Query Letters -- Love or Hate?

I hate query letters

That's not completely true. I hate that to the writer, the query letter is seen as the chasm between unfulfilled dreams and a career.

winnond / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Query letters are how your manuscript lands into the hands of your dream agent, assuming you need an agent. And to be clear, my dream agent is still Martin Short from the Big Picture.

But the query letter doesn't have to be seen in such a limited way. My recommendation -- even if you're going independent, self-pub, small-pub, or Irish pub, you should still do the query letter.

Before you send the mob to my house, here me out.

I've spent considerable time and brain cells (what little I had left) on this topic. I am convinced that when you develop the query letter, it will highlight gaping holes or issues in your story. If you've been struggling with your query letter, the issue may not be the letter itself, it may be (ghasp!) the story you've written.

So I've made a solemn oath. I will write a query letter, before I've started to write my next story. Call this a story treatment if you like. But the approach is sound and powerful if used properly.

After countless hours of research (mostly on Super Agent Janet Reid's Query Shark, but also on dozens of other sites) I have compiled my notes for you:

1. Focus on the Action: leave out the backstory. Most queries give too much description. Probably because we feel like we need to explain why we are where we are, etc. Get to the heart of the matter and fast. Show it. Use powerful verbs. In other words, trust yourself as the writer. Everyone has a backstory. Only your protagonist is about to get into this specific problem.

2. Who is the Protagonist?: Who is the hero/ine? Wee need to know very quickly. Janet Reid recommends opening the query with the hero, in action, facing a problem. Also, only mention the most important characters -- no character soup.


3. What is the Problem?: Start with where the protagonist has a problem (the inciting incident, the disturbance). Again, show it. Let us feel the protagonist's problem. Let us care for her and what she's going through.


4. Compelling, interesting Villains: Boring villains mean boring story. The antagonist has to be so bad that you love him. Think silence of the lambs. 

5. What are the Stakes?: They need to be high. Saying, "He just got laid off," is sad, but not enough to carry an entire story. The stakes need to be high. James Scott Bell says there needs to be a feeling of impending death (actual or psychological). High stakes raise difficult choices...

6. Choices, please: The choices your protagonist faces must be explicit and compelling. If the choice includes, "she'll walk away," then there's no story, is there? Real choices. Though ones. Gut wrenching ones. If Katniss Everdeen does not survive the Hunger Games, her sister and mother will most certainly die. They have depended on her for everything. She volunteered to save her sister. She must survive, even if it means killing the boy whom she has known since she was a child. Tough choices, make for high stakes.

7. 250 words please: General acceptable theory says your query letter should be one page -- but one page can go as high 380 words... maybe more. By sticking to the 250 word count, you are forcing yourself to be succinct and stick to the core of the story. If you're doing this for the benefit of developing your idea you'll be tempted to cheat -- but you shouldn't. Get your main plot down. You will be able to overlay your subplots later. But no matter how many smart sub-plots you add, it will not make up for a flawed main plot. Make sure your main story rocks.

8. Rhythm: You need to develop an ear for rhythm. That's accomplished by reading your lines out loud, We've talked about this, reading out loud is a good (critical) practice. This practice will also highlight clunky writing. Reading out loud tells you when "They are" sounds better than "They're." Rhythm will also establish the tone and voice of your story.


9. Entice: The whole point is for the reader to say, "I want to know more." As you write the query letter, you should get excited too! Your blood should be pumping, and your fingers should be ready to explode with words.


10. Test: Let your writer friends read it. Get their input. Not only for proof-reading (which is critical, of course) but to see if they get it, if they're excited, if they want to read the manuscript. A good query letter/story treatment should sell itself.


As for me, I have to apply all the above to my query letter and story. 


I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Do you have anything to add to this list? I'm sure you do. You can tell uncle Ara :)

Fight the good fight.

Harry Potter + My Son = Showing vs Telling Lesson

My seven-year-old is supposed to read 15 minutes every day. This is called homework at his school. He's in second grade. We've had luke-warm success so far with this. What I mean is that he does not go and get one of the many books available to him and just read it because he wants to know what happens next. He completely sees this as a task from school -- i.e. not fun.

Last week we agreed that he will start reading  J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter book, the Sorcerer's Stone.

This time, I took a different approach. I don't care if he reads for fifteen minutes. I care about what he understands in that span of time. Don't care about the number of pages, I care about the learning that takes place. I want to hear his interpretation of what he reads. He's a very good reader--don't get me wrong. But he's a mechanical reader.

I want him to appreciate the little details that go on in writing. I want him to appreciate the magic of words.

This is what we do: He reads a couple of paragraphs and then starts explaining it to me. I must say, it is the cutest thing. He gets a bit theatrical about the whole thing. At times I just watch him trying to explain it to me.

So I do what I hope most would. I ask him, "What do you think the author's trying to tell you?" or "Why did she say that?" or "I don't understand what he means. Can you explain it to me better? With your words?"

In that, a great lesson was learned. The lesson was not for my son, but me. What stuck out was one particular line:

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles.

I asked my son, "What's happening here?"
"She's crying," he said.
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Because she's doing what someone who's crying would do."
"But the author didn't say cry," I argued.
"But she showed me with the thing that the professor did to her face."

BINGO. This, in a nutshell, is the age-old conversation of showing vs. telling. It's really that easy.

Ms. Rowling could have said:

Professor McGonagall cried.

Boring. We got some much more color with the actual text. She uses a "lace" handkerchief, not a cowboy bandana! She dabs, no trombone honk!

Often I wonder, "Will my reader understand what I'm trying to say? Maybe I need to be obvious."

My seven-year-old got it. Anyone can get it.

I've been fairly savage about eradicating "tell" scenes when I see them. I am sure, I still have some in ACES and in my new novel. Every time I see them, like a cockroach that won't go away, I zap it.

My story is better, my writing is better, and most importantly, the reader sees the images, depth and texture that I see.

Fight the good fight!