The Agents We Love to Hate, Part 2

The following is not an isolated incident. It has happened to me (and others) many times, and the scenario below is becoming more common. And lest one think that I am ranting because I can’t “break through,” I have published under my own name, and some of my ghostwriting clients have also been quite successful in the literary marketplace, with hardcover and paperback deals. And let me reiterate what I said in Part One: agents are good people with a lot of material to sift through. That having been said, (To see the rest of this post, click on “Read More” below.)



there are accountability issues that need to be explored.

Three years ago, I submitted a query to an A-list agent with a great sales record at a major New York agency. After only two weeks, she enthusiastically asked to look at the entire manuscript, which I mailed the next day. I knew from experience not to pester the woman since I wasn’t the only person seeking representation. After six months, however, I believed—and still do—that it was fair game to ask for a response. I was told by the agent’s assistant that they had indeed received my manuscript and SASE and would get to it, probably within the month. Fine and dandy, I thought to myself.

Three months later (and nine months after the submission), I sent a friendly little inquiry to the assistant as to whether they were any closer to making a decision. She informed me that she had just endured root canal work and was behind in her reading. Root canal work. That can’t be good, I thought. I’m a patient man, and so I waited. The agency, after all, was very prestigious.

Three months later (and one year after my submission), I sent another friendly email into cyberspace, asking the assistant if she knew the status of my manuscript—and “I sure hope the root canal went okay!” She made a warm reply, explaining that she had been hit with jury duty but that she and her boss would be giving me a decision within three weeks.

Three weeks came and went, and I pretty much wrote off representation with this agency. But I was miffed because it had cost me twenty-three dollars to mail the manuscript and enclose a large SASE. I also wanted to know what happened to the original enthusiasm about my work. After six more months, I contacted the agent herself and explained the nature of the correspondence I’d had with her assistant and asked if she could give me a decision. I received a terse reply that said, “We are extremely busy, and if my assistant says she’s going to get to your manuscript, then she most certainly will. We apologize for the delay.” A bit snippy, don’t you think?

Another six months passed, but there was no reply. It was now two years after the manuscript had been requested, and I had moved on to other projects with other agencies. Just for fun, I emailed the agent and copied the assistant, explaining that I understood how many submissions they received but that mailing entire manuscripts was expensive and that I thought I deserved an answer. I didn’t receive a reply from the agent or assistant. Silence.

Can you imagine when this happens for “exclusive submissions”? I myself ignore the exclusive part of the request after three months, and indeed, I now forward manuscripts with the understanding that a request for an “exclusive” must receive a reply within one month. (In other words, I set a deadline but cut ‘em a bit of slack.)

There’s no reason to treat authors like this. Once an agent requests a manuscript, there should be some professional guidelines that govern the response, the same kind of guidelines that agents themselves insist on in the initial submission process. If they don’t want to follow the professional protocols that they themselves always preach about, I have one bit of advice: take your name out of the directories and quit taking submissions.