John Cusick, author of Girl Parts, has lived on both sides of the publishing world, starting as a literary agent before getting published Girl Parts published, first in the US and now here, by us. In this guest blog post, he lets us know a little about what it's like and gives his top tips for budding authors...
My career began with an American Bulldog. I’d climbed five flights to interview at S©ott Treimel NY, a boutique juvenile literary agency in the LaGrange Terrace penthouse at Astor Place. Five months previously I’d graduated college, set to dazzle the world with the profundity of metaphor in Russian literature. I wanted to be a novelist, and was also interested in the book business. Now, twenty interviews later, beat and red-eyed, I clasped my double-espresso like a scabbard and faced one hundred pounds of slobbering Cerberus. Its nametag read “Petey.”
Speaking of metaphor, Petey was an apt one for what I hoped to become. Agents can seem like fanged gatekeepers, blocking the entry to literary success. I didn’t know what lay beyond the big dog, and neither do most writers. Getting past doesn’t mean getting published. In fact an agent’s inbox is just the beginning of the fraught, uncanny journey to the bookstore. I know this well. Now that I’m an agent, I read dozens of queries a day— vetting, culling, and mostly rejecting. I crumple with prejudice. I delete with a vengeance. But I’m also a writer, and know what it’s like to send a query hoping someone will discover my talent. It’s a Jeckle & Hyde identity— part fiendish rejecter, part doe-eyed scribbler.
Writer-agents aren’t unheard of, though my situation is a bit unique, as my agent is also my boss. Not long after starting at STNY, Scott suggested I write something for teens. Solicited? Woot! I’d have a book deal by Christmas. Right?
…Right?
Writing young adult after four years studying 19th century novels wasn’t easy. I couldn’t hide behind complex literary tricks or sweeping description. I had to tell a good story. Period. My characters would have to do things, not just sit around feeling and thinking. Feeling blocked, I flew to L.A. to attend the Book Expo America on behalf of STNY. Landing at LAX, I glanced out the window and saw a city where I knew virtually no one. I thought of the first day of school, when everyone seems to be friends but you. And then BAM I had it. My story was about isolation, feeling alone in a crowd. I opened my lap top and started typing furiously— just in time to hear, “Excuse me sir, you’ll need to stow that.”
Four months later I presented my manuscript, and immediately wished my agent didn’t read literally ten feet from my desk. As Scott read, I tried to concentrate on work, jumping out of my seat whenever he went “Hmm.” This went on for days (an eye-blink compared to most agency turn-around times), Scott scribbling in the margins, me grinding the enamel from my teeth. I knew to expect notes, but wasn’t prepared for anything so exhaustive. Scott said he had “some thoughts”: My story was set in the future. Scott suggested a contemporary setting. It was told in the present-tense. He wanted simple past. It was in the first person. It should be in third. And that was just the beginning.
Getting notes is like being punched in the nose and saying, “Thanks!” Revision is resetting the bone. It hurts. But I was lucky. Not only did Scott hold my hand through months of rewrites, everyday I saw our clients— veteran writers— take their notes and go back to work, rethinking, refining, and polishing. Without their example I’d have despaired. More than ever, agents develop manuscripts before submitting— editors can’t risk purchasing underdeveloped material— but it still shocked me how many drafts any manuscript undergoes before it’s acquired, let alone hits the shelves.
At last my manuscript, Girl Parts, was ready to submit. Scott hand-picked a list of editors, and the waiting began. I learned to fear the sound of Scott’s email alert and his sigh “Oh well.” More distracting than rejection was the eventual interest from three major houses. There were a few awkward moments when editors called for Scott and got me instead. It was like an Abbot and Costello routine:
Editor: Is John willing to discuss edits?
Me: I am, sure.
Editor: No, John.
Me: I’m John.
Editor: No, no. John the author.
Me: Yes. That’s me. I’m the author.
Editor: Oh! I’m sorry, John. I thought I dialled STNY.
And so on.
When at last we accepted an offer from Candlewick, I helped negotiate my own contract, a privilege few authors are afforded. I’d aided Scott on dozens of contracts, but the fine print looked much different when it was my name on the signatory line. Then came my editor’s notes, and jacket design, and marketing…but that’s all the fun stuff.
With the emphasis on creative development in MFA and undergrad programs and critique groups, writers aren’t always aware of what to expect from the agenting process. As an agent and author I’ve had a crash course in the business of getting published, and so here are six things I wish someone had told me:
1. Your first book probably won’t get published.
One of STNY’s authors has for jacket copy: “This is not Mr. Scrimger’s first novel; but it is the first one anyone apart from his wife has liked.”
