of all, I have to wonder how the original authors of these stories would feel about new versions. Frank Beddor actually includes Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carroll) as a character in his adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, as the person who turned Alyss' memories of bloodbaths and betrayal into a meaningless, whimsical tale. In other words, Beddor is literally saying, "Dodgson, you got Wonderland all wrong. Here's the real story."

Speaking as someone who's invented plenty of my own make-believe worlds, that doesn't sit very well with me. Not that I don't love Beddor's Wonderland. But if some upstart new writer in the future picks up a story I've written, takes the place I've created, and tells the world, "Oh, no, she told the wrong story; this is what it's really like," I feel like I would have a problem with that.

One excuse that I can think of is that the authors are taking stories specifically written for children and turning them into stories for an older audience. That way, I can see it more as, "The original had to be simplified to appeal to children, but you older readers can get the full story," instead of, "The original story was just plain wrong." It's elaborating on a simple story instead of replacing the original.

Which leads to my other question: as more stories fall into the public domain, will we see more new takes on old tales? Will someone come along and reinvent Narnia? Will we get the "real story" of what Hogwarts was like? Was Fantasia from The Neverending Story totally different from how Michael Ende described it? Did we get the "wrong" story the first time around?

Like I said, I'm a big fan of this kind of story. I love reinvented worlds, and I'm not going to stop loving them. But at the same time, it seems strange to me for people to retell a story that someone else created in a very different way.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

new year, new look

What with the new year and all, I felt like it was time to change things up on the blog. I think the black background was functioning like a black hole and sucking all of my creativity and determination into an abyss of despair. Or something like that. So now it's white...probably too white, actually, but that's because it's still new and clean.

More new news: at approximately 3:30 a.m. while I was unsuccessfully attempting to fall asleep, I finally thought of a good way to word the beginning of The Story Thief. I scribbled down two sentences in the notebook by my bed, which means I'm only about 5,990 words behind my goal! Oh boy! I also thought up a cool cover idea for the story, did twenty sit-ups and twenty lunges, finished reading Lady Knight, got seven drinks of water, wrote out a to-do list for the next day, got another blanket, and finally fell asleep (and dreamt of Sergeant Domitan), only to wake up again three hours later and toss and turn some more.

But the point is that I've finally started to start my story start. I'm beginning to get out of this horrible mental zone that tells me the first three pages of a story have to be the best three pages I've ever written in my life. That's the thinking of someone trying to get an agent for a story they've already written; it's definitely not helpful thinking for someone who's just trying to start a new story.

But my late (late, late) night has put me back on track! No longer will I agonize over picking the perfect first word. No longer will I discard perfectly good ideas because they aren't perfectly good enough. I will write the crappiest drabble I've ever thought up, and I'll be proud of it because it is written.

And then a year from now, when I'm trying to edit this story, I'll pull my hair out and bang my head against the wall and curse the day that I wrote something so terrible and tried to pass it off as the beginning of good literature.

Ah, what a great process this writing thing is.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

the end of an unlucky streak

Hello, 2011. According to my 2011 yearly horoscope, I'm coming out of a 12-year-long unlucky streak this year. Yeesh. Not only that, but I'll apparently have a "turbo-charged imagination", which should mean lots and lots of good story ideas, right?

Writing Resolutions for 2011

1) Finish writing another novel. Whatever it's about, however crappy it is...finish another one. Prove that it wasn't a one-time thing.
2a) Decide once and for all if I'm going to try to get Thistleswitch published.
2b) If I decide to publish it, actually write a good query letter and send said query letter to actual literary agents.
2c) If I decide to publish it, actually get it published.
2d) If I decide not to publish it, be okay with that, too.


In other news, JaNoWriMo starts today! So maybe I'll get started on fulfilling #1 on the list up there.

(Also, I wrote 2010 every time I tried to type 2011 in this post, and had to fix it every time. Heh.)