Exactly fifteen years ago today, on April 1st, my agent called to tell me we had an offer from HarperTeen on my debut novel. This news changed my life and it was (thankfully) not an April Fools joke.

Over the next decade, I would go on to publish nine novels through major houses. I built a career, slowly and steadily. I published in different genres and audience groups. I started a newsletter, taught workshops, and established myself as an industry expert who spoke transparently about an otherwise opaque industry.

At times, there were setbacks—books that didn’t sell, proposals that were rejected—but they didn’t last long. After one or two blows, I always found my footing again. But come 2021, things changed. I found myself in a pretty stubborn rut. What had started as one book not selling had stretched into a substantial drought where multiple projects did not find homes for a variety of reasons.

I blinked and suddenly here we are, 5+ years later, and I still haven’t managed to secure a new book deal.

This has not been for lack of trying. I have been working so very hard behind the scenes. The Publishing Gods simply haven’t been kind to me.

And so, perhaps, it is time to quit.

No, I’m just kidding.

Unlike when my agent called me on April Fools Day with that life-changing news fifteen years ago, the title of this newsletter IS an April Fools Joke. I’m not quitting.1

But setbacks and disappointments like this can very easily make a writer want to scream, “That’s it! I quit!”

And that’s why I want to talk about the Publishing Gods today.

Now, when I say “Publishing Gods,” I don’t think there’s some otherworldly, powerful being pulling the strings of my career—or anyone’s, for that matter. What I’m doing is personifying the luck and timing elements that are constantly at play in this industry.

I actually had what I consider a quintessential experience with said Publishing Gods recently. Here, I’ll explain:

Just last week, I was able to visit a nearby school district and speak to 5th-7th graders about The Girl and the Witch’s Garden, and 8th-12th graders about creativity, writing, and my novels in general. The students were absolutely wonderful; they were engaged, curious, and asked fantastic questions.

I always love school visits. I love any event where I get to interface with readers. Meeting readers remains one of my favorite parts of this career. Sadly, I don’t get to do it very often, and after a long dry spell during which I haven’t published new work, my opportunities for this type of reader interaction have only grown more limited. I’ve done bookstore events here and there, but this school visit was a treat. It was the first time in quite a while that I was able to speak directly to the audience/age group that I write for.

As I left the event, the sun was shining and the temperature was mild—one of our first true spring days here in New Hampshire. I slid into my car feeling invigorated and passionate about my work. I felt like a real, true author! (Not that I wasn’t before, but there’s something about doing Official Author Events that puts the career into perspective in a way that toiling away at your keyboard doesn’t.)

And that’s when I checked my inbox and saw an email from my agent: an editor passed on my sub book.

Gut punch. Highs and lows together. The joy of meeting readers coupled with the disappointment of rejection.

I swear it sometimes feels like as soon as you’re experiencing something good regarding your career, the Publishing Gods immediately perk up and take notice. Oh look, she’s sailing kinda high today. We better deal some sort of blow and take her down a peg or two.

Is it karma? Bad luck? I’m not sure, I only know that I’m not alone.

That very same week, a friend in my writing discord shared absolutely gorgeous cover concepts with us… followed by an update that a subscription box had passed on featuring her book. (And this was after they’d emailed implying that it was very likely, almost definitely going to happen!)

A high, followed by a low.

Most writers you know are suffering blows of varying sizes at any given moment. We don’t talk about them publicly for a variety of reasons. Sometimes we can’t; the bad news could be related to something secret or unannounced. Other times we simply want to process the setback in private, or perhaps we’ve made a strategic choice to only talk about good news and successes publicly.

Whatever the case, this is your friendly reminder that social media is a highlights reel, and you can rarely get the full reality of any author’s career from what they post online. It is also your friendly reminder to not get too full of yourself if/when good news and successes come your way, or else the Publishing Gods may be forced to intervene and keep you humble.

And if they’ve been keeping you humble for a good long while, perhaps your luck is about to change. One can only hope, right?

I remember reading somewhere, years ago, that if you’re lucky enough to have a long career in publishing, everything that can happen to you, will. I often have to remind myself that this includes the bad things. The books that don’t sell. Canceled contracts. Awful reviews. Sales flops. Etc, etc.

