Query Trench Warfare
The query trenches are certainly not for the faint of heart. They can be gory—in the form of a full manuscript request that ultimately isn’t the right fit for an agent or publisher, the onslaught of form rejections, and harsh (though incredibly useful) feedback. But I reject one common misconception within this gruesome and at times merciless bloodbath of a convention—other writers in the trenches aren’t your enemy, they are your comrades-in-arms and your biggest asset.
The beauty of this industry, which seems rather unique in the current landscape of getting jobs and pursuing careers, is that it really does give every writer a fair shake. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it sometimes, and I’m sure there are plenty of literary nepo-babies because like any system in life, it isn’t perfect, but as a whole, it is a process that nobody is barred from participating in. If you have a passion, an email, and the free version of QueryTracker, then welcome to the game, baby. To quote Monica Geller, “It sucks. You’ll love it.”
Nobody is barred from slush pile on top of slush pile, or that minute-long evaluation from prospective agents and editors who are fitting some queries into their jam-packed schedules over a sip of piping-hot coffee on a Monday morning. But what I can assure after four grueling years in the trenches, marked by hundreds of unanswered queries, endless form rejections, a handful of useful feedback, four full manuscript requests, and a freaking partridge in a pear tree, is that there isn’t always light at the end of the tunnel, but you keep working and honing your craft because maybe one day there will be, and you want to be ready if there ever is.
One of the hardest pieces of feedback I’ve ever received from a query came sometime last year. After a full manuscript request, I waited restlessly for weeks, checking my email at every free moment, befriending a stinging pain that camped out behind my retina from a raging case of insomnia. Until, on the fateful day of her response, she kindly rejected the project, saying it wasn’t a fit for her list. She provided some salient feedback, with the exception of a line that I’ll never forget for the rest of my writing career.
“Character likeability issues”
I was at work, and I can confidently say that I ugly-cried silently in my cubicle for an hour. It didn’t feel like somebody rejected my creativity, it felt like I was watching my friends get bullied. And I know that’s dramatic, but if you’re a writer, you understand that within the double-bolted door inside your mind, your characters are your friends. You’re on a first name basis with your FMC (female main character), and sat at their favorite bar having countless conversations with their friend group. You crafted their sassy, loyal best friend with a gentle touch and made their love interest the epitome of a grouch who softens for one person—your homemade sunshine-in-a-bottle girl.
And no matter how many times somebody calls this industry “subjective'“ and says “what doesn’t work for one person might suit another,” I can say first-hand that it will still hurt. Because writing stories is vulnerable, and being human means questioning if we’re good enough to tell those stories in the face of judgement.
After this particular gutting loss, my brother gave me some great advice. “Jules, read some of your your manuscript. Read it and remember why you wrote it.”
I will forever be grateful to him for that, among many things. He’s been a pillar for me as I’ve endured this industry, and an ally as I’ve survived the trenches. I read, and suddenly, I was transported back to my favorite place in the world, through vibrant prose and a fresh voice, and then I was working the night shift with Skye, grieving with her, attending her house party, planted in a beach chair right next to her, all at once.
I remembered that it’s not a question of whether or not I’m good enough to tell this story. The question became, “If I don’t tell this story, who will?” And more importantly, I was reminded that I don’t just like these characters, I freaking love them. And I wholeheartedly believed that someone out there would, too.
Disclaimer: I still did a massive developmental edit after this, because the truth is that even when feedback and critiques feel personal, there is still merit to be had in the comments. And no matter how harsh, the opinion of an industry professional is as good as gold. Hubris can be a writer’s biggest poison, while humbling ourselves to see things from a different perspective can be a freaking superpower.
The trenches will make you question every stitch within the fabric of who you are as a writer. But the key is believing that your story deserves to be told, and drafted, and edited a million times, and polished until it shines. And when the querying hurts, don’t let it define you, go to open readings and pitch events, engage with the writing community, and lean on your comrades-in-arms, because they know what your are feeling better than anyone.
We’ve all been there, and there is somebody out there who needs your story. Keep querying, but more importantly, keep writing. It’s always been my answer, to make a new friend in my head, and write their story.
Summer Rayne is the first book in The Shore Summer Series and it comes to Olive Press Publishing in 2027. It is one of many stories I’ve told over the course of this early stage of my writing career, and one that has lived rent-free in my heart for a long time. I’m excited for it to find its readers, and for people to see a piece of themselves in Rayne’s story.
-Julia ♥
