Submitting Your Story: The Cover Letter

By Steve Weddle

From my LitReactor class lecture on writing a cover letter when submitting your short story:

If you’re writing a sci-fi story, you probably don’t want to submit to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. That’s a fairly easy call for you, I hope. Don’t send your private eye noir to Analog, either. But what about Hudson Review? What do they want? What tone do their stories hit? What’s the feel of the magazine? How are stories in the Georgia Review different from those in the Kenyon Review? From Carve?

Some magazines post sample stories online. Check these out, but don’t let them substitute for reading the magazine itself. Of course, if you’re talking about an e-zine, you’re in better shape.

I’m still surprised at how many people submit to magazines without ever looking at them. If you’re serious about your writing – and you are or you wouldn’t be here -- you’re going to want to find the best home for it. You don’t want to have a story you’ve been working on until midnight for three months straight going to an eight-page, saddle-stitched rag with an MS Paint cover.

What if you can’t afford to subscribe to fifteen magazines? Well, then you’re a normal person, because, damn, that gets pricey.

One thing you can do is sample issues, which are usually a little less expensive than the current issue. A word of warning. Don’t get a sample issue from five years back, because editors might have changed, tastes might have shifted.

If you’re near a university library, you’re in good shape as most of those still subscribe to literary magazines. If you’re relying on a public county or town library, you may be less fortunate.
Another option, which I’ve done, is to go in with friends, subscribing to different magazines, then trading once you’re done. A handful of people swapping five or six subscriptions can help build your understanding of the industry.

The Writer’s Market books are valuable resources, too. Check out the short story market books. Often, last year’s edition will go on sale at a steep discount when the new one gets close. I’ve found that a year-old short story marketplace book is usually fairly up-to-date, though you should always check everything – names of editors, reading periods – against the magazine’s website or current issue.

You can also enter writing contests at a literary magazine. I think that’s how I ended up with a two-year subscription to the Iowa Review years ago. You pay your ten bucks to enter the contest and they consider your work and send you their issues. Works great for everyone, as long as you watch the money. Some contests charge $25 to enter and offer a $500 prize. I avoid these as the ratio of fee to reward seems too high to me.

At Needle: A Magazine of Noir, we got wonderful stories about spies in Argentina, famine in Thailand, and once, so help me, unicorns on Planthar. I kid you not. The stories, with the exception of the famine story, were well done. The problem is that they weren’t for us.

Roughly twenty percent of the stories we get at Needle are about private dicks and squirrely dames, falling deeper into some mystery while Peter Lorre waits just off-stage. We’re not specifically looking for period pieces. We’re not a historical magazine any more than Georgia Review is the home for your story set in Georgia. While the Georgia Review might publish a story set in Georgia, that isn’t what the magazine is going for. You have to read the magazine. You have to get a feel for the tone. You have to do your homework.

Sending your short story to a list of magazines without doing your homework is like walking into a bar and offering to do “anything” for five bucks. Or applying to a hundred colleges.

You want to be associated with a good magazine, because you’ve worked hard on your story. You want your story to find the right home. Let’s be honest about it – you’ve probably worked your butt off if you’re ready to send it out. So when your story is ready, make sure you’ve done your homework.

When you’re ready, you need to think about what magazine you want to walk to the mailbox for and open and see your name right there on the table of contents. What link you want to send around to people to say, “Hey, thought you’d like to know about my story at this site.”

And, when you’ve picked the right spot, you’ll need to write that cover letter. A couple thoughts on that ->

You’ll want to address the letter to the editor and offer a quick sentence about why you picked this magazine and why you think your story is a good fit.

“I have enjoyed your last few issues and thought you might find my 2,500-word Elizabethan romance a good fit.”

Of course, you’ve worked months on the story. The last thing you want to do is mess up your bio, right? How silly would that be?