Rarely are these things your fault. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s those pesky Publishing Gods, Luck and Timing.

Until next time,

Some writers spend their entire career writing for the same audience group. My career started this way. I debuted in young adult (Taken Trilogy), then wrote my YA historical fiction westerns (Vengeance Road and Retribution Rails), plus a YA sci-fi horror duology (Contagion and Immunity).

I was moving between genres, but not age group. All these books were published for teen readers.

But after the Contagion books I released my first middle grade novel, The Girl and the Witch’s Garden, and after a couple more YA releases, I turned to adult fiction. (The book I have on sub right now is narrated by a thirty-two-year-old mother.)

It’s easy to think that I’ve shifted age categories simply because the age of my heroes has changed. But this is a common misconception; the age of your protagonist, alone, does not dictate what category you’re writing for.

Take The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, for example, which is narrated by a teen girl, but is an adult book, not YA, based on its tone, theme, and content. Or Room by Emma Donoghue, told from the perspective of a five-year-old boy, but again, certainly not a novel for small children.

So what are the different age categories and how do you know who you’re writing for?

Let’s break things down.

For the sake of this post, I’ll be talking about the big three age categories: Middle Grade (MG), Young Adult (YA), and Adult.1

• Middle Grade: Ages 8-12, 20K-55K words

• Young Adult: Ages 13-18, 50K-80K words

• Adult: Ages 18+, 70K-120K+ words

Word count can vary slightly, especially depending on genre, but these ranges reflect industry averages.

Differences at a craft level

• Voice & Writing Style

  • The complexity of the prose and vocabulary will depend on the target reader. E.g.: MG books are written for middle school aged children, meaning the writing will be more straightforward and simplistic than in novels written for older audiences. (To be extra clear, “simple” doesn’t mean “poorly written.”)

  • Voice will often reflect the world-view and maturity of the protagonist. E.g.: a middle-aged adult should sound distinctly different than a teen or tween.

• POV & Narrators

  • While any perspective can be used at any age category, first-person present is especially popular in YA.

  • Any age category can feature multiple narrators, but each narrator increases word count and complexity of the story; not all stories (or genres, for that matter) require additional perspectives.

• Pacing & Subplots

  • MG often requires tighter pacing and (sometimes) shorter chapters. Typically there is one central plot and maybe only one subplot.

  • Several subplots are common in YA and adult, and both can sustain much longer emotional arcs.

• Themes & Content

  • MG often features themes of friendship and self-discovery; protagonists go on an “adventure” of sorts (literally or figuratively), but typically return to the safety of home by the final pages.

  • Common YA themes include identity, independence, and coming-of-age; protagonists grapple with who they are and who they truly want to be as they find their place in the world.

  • Adult fiction themes can vary widely based on genre (love, war, identity, grief, trauma, etc), but these novels almost always examine the nuances of the human experience and living in a complex world.

  • While not a perfect system, I tend to think of MG novels as PG, YA as PG-13, and adult as R. If the themes, content, and descriptions in your novel are dark/mature enough to warrant an R movie rating, you’re probably writing for adults.

What happens when something doesn’t perfectly fit an age category?

Some novels will straddle audiences. Take ’s Bye Forever, I Guess, which features a thirteen-year-old heroine navigating eighth grade. Is this MG or YA? How about Diana Wynne Jone’s Howl’s Moving Castle, which focuses on an eighteen-year-old main character but otherwise feels like a classic MG fantasy? What about books that follow a college student, such as Rainbow Rowell’s Fangirl or ’s The Love Hypothesis? Are these novels YA or adult?

New terms sometimes pop up to help booksellers and publishers better pitch stories that don’t fit neatly in an existing category. Bye Forever, I Guess, is often described as “upper mg” but it still sits on MG shelves. The same is true of Howl’s Moving Castle. Meanwhile, Fangirl and The Love Hypothesis both fit the “new adult” definition, but the first is shelved with YA titles and the second with adult.

Ultimately, writers need to figure out which major age bucket they’re writing for. Which category is the best fit for the book’s content, voice, themes, etc? I faced this dilemma myself while writing Contagion. The novel has five narrators. Three are teens, one is in his late twenties, and one is in her seventies. All characters save one are working professionals, and the book has several adult themes. But even with five narrators, the story was mainly Thea’s (one of the teens), and her arc reflects finding herself, her own inner strength, and deciding who she wants to be in a corrupt and unfair world. (Very YA themes.) The book published as YA.

