How I Got My Agent
Dear reader, I’ve decided to share my story in hopes that if you are feeling discouraged, you’ll find comfort and hope. My journey hasn’t been easy, nor is it over, but every step has taught me that my words mean something. They’re worth fighting for. I promise the same is true for you.
The Beginning
My writing journey began when illness took a wrecking ball to my life.
I’ve always been sick to some degree, but things took a turn for the worse in my mid-twenties. My symptoms flared up and became debilitating and unmanageable. I spent years desperately searching for help – a story for another time. Suffice it to say that my husband and I took an enormous hit. I gave up my dream job. I spent years traveling all around the east coast trying multiple medical treatments that left me sicker than before. We acquired so much medical debt we felt like we couldn’t breathe. Some days I couldn’t walk, others I couldn’t lift my arms, much less rise from the bed. (A major credit goes to my husband for taking care of me literally day and night.) We moved from the house we could no longer afford and sold most of our belongings. The worst part? I felt like I lost years of my life.
Amidst all this, I turned to reading. I had nothing else aside from my faith to keep my thoughts from spiraling. I was often too weak to hold physical copies so I would listen to audiobooks. I developed a love for fantasy. And that—wow. It ignited something in me. So there, in those dark hours amongst the IV chairs and ER visits, I did something I never thought I’d do. I plotted a book. And the moment my arms had enough strength, I began to write. I’d never written before, but this story—I needed to tell it.
I’m not going to bore you with the details of my first book (though I still consider it the book of my heart, especially considering the circumstances that I wrote it in), but after three years working on it, I submitted it to Author Mentor Match – a mentorship program that connects writers with agented authors, ran by the brilliant Alexa Donne). Somehow, I was chosen. I learned so much in that process. My mentor, Swati Teerhdala, wrote the best edit letter that left me feeling so encouraged and determined, and I’ll always be thankful for the experience.
However, mid-way through my querying journey, I realized it wasn’t truly the story I wanted to tell. Not yet. It didn’t have enough of ME in it. I LONGED with all my heart to see a main character as sick as I was, portrayed as strong whether or not she could hold a sword, whether or not she could perform physically. Writing my book that way had always been in the back of my mind, but I was too scared, certain I would fail because I feared the biases people would have against an ill protagonist.
To be honest, I don’t know why I finally decided to take that leap. But I did.
Rewriting that book changed my life. I proved to myself that I could do it; I could write characters that were cunning and interesting and passionate even if they couldn’t “charge” at their enemies in the way you’d expect. More importantly, I realized I could handle writing my real life struggles. It was taxing, yes, but it was also…healing.
So I launched a second round of querying. While I did get requests, no offer came, and I felt utterly spent. I’d put so much of myself into the new version, I wasn’t sure I could do it again. I was depleted. I thought about how long another book would take, how many nights I would once again lay in my bed, fighting with my body to cooperate so that I could write, because oh, how I loved to write.
Still, I pushed on. I speed wrote a book while I was undergoing a treatment that gave me major brain fog just to be writing. Hated it. I knew it wasn’t the right story for me. I shelved it at 90% and slunk into a pit of despair.
The Book That Changed Everything
It happened to me when I least expected it, as these things do, while I was laying sick in bed with little to occupy my thoughts.
It started with a scene. It played out in my head so viscerally I could FEEL it. I saw my main character like a hologram—where she was, the danger she was in. I opened a new Scrivener file, fully expecting to write a few paragraphs then abandon it, but it flowed from me in a way I’d never experienced. I couldn’t stop. I’d never heard a character’s voice so clearly. She came from a part of me I’d forgotten (a story for another time). The first chapter poured out of me in an hour, and during that time, I saw fragments of the rest of her story, plot twists included (my brain can’t seem to conjure a story without them—just ask my CPs).
Two weeks and fifty pages later, I had a partial.
I sent it to my CPs, who pinpointed exactly what it needed (I needed to trim/streamline). Mind you, this is the first book I hadn’t plotted before ever typing a word, but I knew exactly what I wanted the story to be: a story of grit, of passion, of art, and survival.