If this is the first real story you’re sending off, then I'd encourage you NOT to say "This is my first real story" or "I've only been writing for eleven days." You've been reading and writing for years.
Sometimes at Needle, we’d get a cover letter that will say something like "This is my first attempt at writing a story. I hope you like it." Please, don't do that. The editor doesn't want to look at your first story. It would be like opening a restaurant and saying "I've never baked a pie before. Won't you try my first attempt?"

In my experience, the writers with the least confidence tend to send in the biggest bios.

If you’re Stephen King or Janet Evanovich, you’re not going to list every publication you’ve ever been in. If you’re John Ryan Stumblebuns, you probably will.

GOOD: Jessica Smith is a short story writer and the recipient of the J. Henry Albert Award for Short Fiction. Her work has recently appeared in Cathode Quarterly and The Imagist. She lives in Chicago.
BAD: Jessica Smith has been writing since she was seven years old. Her first story, “The Trouble with Ruff-Ruff” was published in her family’s Christmas newsletter. She attended Holy Oak College and received a BA in History with a minor in French. During her time at Holy Oak, she was also editor of the literary magazine, Holy Oak Leaves Review, and volunteered at a local pet clinic. Her work has appeared at more than 100 websites, including NightShamblesEvil.blogspot.com, DolphinLove.wordpress.com, and NewStoryEveryHour.weebly.com. She lives in a small, teal bungalow outside Las Vegas, with her husband, two dogs, three fish, and a troublesome cat called Mr. Whiskers.

As with everything, THE STORY you write is the most important thing here. Editors will discount some silliness and unprofessionalism in a cover letter, but you want to give the editors fewer reasons to skip past you.

No editor ever has passed on a great story because the author’s bio was too brief. Many editors have skipped a decent story because the writer’s bio made the writer sound like an amateur.

Bonus Linkage:
Another take on Author Bios: No One Cares About Your Life Story: 9 Tips for a Better Author Bio
Stories this editor is tired of seeing: Things I’m tired of seeing in lit mag submissions 
Upcoming LitReactor Courses: https://litreactor.com/classes/upcoming

Dear [Unnamed Wannabe Author Who Thinks They Are God's Gift to Agents]

My husband recently alerted me to a generic letter to agents that was making the rounds on Twitter. I have no idea who actually wrote it, and he didn't either. I tried searching Twitter and didn't succeed in identifying the person.

However, the Internet is where your sins go to die a thousand deaths over and over again because nothing can be truly, permanently eliminated. Screen shots and archival services see to that.

This was the letter:

I am not an agent. However, on behalf of all the decent authors trying to get agents or editors who may be in a justifiably bad mood after getting a submission such as the one above and based on my experience as an editor reviewing submissions, I do have a response.

Dear [Unnamed Wannabe Author Who Thinks They Are God's Gift to Agents]

Please don't be offended that I haven't taken time to read your query letter to the point where you present your name because it's actually better that I forget who you are. NOW. Otherwise, I'd be likely to tell fellow agents and editors of the incredibly unprofessional submission you sent and you wouldn't just be banned from submitting work to me again in the future.

When I was a teenager applying for my first job I didn't photocopy my application form for McDonald's and drop that off at Burger King or Wendy's. I filled out each form. You know why? Despite the volume of applications I was putting out I understood that each place I hoped would hire me had specific application requirements.

A submission to an editor or agent is like an application. The employer has told you what they want to see to evaluate your application to advance to the next round in the publishing industry. You're either going to get a book deal or get one step closer to a book deal than you were before you submitted.

When you don't follow my submission guidelines it tells me several things. You don't respect my time enough to ensure that I have just what I've asked for.That doesn't suggest to me that we'll have a good working relationship.

I did you the courtesy of providing clear directions. You just showed me you can't follow them. That worries me because if I present your work to an editor I need to know you'll follow their directions for editorial revisions. I need to know you'll respect their time. I need to know you'll do your job like a professional. If you don't then the editor won't be happy with me and that can jeopardize my business and my reputation. Right now, you're begging me for my attention and you've given me several reasons to believe that representing you would be a headache and could cost me future business.

