I could just kick myself. After reading a particular (highly lauded) writing book, which shall not be named, I rewrote my query letter. Yes, the query letter that excited Agent #2 enough for her to request a partial. I slaved over that query letter, trying to write the most compelling hook ever. I even ended it with a cliff-hanger. And it worked—once anyway.
But that wasn’t enough for me, apparently. Oh no. I had to go and rewrite it to reflect the views of the writer-who-shall-not-be-named about what a query letter should look like.
Duh.
My rewritten query letter focused on the premise of my book, as the writer-who-shall-not-be-named said it should. I even stole the sample premise out of the book and used it as the template for my own, which I then plunked into my query letter in place of the cliff-hanging hook, and sent it off to agents 6, 7, and 8.
As you already know, Agent #6 rejected my project, and Agent #7 hasn’t gotten back to me, nor will she. Agent #8 kindly informed me that she was not excited enough about my premise to take on my project. I reread the query I sent her and it’s no wonder she’s not excited. The book sounds dull. I’m not excited about it, and I wrote it.
God bless Agent #8. If she hadn’t told me why she was rejecting my project, I’d never have seen just how boring my new query letter is. I’d have blindly gone on sending it to other agents and wondering why they were rejecting me—er, I mean, my query.
(Of course that’s what I meant, because they’re not rejecting me. Just what I’ve written, what I’ve slaved over for six and a half years, what I’ve poured my heart and soul into. They’re just rejecting that. Not me. Right? Or did I miss the memo again?)
So. It’s back to the original query, hook, line, and cliff-hanger.
Yeah, the hardest thing is to trust your own instincts.
Darcy