5 July 2012, Wheeler Centre, Melbourne, Australia
Hello, my name is Sean Condon.
As you may or may not know I was – or maybe am, I’m not too sure anymore – I am or was a writer. I wrote books and stories and articles and funny pieces because I was, I thought, quite good at it and I enjoyed it. I loved the hours and, as everyone knows, you make a lot of money from it and get to hang out with celebrities and catch private jets everywhere. Plus people respect the hell out of you. As a career path, I can’t recommend it highly enough.
I had an agent, frequently described as the doyenne of UK literary agents. Her name was Pat Kavanagh. Her friend and client Clive James described her as “beautiful, clever and loved to laugh, but she could also have a blunt way with a fool. She could make publishers shake in their handmade shoes.”
Her roster of clients included Ruth Rendell, Margaret Drabble, Robert Harris, Joanna Trollope, William Trevor, the British poet laureate Andrew Motion, her husband Julian Barnes… And me.
She came to be my agent in a pretty straightforward fashion. This was back in October 2001. I was living in Amsterdam and I’d published three books. I wrote to her, telling her what was what – that it was October 2001. That I was living in Amsterdam, and that I’d published three books and was looking for representation. I expected not to hear from her, ever but she asked to see the ms of my novel and a coupe of weeks later called – actually telephoned me – to say that she liked it and would be happy to be my agent. It was pretty amazing. I met her several times, had lunch once or twice, called her at home once (and spoke to Julian Barnes), she sold my novel to a great publisher and everything was pretty nice and I was happy because, why not? I kept on writing and she kept on representing me and then in October 2008 she died suddenly of a brain tumor.
It was sad and awful and I have nothing glib to say about it. Her support and encouragement meant an enormous amount to me; like most writers – the good ones, anyway – I’m not particularly confident and having someone like Pat in my corner was invaluable.
When I started to consider replacing her, my first thought – and I have to be honest, my first choice – was the Wylie Agency, helmed by my former agent’s arch-nemesis, Andrew Wylie. Pat and Andrew became famous enemies after Wylie famously poached Pat’s client Martin Amis away from her with a half-million pound advance for his 1995 novel The Information. I thought it would be a nice irony to go from her to him, and a 500,000-pound advance would be fine with me, too. The Wylie client list is, to put it mildly, impressive. They represent Dave Eggers, Philip Roth, Salman Rushdie, Elmore Leonard, Raffi Khatchadourian and practically every other New Yorker writer, King Abdullah II, our own Elliot Perlman and someone actually called Adonis (although these last two may in fact be the same person), as well as the Estate of Everybody Who Ever Published Anything. But the problem with the Wylie Agency is, you don’t pick them, they pick you. Or to put it the way they do on their very austere and intimidating website: “The Wylie Agency does not currently accept unsolicited submissions. Not now, not ever. So fuck you.” I added that last bit but you get a pretty strong sense that that’s what they mean. Nevertheless, I wrote to an agent there, Sarah Chalfont, and explained my circumstances. She didn’t get back to me so I knew I’d have to settle for an agency that reps fewer Nobel and Pulitzer prize winners (as well, for some reason, Al Gore’s wife, Tipper, author of 1987’s ‘Raising PG Kids in an X-Rated Society’).
So I began sending out letters of enquiry (to those agencies who allow such boldness.) But it’s not a simple matter of drafting something snappy and interesting and then doing a mass mail out. Each agency has its own special, individual, frankly pernickety requirements of such letters because they’re all so desperate for an excuse not to read your ms that if you don’t rigorously follow their guidelines – such as, all sentences must begin with the letter Q – they’ll eagerly, almost ecstatically disregard you/your enquiry/your work.
So my letter of enquiry, a template which I tweaked and altered where necessary was this:
Dear Sir/Madam,
My name is Sean Condon; I am writing to see if you might be interested in taking a look at a manuscript I have written.
I should also mention, without wishing to seem arrogant or presumptuous, that I am a published author (Penguin, 4th Estate, McSweeneys, Lonely Planet Journeys and many others have published my work) and that the reason that I am seeking representation is because my former agent, Pat Kavanagh of PFD and United Agents, passed away.
MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD is a [blah blah blah] YA book that was published by Penguin in Australia in late 2007. Briefly, it is about what happens to the young narrator, Michael Sweeney, in his final year of high school when a semi-mysterious American student shows up. It's about doing the right thing, getting into trouble and falling in love. Also, a school production of The Breakfast Club plays a critical role.
I would be grateful if you would consider taking a look at it.
If you like, you can learn a little more about me and my work at sean-condon-writer.squarespace.com
Thanks for your time.
Yours sincerely,
Sean Condon
Over the next few months I sent this letter off to ICM, WMA (where I already had two film agents repping me for film work at the L.A office), Waxman, Levine/Greenberg, Writers House, Foundry Media, Trident Media, Dystel, Cheney Literary, Fine Print Literary, Sanford Greenburger and Associates, Betsy Lerner at Dunow, Carlson, Lerner, Neeti Madan at Sterling Lord, Sarah Burnes at Gernert Agency, Diana Fox fox literary, Jill Grinberg at Jill Grinberg Literary, Jill Corcoran at the Herman Agency, Herman Agency at the Jill Corcoran Group, Julia Churchill at Greenhouse Literary, Agent X at the XYZ Agency and many, many more, including a woman named Susan Hawk at The Bent Agency of Brooklyn, New York.
Almost without exception, the responses I received were along the lines of “you’re a very talented writer” (which is true) but it’s a very difficult marketplace right now (which is also true, but of far less flattering interest to me) and you deserve an enthusiastic agent who can passionately champion your work blah blah blah we wish you every success in finding the perfect agent and publisher for your work.
Except for the one from Susan Hawk at The Bent Agency of Brooklyn, New York.
Hers read:
Dear Sean,
Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.
All best,
Susan
The Bent Agency
204 Park Place, #2
Brooklyn, NY 11238
Despite the claim of ‘considering each query carefully’ the response sounded suspiciously… generic and oddly hollow. And there was no mention of what a talented writer I was. So I sent another ‘test’ email.
SEPTEMBER 22, 2010
Hello Susan,
I have an idea for a kids' book. It's about a rock named Rock who sits around doing rock-like things such as not moving and coping with the elements. What do you think?
regards,
Sean
After carefully considering my query, she replied:
Dear Sean,
Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.
All best,
So I wrote:
Dear Susan,
Did you really consider my semi-geological query carefully? Be honest – I can take it.
Yours,
Sean
Silence. I waited patiently for a month or two before sending her a nudge:
Hey Hawkey,
It’s Connie the Rock man here. I haven’t heard from you for a while, I guess because you’re carefully reading and considering my last email with the perspicacity, perspicuity and perspiration that’s put you at the very top of your game (Brooklyn Division). Nevertheless I thought I’d send you this brief update on all things Rock.
I’ve decided on a title for the kids’ book about a rock named Rock who does rock-based things (like not moving, not speaking, not emoting in any way despite suffering many hardships such as being stepped and/or rained on):
Rock: [FULL COLON] My Story; [SEMI COLON] A Tale of Courage and Redemption with a Neat Third-Act Twist; [SEMI COLON] For Children of All Ages. [FULL STOP] A Novel.
What do you think? Please send me the list of publishers you plan on enveloping in a fierce bidding war for this sure-to-be-hot property as soon as you have carefully read and considered this email.
Rockspectfully yours,
Sean
Well, this last one really got her attention and she fired off a response:
Dear Sean,
Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.
All best,
The months rolled by… Every few weeks I’d receive a delayed and often somewhat patronising reply, such as this one from Julia Churchill at Greenhouse Literary: “While your story has some nice points, I’m afraid it doesn’t stand out quite enough for me.”
Another problem with the ms soon emerged.
“While there really is so much to love here, and while this was a success in Australia, the setting doesn’t quite translate to the American YA market I unfortunately have to pass on this.” So said Kerry Sparks at Levine Greenberg. While Steven Malk at Writers House wrote, “We thought this was a great concept, and that the voice and the setting felt authentic and realistic. However, we worried that the Australian setting and the slow pacing at the beginning would make this a tough sell in the American market, so I'm sorry to say that we must pass on this project. I wish I could be writing with better news, as we do think you are a strong writer.”