Remember how I said I didn't photocopy my McDonald's application and hand it in at Wendy's? I didn't want the managers to think I wasn't that serious in an opportunity at their business. You're sending in so many submissions you can't be bothered to properly format them or send the required material? Have you researched your subgenre and the agents who specialize in that type of content? Clearly you aren't very serious about having me represent you because any one of hundreds will do. I know you aren't concerned with my submission guidelines so I doubt you even know what type of writers I work with.

You clearly think you're too special for guidelines to apply to you but I'm the one who is a gainfully employed professional in this business. While having my ass kissed isn't something I expect I do appreciate being treated like a respected professional.

I'm not sure what you define as a reasonable sample and a reasonable synopsis. I'm also not going to find out. The reality is that on any given day I receive dozens of submissions. This is a very competitive industry and part of how people distinguish themselves is by showing they are ready to take their work as an author seriously. That means doing pesky little things like using punctuation and following submission guidelines.

In sending this response I've actually shown you more courtesy than you've shown me. I've explained why we have submission guidelines. In case you didn't connect the dots, part of what we're looking for is someone who knows how to read well enough to follow directions. How you present your material is an indication of your professionalism, or lack thereof.

For every hundred submissions I receive I may only seriously consider representing three writers. Out of those writers given serious consideration I will only represent a handful. Publishing is an industry that favors buyers rather than sellers. For every book that is traditionally published there are hundreds to thousands of writers who received a rejection letter. Consequently, I'm looking for reasons not to work with someone so that I can devote my time to the writers who have the potential to have a serious writing career.

And those writers are not the people who decided to make a bad first impression by presuming their time was more important than mine, that the rules don't apply to them and that they can do whatever they want and still get a publishing deal. That may be true if your name is Brad Pitt. It is not true if you are a nobody.

Sincerely,

The Agent You Didn't Bother To Identify

I've said it before and I'll say it again. If a writer doesn't follow our submission guidelines their work may be deleted without further correspondence or consideration. In some cases, they may find themselves on our shitlist and be barred from consideration for publication in the future.

And as much as I want to discover great new writers and give people a chance I sleep perfectly fine at night with that policy. I've been sworn at too many times by people who were rude, I've given up time with my family dealing with someone who didn't think they should put in the work on their own writing.

No more. No respect for me means you can take your sub and shove it.

Are you and your manuscript ready for submission?

by: Joelle Charbonneau

There is a question that I get asked pretty frequently by aspiring authors.

“When do I know my work is good enough to submit?”

Ha! Fun question. Unfortunately, there isn’t a really good answer to that question. I mean, that’s kind of like asking “When do I know if I’m in love?” You know you’re in love when you feel it. I guess Dr. Phil or Cosmo might have some kind of cool questionnaire to fill out to make sure, but knowing you are in love is a gut feeling. Kind of like figuring out if your story is ready for the submission world. Although, the idea of a questionnaire is kind of fun. I mean, wouldn’t that be great if there was a check list you could go through to make totally sure you and your manuscript are ready for the submission process? So, with that in mind, and in honor of Chuck Wendig who loves lists, here is 15 ways an author can know a manuscript is ready for submission. (Yeah – Chuck would have come up with 25, but I’m not as cool as he is. So maybe he’ll find another 10 to add to the list.)

1. The manuscript is finished. Yes, that’s right sports fans. You need a beginning, a middle and an end. Two out of three won’t cut it. I don’t care that it takes agents and editors months and months to read a submission. Don’t submit the beginning now and get around to writing the end while you’re waiting or them to fawn over your brilliance. Do that and you’re going to be waiting a hell of a long time. You might have that kind of time to kill. I do not.

2. The manuscript length fits genre parameters. Yes, I know your novel is special. It requires 200,000 words to fully develop the characters and the fifteen storylines that eventually converge into one ending. But if you are writing genre fiction I’m fairy certain that particular word count is going to get you a lot of head shaking and not much else. No one is going to get excited about a story that is over twice as long as the genre conventions. Yes, there are exceptions to the rules. A book can be a little longer or a little shorter, but unless you’re Stephen King no one is going to offer you a contract on a book that defies the genre standards. Do your homework. And if you start telling me you need every one of those 200,000 words and not a single one can be cut—well, let’s just say I’m probably not going to believe you.