If/when you find yourself writing a book that seems to straddle age categories, be sure to chat with your agent about how you should categorize the novel. If you do not yet have an agent, figure out which age group your book has the most in common with, then query agents saying you’ve written a “[age category] novel with crossover appeal.”

Crossover appeal can be a massive perk. With any luck, your book will do well with its intended audience, but also find extra readers in a second category. (This is exactly how Contagion faired. Teens loved it, and so did plenty of adults, too!)

Career considerations

Whether you intend to write for one age group your entire career or jump between several, here are some things to keep in mind:

• Growing a readership

  • Constant fan growth while writing for children is different than when writing for adults. Kids—the actual readers—grow up and “age out” of the MG and YA shelves. But the librarians and booksellers remain; they become your loyal “fans,” putting the book into hands of new, younger readers aging into the category.

  • When writing for adults, your fanbase is less likely to “age out,” as these readers spend many years/decades experiencing the themes present in adult literature. As a result, you may interface directly with your readers (via social media, newsletters, etc) more often than an author writing kidlit.

• Pen names

  • When writing for multiple ages, is the content of all your books appropriate for all readers? If not, you may want to consider a pen name for one age group, and keep those identities completely independent online. (E.g.: an author writing whimsical MG and steamy adult romantasy may consider a pen name for the adult books, and keep both online personas separate.)

  • Some authors use a pen name to differentiate stylistic differences between books but are open about this online, making sure the public knows the identify of the author behind both names. (E.g.: Victoria Schwab for MG and YA, and V.E. Schwab for the author’s adult works2)

• Release schedules

  • Publishing is a slow moving beast, and if you’re a fast writer, writing across multiple age groups could be a benefit; you can release an adult book and a YA book in the same year without much risk of cannibalizing your own sales. (Whereas if you release too many novels for the same audience group within a single year, readers may only buy one of the books, not all.3)

• Agent & Publisher changes

  • Not all agents represent all age groups. If you intend to branch into a new category, chat with your agent ASAP.4 If your agent does not want to represent the new category you’re exploring—and you intend to write it exclusively moving forward—they may suggest you find new representation. If you intend to keep writing in the category the agent signed you for, they may continue to represent those works, but suggest you find a second agent for works in the new category.5

  • Similarly, not all publishers publish novels in every age category. If you got your start writing YA for an imprint like HarperTeen, you will not be able to publish an adult thriller with your longtime HarperTeen editor. Once again, chat with your agent about your options.

Do what feels right

If you are most comfortable writing within a certain category and do not feel comfortable or authentic when exploring new age groups, that is FINE. It is completely acceptable to stay within one category for your entire author career. Plenty of authors have done this successfully.

But if you’re curious about writing in a new age group, my advice would be to give it a shot. Write a few chapters and see how it feels. You have absolutely nothing to lose. Even if you don’t publish the novel—heck, even if you don’t finish a first draft—experimenting with writing for different age categories will only strengthen your overall craft.

As is true with most writing advice: If something sounds appealing to you, try it. Keep what works for you and discard what doesn’t.

If you have any questions about navigating a change in audience group, please drop them in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer them.

Likewise, if you personally have experience writing for different age categories and have insights that I didn’t cover in this post, please share your experience(s) via the comments!

Until next time,

As I sit down to write February’s newsletter, words fail me. This newsletter feels so wildly unimportant given what is happening in the world.

I’m based in the U.S., and each day brings a new atrocity. Americans murdered in the streets by government agents. Journalists arrested for doing their jobs. Homes entered without warrants and families ripped apart. It feels like everywhere I look, there is some new horror—constitutional rights being trampled, lies being told, and the rule of law being applied only to some.

Writing my newsletter among all this feels ridiculous. Futile.

They say art is resistance, and it is.

While not as direct as the art linked above, my fiction has almost always been infused with commentary on justice and fairness, science and medicine, truth and journalism, authoritarianism vs democracy. My newsletter, however, is simply craft advice and insights into publishing—none of which feels particularly important at the moment. It sure doesn’t feel like a type of resistance.