It’s sad but true. Writing something saleable (and by this I mean not just artistically coherent but marketable) takes practice, and most authors have a few unsold first-tries lurking in a drawer somewhere. The good news for first-timers: the pressure is off. Experiment. Type (or scribble) with impunity! Consider your first novel a warm-up, part classroom, part playground. Down the line you may even return and cull great things from it—or better yet, revise and publish! But don’t get discouraged if first time isn’t the charm. In the words of Beckett: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”
2. Writing “The End” is far from the end.
I wrote my first novel in college on a Smith Corona Electric (just for fun), and typing “The End” at the bottom of page 300, I felt I’d just climbed Everest. There it was, my book, all seven pounds of it. A work of flawless genius. Finito. Months later an agent friend sent me a three-page letter of editorial suggestions, and I nearly stroked. “But the book is done,” I whined. “You want me to change it?”
I didn’t understand that the first draft is step one on a long journey of revision that can take months or even years. I had the gist on paper, now it was time to dig deeper, enrich my characters, their motivation and psychology, the reality of the story’s world, everything.
Agents assume writers are willing (and eager) to revise. Even best selling authors with awards coming out their ears go through draft after draft. Some writers freak after receiving their first critique from an agent or editor, when they should be popping champagne. STNY rarely sends notes to writers without (in our opinion) potential. Criticism means interest, or at least a measure of respect in your talent. Moreover, notes are a grad school creative writing course for the price of an S.A.S.E. Value them!
3. Let the work speak for itself.
An author once sent chocolate chip cookies with her query. That author instantly became my best friend forever. But, as far as I know, she remains unpublished.
I look for three things in a query, in this order: Firstly, did the author follow our guidelines? It may seem picky, but it’s a litmus test of professionalism. Secondly, I look for a strong, coherent story concept. If it’s too familiar, or too generic (i.e. “loner kid comes of age and struggles with bullies and first love”), I know we’ll have trouble selling it. Finally, I look for superlative writing— exquisitely fresh observation, ingenious details and a startling voice. Professionalism, strong story, strong writing. That’s what I (and I think all agents) look for.
It’s true that agents read thousands of queries a year, and it’s important to stand out: but stand by being a desirable author with a great story and strong writing. Believe me, that’s enough! Avoid colourful fonts, gimmicky ideas, and presents. Also, professional websites, business cards and fancy letterhead may look cool, but they won’t save a boring story.
4. A good idea is better than good writing, but you need both.
I hear it everywhere. Editors, agents, librarians and booksellers are all looking for “high-concept” books. What makes a book “high-concept?” If the central idea of the story is clear, precise, and unique, it’s probably “high-concept.” Lauren McLaughlin’s Cycler is an excellent example: Every time a girl has her period, she transforms into a boy. BAM. That is different, easy to grasp (conceptually if not scientifically), and get sour imagination spinning before we read the first page. Note too that Cycler's concept can be described in a brief sentence. Learning to distill your story into its basic element this way is an important skill.
Is concept more important than strong writing? No, but it will get your foot in the door, as most agents read query letters before sample pages. And strong writing rarely sells a book. This fact is oft lamented in our office: sometimes a truly talented writer can’t get published because his or her stories are just, well, boring.
5. Follow your muse, not the trends.
Boy, I wish I’d written a vampire book back in 2006. Instead I was writing about dinosaurs. Oh well. Trends are difficult to anticipate, even for industry professionals. Trying to follow them rarely succeeds. By the time your book is finished, chances are editors’ lists are already saturated with zombie-pirate-mysteries, or whatever the next hot thing is. Your best bet is to follow your muse. Write what inspires you, what moves you, what you can write truthfully and with personal understanding.
That said, you probably have more than one good idea, and it doesn’t hurt to pick the most market-friendly. Look for what’s out there, and what isn’t. The other day Scott said to me, “You should write a novel set in the roaring twenties. No-one’s done that lately.” Next day, Going Bovine author Libba Bray signed a seven-figure deal for just such a series. Whoops, we were too late. But she certainly wasn’t, and I’m willing to wager Ms. Bray had a dozen worthy ideas and chose one that was market-friendly.
6. It’s not impossible!
My grandmother once told me, “John, surviving a hand grenade going off in your hat is a miracle. Getting published happens everyday.” She was right. Work hard, keep at it, be smart, be ready to give yourself entirely to your work, and chances are you will either A) realize you have better things to do, or B) get published. It’s not impossible. It happens everyday. And remember, there’s an entire industry of professional bookmakers out there who truly want you to be the next J.K. Rowling.
You can watch the trailer for Girl Parts below, or discover more about the book in the blog post, Do You Need a Sakora companion...
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