3. You’ve proofed your book. No typos should be a given. And yes, this is easier said than done because while word processing programs are fabulous, they look for words that aren’t in the dictionary. They aren’t going to find the words that are spelled correctly, but aren’t the word you were looking for. Only you can find those. A typo won’t sink your manuscript, but a bunch of them is a sign of a sloppy writer. You don’t want to be a sloppy writer.

4. Your book is not printed on pink, scented paper. While Legally Blonde’s Elle Woods makes the whole pink scented resume seem like a brilliant idea, it isn’t. And you probably think I’m joking about this, but people do it. They print queries (yes, some places still want printed queries although I haven’t a flippin’ clue why) on floral, colored, scented paper. Now often the scented part is an accident. Smokers might not realize that the cigarette they have been enjoying while stuffing their query envelopes has been preserved in the envelope for the agent or editor to enjoy. I’ve heard dozens of stories about animal hairs, smoke, crumbs and other tidbits being added to queries to give them that personal touch. This is a personal touch you do not want. Trust me!

5. You’ve opened the book with a fabulous hook. Remember that agents and editors get a lot of submission. Thousands of them during the course of a year. You don’t get to hope they read far enough to get to the good part. The first line better be the good part. And the line after that. And the one after that. You have to hook them fast and then pull them into your story. If you find yourself saying “if only they read X scene” you know you aren’t ready for submission. Because that scene should be your first scene.

6. You’ve cut your prologue. Nope, I’m not kidding. You know that prologue you think is brilliant and you love. Cut it. Honest! I’m not being mean. While I know you poured your heart and soul into that prologue, I can promise you now that agents and editors aren’t going to read it. Most industry professionals I’ve talked to say that when sample pages come with a prologue, they skip the prologue and turn to chapter 1. 99.9% of all prologues get axed. And the ones that survive are typically the NY Times Bestsellers who are basically allowed to do whatever the hell they want because…well, they’re a NY Time Bestselling author. When you get to be a NY Time Bestseller, you can have a prologue, too. I promise. Until then—put it under your pillow so you can cherish the memories.

7. Your first chapter ends on a fabulous, page turning hook. You know those authors that you love to curse out because they kept you up all night reading when you should have been getting sleep. You want to be one of those people. If your characters go to sleep at the end of a chapter, your reader will probably remember that they are supposed to get rest and put the book down. End the first chapter in a great hook and the reader will flip the page with you and suffer at work for it the next day.

8. All your chapters end on a fabulous, page turning hook. See above. Don’t settle for a mediocre chapter hook. Make them all rock.

9. You don’t have more than one point of view per scene. Okay, this one might annoy some people, but I really think this is an important rule for authors breaking into the biz. One point of view in a scene is pretty standard. Are there authors out there who use multiple points of view in their scenes. Yes. These are those same authors who get to use prologues. They’ve been at this a really long time and get to break the rules. Unfortunately, you have to follow the rules for a while until you’ve earned the right to break them. Sorry!

10. You’re manuscript starts in action. If you start with “It was a dark and stormy night.” you’re going to be in trouble. Pick a scene where the main character has something at stake. Put them in a situation with conflict. This will pull the reader in and at the same time allow the reader to really learn about your main character. The best way to get to know someone is to see how they respond to difficulties.

11. You’ve cut the boring parts. A favorite NY Times Bestseller that I know loves to talk about cutting the boring parts. Anything that slows down the plot or the pacing no matter how lovely the writing needs to go. Sorry!

12. The plot resolves in a logical way. For some reason a lot of manuscripts I’ve seen feel like they use Monty Python’s Holy Grail as inspiration for their ending. The plot is racing along and then the author realizes the book is 100,000 words and they need and ending fast. So BAM – they end the book. The killer is revealed. The love story is resolved. Only there wasn’t a build up to either. The ending comes out of nowhere. While a book that is too long is bad, so is a book that cuts corners to ensure it isn’t too long. Nothing is more depressing for a reader than an unsatisfying ending. Give us a payoff worthy of all the words that came before.