But I think there is a case to be made for the importance of allowing ourselves to indulge in moments of joy, especially amidst darkness.

I know it feels strange to let yourself enjoy anything right now. But it is not wrong or irresponsible to laugh with friends. To celebrate a piece of good news. To indulge in a hobby that brings you happiness. Joyful acts are how you refill your cup. They are how you recharge so that you have the endurance for what comes next.

I like writing this newsletter. It brings me joy to share my publishing experiences and to connect with other writers. And so here I am, trying to tap into that joy, even when the world is burning.

It’s a struggle, I’ll admit. And I know I’m not alone. (As I drafted this piece on January 30th, two other Substack writers made excellent posts on the very same topic: Writing while the world’s on fire | How should we talk about our art during the apocalypse?)

But as awkward and strange and disorienting and irresponsible as it might feel, I still think we should do it. Make art, that is.

If you can’t bring yourself to write your novels (or your newsletters) right now, I completely understand. But if you want to be writing and you feel guilty about doing so because of what is happening around you, please give yourself permission to write. If there’s a hobby you love but currently feel guilty indulging in, try to indulge anyway. Just for a little. Recharge. Create.

Let yourself feel joy, because a joyless, numb, exhausted constituency helps no one.

When the world is dark, we must find moments of happiness and cling to them. We must let ourselves feel good about some things, even when we feel awful about others.

Both can be true at once.

By all means, don’t stick your head in the sand (erm, writing cave) and ignore reality. If you are outraged by what you are seeing, keep calling your reps, speaking out, peacefully protesting, volunteering for and donating to causes you believe in, etc. But don’t deny yourself something that brightens your day simply because the world is so dark.

We need that light. You need that joy. The world needs your art.

Until next time,

A bit of house-keeping before we dive into today’s newsletter: I’ve turned paying subs back on, which means monthly AMAs have returned! Paying subscribers: head to the chat to ask your questions. If you’re at the free tier, nothing changes for you; you’ll continue to get monthly newsletters in your inbox. But if you’re considering upgrading, now is the time. I’m currently running a deal for 30% off one year.

Okay. Back to the newsletter at hand…

It’s officially a new year! And as is true every year, writers are hoping to sell their book to a publisher during the next twelve months. There’s nothing quite like the turn of the calendar to get a writer thinking about their manuscript and its chances of snagging editor interest and, ultimately, a book deal.

Naturally, I hope the best for all of us. If I could guarantee everyone a book deal, and the joy and elation that comes with seeing a dream come true, I would. (Cue Oprah gifs. You get a book deal. And you get a book deal!)

Alas, there are only so many publishers and editors out there, and each imprint has a limit to how many books they can publish each season.1 This is just business. Many writers will hear “no thanks” when they send their books on sub this year. Many have already heard it in the past.2

I’ve heard it a lot lately. The last three novels I wrote did not end up published by a traditional publisher. Two died on sub and one snagged a book deal, only to be cancelled about a year later when the publisher restructured. (We were still waiting on my contract, and without a signed contract in hand, my deal evaporated.)

I didn’t talk about these heartbreaks as they happened because I needed time to process them—and distance from the experiences in order to discuss them without getting emotional. Looking back now, I can see common ground across each experience, especially with the two books that died on sub.

So without further ado, let’s talk about what it it really feels like to have your book “die” on submission.

First and foremost:

Your book’s death will likely be long and drawn out

All authors know that not every book going on sub can sell, but we still hope to be one of the lucky ones, our book part of the special, chosen few. This means the first several weeks on sub are exhilarating and full of promise. The sky’s the limit. Anything can happen. After the first few rejections roll in and the months begin to pass without good news, doubts begin to surface. By 6+ months most writers are beginning to truly worry, and come the one-year mark, things often feel particularly bleak. It’s at this point that writers start to really grapple with the very real possibility that their beloved novel might not sell.

Even still, you’ll be holding out hope. Especially if your agent is still pulling together another list of editors to approach and/or chasing editors who have gone quiet. (Response times are slower than ever these days, so being on a sub for longer than a year is not unheard of. ) Eventually, though, your agent will start talking about what’s next (instead of sub strategies for the mostly dead book), and you’ll realize, “Oh gosh, this is it. It’s time to shelve the book.”