It got pretty depressing, hearing over and over again what a tough market it is and how the slow action took place in the wrong country. And in a particularly low moment of rage and despair I wrote this:
Dear Blah
My name is blah and my book is called blah and it is about blah blah.
Among the reasons you may not want to represent it are: it is not set in the USA and certain readers may find this troubling; there are no vampires in it; nobody is really, really hungry.
Please choose one of these and press reply.
Thanks for your time.
Yours sincerely… Blah
Obviously, I never sent this to anyone because I am not crazy.
But I didn’t give up – I didn’t give up because all the advice websites about everything tell you never to give up – and boy are they wrong. I know that now, but I did not know it two years ago.
My not giving up meant going out with yet another round of queries, and one exchange in particular is instructive. Once again it was my usual letter, adjusted according to whatever unique and specific requirements this literary agency demanded, but in this case I was pitching Michael Sweeney’s Method and another novel, called The Third Act…
It’s Thursday, February 4, 2010 11:42 a.m
Dear Sir/Madam,
My name is Sean Condon; I am writing to see if you might be interested in taking a look at two manuscripts I have written.
MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD is blah blah blah
THE THIRD ACT is the story of two friends who, in the early 1970s, drive from New Orleans to Los Angeles with the idea of turning whatever happens to them into the screenplay for a movie. Along the way they meet a mysterious blonde and are pursued by two Mexican killers. And the whole thing is narrated by the ghost of a long-dead Choctaw Indian.
I would be grateful if you would consider taking a look at either or both of
them.
Thanks for your time.
Yours sincerely,
Sean Condon
A few days later I received this:
Thank you for submitting your query to InkWell Management. Unfortunately, your project is not one that I think would be right for our agency at this time.
Publishing is a subjective business, and other agents may well feel differently. I wish you all the best in your search for representation and publication.
Sincerely,
Charlie Olsen
**
And very promptly, I sent back this:
Dear Mr Olsen,
Please take the time to read my polite, correctly-spelled letter of enquiry a little more carefully and make the few slight alterations to the form reply with which you have so heedlessly responded.
Yours sincerely,
Sean Condon
**
Five minutes later:
Sean,
Your book is not for me.
Best,
Charlie
**
Me:
Good lord, Charlie - there are TWO projects mentioned in the enquiry. That would require a plural form of rejection, i.e 'books', 'projects' and 'are'. If you can't even properly absorb a few paragraphs I'd seriously question your ability to apprehend an entire manuscript; of course, I'm only a writer, while you're an agent so you'd probably know better.
SPC
**
Him:
Sean,
What are you hoping to accomplish here? I'm not interested in either project and my name is not 'Dear Sir/Madam' so the personal letter of enquiry wasn't very personal and neither was my response. Best of luck getting it published but I won't be working with you on this.
My best,
Charlie
**
Condon:
Dear Charlie,
What I’m hoping to achieve by this wearying back and forth is that next time you see fit to summarily dismiss an enquiry you will do so with just a little touch of humanity. Being a writer is quite dispiriting enough without being further ground down by a succession of impersonal form letters, and while I’m not suggesting that you tailor a thoughtful, empathetic reply to every feckless sap that arrives in your in-box, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you actually address the content of his or her enquiry. (For example, if a person is pitching more than one project, throw in a couple of ‘s’s when you tell them you’re not interested.) As far as your somewhat petulant outburst of “my name is not 'Dear Sir/Madam' so the personal letter of enquiry wasn't very personal and neither was my response” – the submission guidelines on the Inkwell site allow only for initial correspondence to be sent to info@etc, therefore ‘Dear Sir/Madam’, however personally upsetting this may be to the sir or madam in question, is the only option.
Finally, to your wishing me luck in getting ‘it’ published; you’re very kind, but once again your powers of reading and comprehension desert you. It’s already been published – and not by me, by Penguin – and what I am looking for is a US publisher. And as soon as I stop receiving robotic form letters I’m pretty sure I’ll find one because, as you would be in a position to appreciate if you bothered to read it, it’s a good book.
Here are some more things you might find irritating about me:
http://seancondonauthor.tumblr.com/about
Yours sincerely,
Sean
Olsen:
Sean,
You're vicious. Send me "Michael Sweeney's Method." But if it's something I don't like, don't expect me to write you a two-page paper on why that is so you can sell it with someone else. Deal?