13. You’ve done your homework. This means you’ve actually figured out who your target audience is for your book and you have a list of appropriate editors and agents to submit to. It doesn’t matter how brilliant your work is, if you don’t send it to the right people you’re hosed.

14. You’re prepared for rejection. No, I’m not being doom and gloom by assuming you’re going to get rejected. Rejection happens. It doesn’t matter how high up the publishing ladder you go – you are going to get rejected. And when you’re on the bottom rung (and I know that rung because I hung out on it for a really long time) rejection is almost a guarantee. Just because your manuscript is brilliant doesn’t mean the editor or agent you’ve submitted to will have space on their list for it. Sometimes you need to knock on a bunch of doors before someone opens one. Sure, we all hear stories of the person who got an agent on their first query and landed a publishing deal a week later. That could happen to do, but you need to assume it won’t. If you go into the process with realistic expectations you’ll be a happier person. Trust me on this!

15. You are ready to begin the next project – because every book you write makes you a better writer. When that agent or editor comes knocking, you want to be able to show them you are a pro.

If you have answered yes to all all of the above - have at it. And good luck! Remember that publishing is a marathon, not a sprint. Everything from queries to manuscript submissions to the book landing on the shelves takes time.

Always Be Connecting

By Johannes Climacus

Who are you trying to sell your book to? If you think you’re trying to sell your book to your “readers” then you’re a damned moron.

You wrote your book and now you're sending it out to People In The Industry. Good on ya, mate. Here’s a test to see who you want to buy the damn thing. Look in the email. Yeah, up there above where it says “Subject Line.” See where it says “TO:”? That’s who you want to buy the thing. Probably. Unless that person is trying to sell it to someone else. And, of course, unless that one is trying to sell it to someone else and so on. But you have to sell it to that one person. Let your editor sell it to the sales force and the sales force sell it to the buyer for the bookstore and the salesperson at the bookstore show it to someone in the store who goes home and orders it off Amazon. You don't need to worry about that. You just have to sell it to the one person in your "TO:" field up there. 


If you’re trying to land an agent or an editor, you pretty much need to do two things. One: write a decent book. Presuming you’ve already done that, you’ll need to do one other thing: make them want to buy the book. That’s it. A two-step process. 


Now, what makes people want to buy the book? Look, there’s a shitload of good books out there. Sure, you like to think that the cream will float to the top, but you know what else floats? A big old turd. You want your floating cream separated from everyone else’s floating turd. You have to connect with the buyer, whatever you’re selling.


I was in sales for a long fucking time. That Gary Ross guy says ABC stands for “always be closing.” Well, that guy's a moron. Stands for “always be connecting.” You connect, you sell. Simple as that. When I was selling crap, one minute I’d be a huge Vince Ferragamo fan. That afternoon, nobody could hold the jock of Kenny Stabler. The hell did I care? My job was 1. to sell widgets and 2. get from one end of the day to the other without getting blackout drunk. And the key to selling was and always will be connecting. (Someday I'll tell you the story of running into the woman playing Vanessa in 'Corvette Summer.' I think she took a liking to me, but I lost track of her.)


These days connecting is super-damn easy. You floating turds don’t know how easy it is. I’d have to scope out a site, look in the parking lot for the guy’s car and bumper stickers, talk to some nudge of a secretary. Take people to lunch. Talk to them. All the while I'm trying to memorize the names of his kids while he's throwing back a couple martinis on my account and I'm drinking perri-flippin-aye and sweating through a 10-year-old wool suit. All you people have to do is hit the internet. Google. Facebook.


I’ll show you how to do this.


Let’s say you’re sending your book out to an agent or an editor. Pick one or two, maybe three tops. Before you send your precious jewel off, track down the MyFace page of your target. Oh, she likes Bob Marley songs? Well, damn, Einstein, go grab a Marley quote and slap it up on your wall. Stay away from the pot references, though. Just to be safe.  