By this point, you’ve already spent months trying to make peace with the book’s fate. Even still, this moment will hurt like hell—and you’ll still probably find yourself hoping for a miracle. And perhaps worse than continuously hoping is the fact that…

You might never get true closure

It is sadly becoming more and more common to never get a response from an editor. Not even when your agent chases and nudges. Plenty of editors do still respond! But given my recent experiences (and the experiences of some friends), some simply never get back to the submitting agent.

I know editors are terribly overworked, but I hate this growing trend, and I know it’s frustrating for agents, too. The author is left hoping/wishing even when a book appears dead. Because truly, how can you not hope for a miracle when certain editors have your book and still have not responded to your submission? Without closure—without rejections/passes from all editors—it’s very hard to mentally and emotionally move on.

You’ll be angry/disappointed/devastated and this is NORMAL

Having a book die on sub sucks. There’s rarely a silver lining. You spent months (or years) of your life writing and polishing a story that you hoped would be published, and now that’s not happening. It hurts. Badly.

Let yourself feel whatever it is you’re feeling in this moment. Have a good cry. Vent to friends you trust. This part is crucial, because you want to keep any reactive, impulsive feelings offline. Once you post things on the internet, you can’t take them back, and you don’t want to burn a potential future bridge. But by all means, let yourself grieve. This is a loss. An actual loss. Things didn’t go your way, and the thing you dreamed about happening is not, in fact, going to happen.

You’ll try to figure out what went wrong

Why didn’t it sell? Was it just not good enough? Maybe. Maybe not. A hard truth of publishing is that rejection often has nothing to do with the quality of your writing. Sometimes your rejections will be glowing. Sometimes the reason for the pass will be that your book is too similar to something already on the list, or not quite right for that imprint, or too quiet/niche, or not commercial enough, or the market is over saturated, or sales of your previous novel(s) gave the editor reason to pause, or, or or.

When there is constructive feedback on your book that resonates with you, that is worth taking to heart. But even if/when you revise, the responses following an R&R or additional rounds of sub could be the same: passes.3 For whatever reason, your book failed to get those magic “yes”es. Securing a book deal comes down to quality of story, true, but there is also a luck and timing factor at play. Unless every rejection points to a craft issue—an actionable, fixable issue with your story—be kind to yourself and assume luck and timing wasn’t on your side. You didn’t do anything wrong—nor did your agent. The book just didn’t get lucky.

You may find it hard to write the next thing

This is especially true if you really, deeply believed in your book’s chances. Even if you started writing the next thing as soon as the book went on sub (which you should always do, because sub is long and slow, and you’d be wise to keep busy), it can suddenly become difficult to work on that newer project. You might backslide a lot, finding yourself angry again, or trying to puzzle out—once more—where the sub strategy failed you.

You’re basically working through the stages of grief, here. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. When writing something new, it’s easy to become resentful that you’re back to square one, working on a fresh draft rather than revising your sub book for an editor while counting down the days until publication.

While these mental backslides are normal, the only way to truly move forward and have a new shot at publication is to write the next thing. It can feel daunting and hopeless. But most of us get better with every book we write, and it’s very likely you’ll love whatever you write next just as much as—if not more than—the book that didn’t sell.

You may resent other people’s success(es)

It is hard to see other people getting what you want. During the first few months after you shelve your book, be prepared to feel complicated feelings when your peers announce their own book deals. Taking a break from social media so that you’re not overwhelmed with a constant stream of other people’s good news can do wonders for your mental health during this time period.

That said, you’ll likely still be in touch with close writer friends (via text/discord/etc), and you’re likely to have complicated feelings when they sell a book, too. Even when you are happy for them, you’ll also feel deeply bitter and sad about how your sub experience went. This is normal. Try to navigate it with grace and humility. This career is filled with peaks and valleys. Your friend is experiencing a high while you’re experiencing a low. The tables could be turned in another year. Or maybe you’ll both be flying high. (We can only hope!) Good friends support each other through the ups and downs, but it’s normal to grapple with complicated feelings along the way.