The moment I sent that partial off, I knew I needed an outline, as the story relied on political maneuvering. The idea terrified me considering the amount of pain and brain fog I was grappling with, so I asked my husband to sit down with me to make sure I wasn’t getting my ideas twisted. My protagonist was not able bodied, which meant her actions were limited, and I also needed help figuring out how to use her wit and determination to carry her actions. (My dear chronically ill and disabled friends, please don’t be afraid to ask others for help. It is NOT a sign of weakness.)
I’ll never forget that day. At the time, my hubs and I were living in my mom’s refurbished attic (for which I will always be grateful). It was up there in that squeaky bed that we plotted out the ENTIRE book. In two hours.
It was surreal. We sat there, papers strewn across the sheets (including maps I’d drawn), and what followed was a VERY enthusiastic idea dump that resulted in so many “omg what if THIS happened” and “BUT WHAT IF HE DID THIS”. I frantically wrote down all the plot point we came up with, tied them together, and—
I had a book a few months later.
I’d never written something so fast in my life. I saw so many blog posts about other writers saying a story just “flowed” from them, but it didn’t seem possible for me. Yet every time I opened my document, the words came. They just…happened. So every spare moment I could conjure, I submerged myself in this book. The story was like a miracle, flowing almost effortlessly (a big deal for me, because when you’re sick, everything requires so much more effort, down to brushing your teeth to checking the mail to even rolling over in the middle of the night). It wasn’t “easy” per say, but the passion, the excitement, the tears--all of it fueled me until I wrote “the end.”
Pitchwars 2019
I finished just in time for Pitchwars in the fall of 2019, and on a whim, I submitted it.
Wanting to be proactive, however, I gathered a group of 6-7 beta readers and sent it off during the wait. I was convinced I wouldn’t get in, and I didn’t want to lose valuable time (another illness related mindset). From the beta readers, I received a lot of mixed feedback across the board. It landed me in a world of confusion and I started doubting my book (though I’m very grateful to all of them! Seriously, that time was invaluable!). But I didn’t know what feedback to take. After consulting with my critique partners, however, I decided to wait for PW results before implementing anything.
In the end, I wasn’t chosen, BUT. The coolest thing happened. One of the mentors who requested emailed me a few weeks later and asked if I’d be willing to work on it with her. I was OVER THE MOON. I brought all my concerns about the book to her, and her notes and feedback instantly soothed me. She “got” my book. She knew exactly what it needed. (Bless you, Kerbie. You found me in one of my darkest hours.)
I revised pretty quickly, took a deep breath, and decided it was time.
Querying in a pandemic
Two weeks after I entered the query trenches, COVID hit.
Back up.
The most talked about success stories seem to be the ones that happen almost overnight, and it often leads us to believe that if agents don’t jump all over something immediately, nothing will come of it. (Lies.) Reader, I spent months in the trenches. Years, if you count my first book. If you’re still there, I see you, and please know that hope isn’t lost if things take a while.
In March of 2020, I began with a small batch. I had a few requests from great agents, and I put out a pitch on #DVpit and received a like from one of my top agents. All of that was thrilling for a short time, then the world quite literally caught on fire. I paused my querying; it didn’t feel right to keep going for multiple reasons. Months passed. I heard almost nothing from the batch I’d sent (understandably).
It wasn’t until mid July that I felt comfortable querying again. I sent out a second batch of about twenty queries, though I had little faith in them. As soon as I did, I was hit with rejections from my first batch. My faith in the book plummeted even more. I decided to stop querying completely. I would leave the query with the second round of agents, but I was mentally exhausted from 2020.
I started all over again with a new book, though I was drained. I love it, of course, but it’s a passion project I knew would inevitably take me a long time to get it right, especially considering how exhausted I was. Plus 2020. I was writing at a snail’s pace. At that point, I made peace with the fact that my journey had once again paused, and would remain idle for a while. A LONG while.
Then August came, and out of nowhere, I got request after request from the book I was querying. Back to back, all at once. Within a WEEK. What was happening?
A few rejections landed quickly, then again, silence. False hope, I thought.
After spending three years in the trenches, I was so used to rejection that I had given up even after all of that. Surely this would not happen for me. No one would care enough about my disabled protagonist enough to follow her to the end of the book. No one would love it enough to want to read it over and over. I was convinced.