Now let’s look at your next target. Books. Authors. Run through the list of authors this person likes. Maybe people this author represents. Then track those authors down on MyFace. Send a few of them friend requests. Most authors on MyFace are so competitive that they're just trying to get to 5,000 friends so they can do the old “I’m too popular and must create a FAN PAGE!!” Help them and yourself out at the same time. Friend that jackhole. Then when the editor or agent sees your names together, that’s gotta help. Or just say you like MURDER BY LANTERNLIGHT or whatever crap book your target also likes.


The key is to make connections. Like what your target likes. Unless you’re submitting to a Nickelback fan. Nickelback sucks.


You have to remember, the world is full of books that are just like yours. Oh, I'm sure you're convinced you have a precious flower unlike anyone else's. You know what you share with every other writer out there? The same thought. All writers think their book is the cream and not the turd. They believe in it. Why? Maybe because their friends told them so. Maybe they're in one of those writing groups in which everyone says nice things hoping to have their own works loved. Or maybe it turns out your book really is good. (Hell, I don't know. I haven't read your book. I'm too busy suing Jeremy Thomasson for the crap job he did on my ebook covers.)


So if you want your book to stand out from big pile of slush floating around out there, make a connection with your target. If the editor or agent likes you, they might give your book just a wee bit more attention.


Think about the times you've picked up a book because the author is from your hometown. Or has your first name. Or seemed like your kind of person on that local talk show. You connect with authors, don't you? You'll read the next Lee Child before you know what the plot is, won't you? Stand in line for the next Stephen King? As a reader, you're relying on connecting to these authors. Make sure you use this to your advantage. Connect with the agents and editors. You think Vince Ferragamo got to be the greatest California QB in the 70s without working his butt off? Or Stabler? Oh, you're from San Diego? I meant Dan Fouts. Go Bolts.

The Fear

By Russel D McLean

The book is gone.

Out of my hands.

It’s a strange feeling. I start to pace the flat. Thinking about when I wrote, “The End,” how I had doubts and anxieties I couldn’t put into words.

I try and watch some TV.

I can’t.

I try to read.

The book in my hands makes me think about all the flaws in what I have just sent out. I know the premise, but did I do it justice? What about all those continuity errors? What about the voice? Is that voice strong enough? Are the characters properly rounded or just two dimensional morons who are more likely to depress the reader than intrigue them?

Have I lost it?

That is the question that haunts every time something goes out. It’s a precarious thing, this writing gig, especially if you want to make a living. What happens if you find that you just lose all the connection with your readers?

What happens then?

What happens if you can’t claw that back?

Lightning in a bottle. Can you capture a cliché like that twice?

I have to wonder.

Over the next few weeks I bury myself in another project. I think, this is better, and worry that I’m right, that what I’ve sent in is the wrong project.

Any use worrying?

Just bury into the new project. Hope for the best.

Days turn into weeks. I attend the day job. Lose myself in other dramas. Keep hammering at the new project. Watch my email and listen for my phone.

My heart hammers when I think about it. I imagine all the worst case scenarios. The most scathing criticisms. I appreciate honesty and yet fear it, too. Especially from someone whose opinion I respect.

These are the worst moments.

Not waiting to hear what the readers think. By then everything is out of your hands. But waiting to hear from editors and agents, all you can think of is: What should I have done to make this better? Are they going to finally see me for the fraud I am?

When the email comes, it says, “Give me a shout and we’ll talk about the project.”

I panic.

Remember all the worst case scenarios.

But it has to be done.

Because the fear and the doubt are part of this gig. Because sometimes, you are going to get it wrong, but its better if someone can tell you that you’re going to. And then there’s that hope – that tiny, tiny little voice of optimisim – that says, you’ve done it before. You might have to some work, but you can do it again.

It’s the quietest voice that always wins out.

The quietest voice that reminds me why I do this. And why, in spite of The Fear, there is nothing else in this world I’d rather be doing.