You will survive this experience

As crummy as it is and as much as it hurts, you will survive having a book die on sub. I’ve survived it two times in a row. (Three if you count my book that “sold” but then fell apart before we had a contract.) Each time I sent a new book on sub, I said to a friend, “If this one doesn’t sell, I don’t know what I’ll do.” And guess what? I somehow figured it out. I survived each disappointment. I kept writing. And I now have another book written and polished and ready to send out for consideration. It’s terrifying because gosh, I do not want to go through another failed submission experience. But if that’s what the cards have in store for me, I know I can survive it. And you can too. It sucks, but it won’t kill you. I promise.

I know this post might seem like a bit of a downer, but that’s not my intention. This is something I am (unfortunately) keenly familiar with, and I hope that sharing my experiences might help others mentally prepare for submission and/or get through an unwanted outcome.

Having a book die on sub sucks. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. But at the same time, I want to leave you with this final reminder:

“No” doesn’t mean “Never”

When you shelve a book, it doesn’t mean it’s nails-in-the-coffin dead. You can always return to the story down the road—to reimagine it, or rework it for another submission, or maybe even publish it yourself. Of the three projects I mentioned at the start of this post, one of those dead sub books went on to be In the Dead of the Night, the YA psychological thriller that I self-published in the fall of 2024. I also know of an author who gave their editor an older “died on sub” book as their option novel and received the green light. Books can have lives after a failed submission attempt.

Lastly, keep in mind that just because an editor rejected this novel doesn’t mean they’ll reject all your future novels. It often helps me to think of the submission process like a job interview. If I make a good impression, the editor will be happy to see my resume—ahem, manuscript—come across their desk again in the future. And maybe this time, their answer will be different.

Publishing is a long game. A marathon, not a sprint. Each time you put a manuscript out there, you are (re)introducing yourself to editors. Sometimes the stars align. Sometimes they don’t. But books are never truly dead—they’re just hibernating.

Keep writing.

Until next time,

Today I want to talk about endings.

Usually I love approaching the end of a draft. Mostly because it means the thing is nearly (finally!) done, but mostly because endings tend to be easy for me. The climax of stakes and emotions, the loose threads coming together, the denouncement…. Words typically pour out of me in a rush at this stage.

At least until recently.

I really struggled with the ending of my CABIN draft. I got there, but it was arduous and ugly, and I didn’t feel as confident in the project as I usually do after typing The End.

I put the book away for a bit, reread it, and thought, Okay, this is not nearly as bad as I first thought.1 Phew! I sent the book off to beta readers.

But within a few days, the doubts were creeping back in. Something wasn’t quite right with the end of my book, I just couldn’t put my finger on what. I anxiously awaited feedback from my readers.

My good friend Susan Dennard was the first to come back with notes. She too had issues with the ending. Overall, she loved the book. She had some minor suggestions to strengthen subplots and emotions through the middle, but the ending… It wasn’t working for her.

“You wrote too much,” she said. “You wrote past the ending. The book actually ends when [redacted for spoilers] happens.”

She was completely right.

The beat Sooz mentioned was the true climax of the story. All the stakes came to a head there, with the main character’s goal on the chopping block. It was the do or die moment. And once I got through that moment and resolved the tension, I should have typed The End. Instead, I introduced a new goal and spent another 10K trying to wrap it all up.

But the hero’s goal can change before a book ends, you might say. And yes, it absolutely can, especially when the hero discovers new information. But goals tend to evolve more than they truly change in fiction. In most cases, the hero’s various goals push them toward one want, one thing, one desire that they are chasing.

Examples:

• In The Hunger Games, Katniss’s goal evolves from 1) Save Prim to 2) Survive the games to 3) Win with Peeta, all of which helps her achieve her main want/desire: Protect and provide for her family

• In Toy Story, Woody’s goal evolves from 1) Get rid of Buzz to 2) Get back to Andy to 3) Escape Sid, all of which helps him achieve his main want/desire: Be a valued toy to his owner

• In my own Vengeance Road, Kate’s goal evolves from 1) Find out who murdered her father to 2) Steal back her dad’s journal to 3) Kill every member of the Rose Rider gang, all of which helps her achieve her main want/desire: Avenge her father’s death.

Once these characters get their want/desire, the stories don’t introduce entirely new goals. No, once the heroes succeed, the stories end.

