Let’s talk about query letters.
This is only my opinion and my advice, but if I were you, I would never pay a cent for a query letter critique. I would never attend, much less pay for, a workshop about query letters.
Here’s why, and again, these are only my opinions:
No one want to think of themselves as a gatekeeper. I think the publishing industry’s apparatus wants to give the appearance of being open to any and all submissions. Just send it in, and they’ll sit back and call balls and strikes. If you follow the submission guidelines and say X in your first graf and Y in your second graf, you’ll have a fighting chance!
This leads a lot of writers to invest way too much time, energy, and yes, money into their query letter.
My opinion is: if you’re a good writer, you’ll write a good query letter. The end.
My opinion also is: if you’ve forged strong enough connections, you’ll barely even need the query letter.
#
One of my favorite belly laughs is when an agent complains on social media that someone didn’t follow a certain query letter guideline. Even funnier are the servile responses from aspiring authors. “Oh, I would never do that!”
And yes, you should of course follow submissions guidelines, but again, I maintain that if you’re a good enough writer who’s forged strong enough connections, none of it will even matter. You won’t even be thinking about submission guidelines because you’ll already be talking to someone important.
Easier said than done, I know.
#
I’ve read all kinds of query letters, good and bad. But would you like to know what the good ones have in common?
Almost nothing.
There was no magic formula. They didn’t always hook me in the first line. They didn’t necessarily dedicate paragraph one to this and paragraph two to that. They didn’t necessarily give me five to six comparison titles from the last five to six years. They didn’t necessarily explain where the work would fit into the marketplace.
The good query letters I’ve read have simply been the products of good writers—or their agents—who’d written good books and knew how to talk about their work.
#
There is, however, a certain subset of query letters I received that I wanted to discuss. I got enough of them to notice the trend. I’d say I received around ten submissions—maybe a dozen—that fit into this category:
Someone was trying to write Game of Thrones.
Here’s the funny thing: most of these submissions were strong. Good writers who’d spent years doing good work. In every case, I replied and explained why I wasn’t able to take on their project … but I also offered them some advice that I’ll share here:
Spending a decade of your life on one project isn’t always a good thing.
Trust me. I speak from experience.
If you spend a decade of your life writing half a million words on one sprawling fantasy series, you might find yourself become overly emotionally invested in the project and its success or failure.
Trust me. I speak from experience.
If you spend a decade of your life working on only one project, your imaginary life might atrophy. Finishing one project and moving on to the next one is one of, if not the most creatively invigorating steps you can take.
Trust me. I speak from experience.
George R.R. Martin had built an entire career and sold a lot of books before he wrote Game of Thrones. I’d further argue that the career path Martin followed has grown much, much narrower and more difficult to follow than it used to be.
#
If by some chance you’re one of those authors and you’ve somehow landed on this blog entry, please know that I’m not trying to razz you. I’m not trying to say you didn’t do good work. You did good work. You did great work.
I’m just trying to say, hey—maybe set your current project aside, pat yourself on the back for doing good work, and move on to the next thing. It might be fun.
Robert J. Peterson, Author 