Best,
Charlie
Three months pass until…
Tuesday, May 4, 2010 2:17 AM
Dear Sean,
I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I've read about half of Michael Sweeney’s Method and I don't think it's something I can sell. You have a finely-tuned wit but the story just didn't grab me as much as the idea — I wish I could come back with a positive answer! Thanks for sharing two of your books with me, and best of luck searching for a new agent. If you have anything else you'd like a read on, feel free to send.
My best,
Charlie Olsen
Eventually he passed on both books and that was the end of that. We parted on good terms.
**
By now it had been the best part of a year since I’d begun my search to replace Pat and it was time to review the situation. And during my three-minute review it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from a certain Agent X at the XYZ Agency.
Back in February 2010 she’d responded to my query promptly, nicely and thusly:
Dear Sean (if I may),
Thank you for querying me.
I would be happy to consider MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD. Please email the full ms to me and cc Assistant P in my office at blahblahblah.com
I look forward to reading.
All best,
Agent X
Eleven months and a handful of extremely inoffensive emails to Agent X (cc-ing Assistant P) later, I broke… It wasn’t that I thought there was the slightest chance that this person would want to represent me or that there was the slightest chance that the book might find a U.S publisher; those hopes were long gone, but it just burned me up that after an initially pleasant beginning this person – this human being – could just so coldly ignore me. (I should also point out that she or he was far from the only one; lots of them are more than happy to pretend that you don’t exist, even a tiny bit. But there’s not much you can do about that without seeming harrassing and crazy.) Anyway, I guess that a year of failure and repudiation had finally gotten to me. So I wrote the following email to Agent X, which I realise probably does make me seem a little bit crazy.
Saturday, November 10, 2010 6:34 PM
Subject: Re: Michael Sweeney's Method
Ms (or Mr) X,
I have to confess that I’m somewhat mystified about what may have occurred during our brief correspondence that’s inspired you to treat me and my follow-up enquiries with such contempt. Was the sample of my work that I sent you so utterly wretched that you simply cannot bring yourself even to tell me get lost? Whatever the reason, your resolute ignorance of the polite, patient emails I’ve sent you over the past few months is as dispiriting as it is despicable. I’m sure you don’t give a good goddam what some stranger from the bottom of the world thinks of your basic social morality but if you feel even a slight sense of shame you may find a small measure of consolation in the fact that you’re far from alone in your behaviour, that rude silence in the face of genuine hope is the incredibly lazy, incredibly dismaying default ‘response’ of many others in your profession.
Seven years later I still await her – or his – reply.
**
Recently, in preparation for today, I checked back in with the Bent Agency of Brooklyn NY. This time I wasn’t pitching my story about the rock who does rock-like things; this time I was going with a tried and tested classic – I was pitching Maurice Sendak’s multi-million selling classic, Where the Wild Things Are. Only under a different name. Before sending my pitch through, though, I read some of the advice for aspiring authors they’d posted on their website, just to ensure that mine and Maurice’s idea was on the money.
BENT ADVICE:
Consider your story in your opening, where is your protagonist? Are they doing something mundane like flossing?
NO!
Are they dreaming, or rambling through a monologue, giving the reader too much information before we even know what they’re about?
NO WAY!
Are you writing the moment that will change their life and set them on the first stages of this unstoppable journey they’re about to take?
HELL FUCKING YES I AM!
Or are you starting at point A when there’s not really a point B? WHAT?
March 1 2012
Dear Ms Hawk,
My name is Sean Condon. I am a writer. I’m querying you with an idea.
My picture book is called ‘Erase Main Duck’.* It’s about a kid who has a tantrum and won’t eat his dinner and then he gets in a boat (possibly imaginary) and visits a land where he becomes king of these creatures he finds there and then gets tired and goes back home on the boat (possibly imaginary) and, despite expectations (the kid’s; the reader’s), his dinner is still hot.
It’s for young readers; the word count is 336. I’ll send you all of them – in the right order – if you show even a slight bit of genuine interest in this idea.
Sincerely,
Sean Condon
You can probably guess the nature and tone – perhaps even the exact words – of Susan Hawk’s reply.
* Anagram for 'Maurice Sendak'.
Purchase Michael Sweeney's Method here for kindle and other devices.