The offer
I remember sitting on the couch that blessed October afternoon. I was incredibly sick that day, and so overwhelmed with how much work I had left on the new book. My eyes swelled with tears. All I wanted was to sleep—for days.
My email dinged. It was a response from a full. The agent was one of my top choices, so I braced myself for a rough rejection. Nowhere in my mind had I considered that it might be anything else. In fact, it took me rereading the email about ten times before her words sank in. She loved the book. Even more, she made it clear how much she valued the illness representation. She wanted to set up a call.
So here’s the fun thing about my illness. It flares when I get good news. I immediately started shaking and crying. I lost feeling in my arms and legs, which made the process of picking up my laptop and stumbling into the bedroom where my husband was napping particularly dangerous. I shoved the computer at him because I physically COULD NOT speak. He started sobbing. I don’t remember how long we stayed like that.
The following weekend sent me into a spiral of panic. I was SO nervous; I thought for sure I would get on the phone and she would see how anxious I was and decide not to rep me. Thankfully I was wrong. She was so lovely and kind and I felt instantly at ease. Better yet, she OFFERED. I never, ever thought I’d hear those words.
It was time to notify other agents.
Thus commence a frantic two week period of writing those blessed emails notifying the other agents of my deadline to make a decision.
But see, my time in the trenches—while observing how sick and disabled writers are treated in the publishing world—left me scarred. I wanted to land somewhere safe and secure, and I knew without a doubt I would feel secure if I signed with the offering agent. In fact, she was one of the only ones to list disability and illness on her MSWL, for which I will always be grateful. So I took a hard look at my list. About 13 agents still had my materials, most of whom I knew little about aside from their agency’s sales record. This is where the hard part came in. I began withdrawing my manuscript from anyone I didn’t have a personal connection with (i.e. knowing someone repped by the agency, having a firm track record of inclusivity, etc). It felt awful, because there wasn’t anything wrong with these agents at all; I wouldn’t have queried them if that were the case.
From the handful I left it with, I received a few very kind passes / step asides due to timing and the inability to read. It was election week, after all - who could blame them?
Then it happened again. Another call. One of my other top choices read the book and wanted to talk asap. She was the one who liked my DVpit pitch, and just hadn’t had the chance to read until now.
I don’t think my heart left my throat for three whole days.
All in all, I sent 48 queries, received 17 requests, and landed a few offers and a r&r.
Aaaaand this is the part that wrecked me—a part of the journey I’d never anticipated.
I had to choose between agents who I initially thought were out of my league. I didn’t have that “gut” feeling on who to choose. The agents who offered were brilliant, sharp, passionate, and kind. More importantly, the disability reputation that was so criticized along the way—they GOT it and were willing to fight for it. Everything I questioned about my book, they affirmed.
Because of that, trying to decide between them was absolute agony, so much so that I made myself SICK over it. I talked it over relentlessly with my CPs, who all agreed that I couldn’t make a wrong decision here. It was both flattering (how did I get so lucky?) and horrible (because now I had to send a rejection letter to someone who believed in my work). It was a crushing feeling. I cried.
In the end, though, I decided to accept Jennifer Azantian’s offer of representation. Her vision was so specific and she had such a solid plan. That, and I felt how much she would fight tooth and nail for my story.
My journey is not yet over, but I’m over the moon to have reached this milestone. I never thought it would happen, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we absolutely MUST celebrate the victories along the way, however big or small. Typing “The End” is an achievement in itself, and so is putting your work out there in a query. Celebrate that! It’s what pulled me through.
Reader, I’d like to leave you with this:
I hope you never know the pain of wanting to do something desperately but being physically unable to do so, day after day, week after week, year after year. But if you do, and if you still miraculously—and however slow, because slow is OKAY—fight to put words on the page, or chase whatever dream you might have, I implore you to keep the faith and remember your value.
And if you’re a writer in any stage, especially the query trenches, and it feels like hope is lost, press on. Rejection stings, but the pain dulls after a while, and persistence in this industry is key. Your words matter, and so do you.