Sure the characters have to undergo some growth in order to be able to succeed, but this emotional journey (character arc) is usually completed before or during the climax.2 Then, once they get what they want, the physical journey (plot) is also over. The denouncement begins, and the novel can conclude.

The trouble with CABIN’s false ending was that I did all this—the hero grew, she achieved her goal—but I then wrote another 10K in which I introduced a completely new want, with new problems, new stakes, new goals, and new opportunities for character growth.

“This is a potential sequel,” Sooz said about my false ending. “If you’re going to write it, give it the time it deserves. But right now you’re trying to cram another book into the last 10% of the novel.”

She then apologized for not having better news, and I told her to not apologize. This was incredibly helpful, and now that she’d pointed it out, the issue was so clear, so obvious! I completely agreed with her notes and eagerly jumped into revisions.

As I worked, I found myself wondering why on earth I had tried to introduce all these new problems, goals, and character arcs so late in the novel. What was I thinking? How had I not noticed that I’d gone past the ending? I’d written enough books to know the general shape of a story, so why was I unable to see this very obvious error?

The short answer? I was treating my outline like law.

The true ending—the moment Sooz suggested stopping on—felt too soon when I originally plotted out the novel. Back then, I was merely brainstorming in a notebook. I hadn’t written a word yet, and needing more plot felt like the right decision at the time. So I kept outlining.

But once I finally got to drafting, I was so married to my original outline, that I couldn’t see anything else. I failed to realize when I’d wrapped up the main conflict and completed my character’s arc. I powered on, making sure to hit every beat outlined in my notebook.

No wonder the last 10K of the novel were such a pain to write!

Unsurprisingly, the moment that Sooz pinpointed as the actual ending? The 10K leading up to that moment had poured out of me. And of course it did. It was the natural culmination of all the stakes and tension, the emotional release for the main character, THE END.

Much like last month’s newsletter, the takeaway here is that we writers are often too close to our books to see them clearly. Similarly, we need to remain flexible when we draft. Just because we came up with a plan doesn’t mean that the plan can’t change.

I finished editing my manuscript about two weeks ago. The false ending is gone, replaced with a much stronger climax, denouncement, and closing image. When I sent the book to my agent for her review, I felt confident in a way I hadn’t just a few weeks earlier.

Granted, I’m still anxious to hear my agent’s feedback. I hope she likes it, and I hope we can take it out on sub soon. I’d very much love for this story to be my next published novel.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Publishing is slow and uncertain. One thing at a time.

For now, I’ll get back to brainstorming a new book idea.3 And when I inevitably get around to writing this new idea, I will be sure to remind myself that the outline can change. It’s not written in stone. If it doesn’t feel right, I don’t have to stick to it. And you don’t have to stick to yours either. When your well-laid plans no longer work, change them. Throw out that part of the outline. Imagine a new one. You’re the writer after all. You’re in charge of what happens next.

Until next time,

Last month, I finished my first draft of CABIN! Gosh, what an accomplishment. Nine months of toiling, and it’s done!

This is the longest it’s ever taken me to draft a book. Granted, I worked a day job during this drafting period, and three of the months were summer, meaning my kids were home with me and I wrote almost nothing at all during that season, so perhaps it shouldn’t count toward my timeline, but, phew! I did it!

Of course, as soon as I typed “The End,” I immediately began thinking about a few known issues. Most of these occurred in the second half of the novel. (I tend to edit a lot as I go, which means the earlier the chapter, the more likely it’s already been reviewed/revised multiple times.) I jotted down some notes for myself, and dove right back in. I wasn’t truly done with the draft yet, but I was close. I had some travel coming up at the end of September, and my goal was to send a cleaned up manuscript to my beta readers before I stepped on the plane.

Naturally, the changes took longer than expected. I was still revising when I arrived at the airport, where I discovered that my flight was delayed four hours. I now had over six hours to kill,1 and the only silver lining was that this might be enough time to actually wrap my edits.

I found a quite corner with an outlet and kept working. I continued to revise on the plane.2 And finally, about an hour before I touched down in Colorado, I was finished.

I should have felt relieved and confident. Instead, I felt… unsure. All my revisions—which made perfect sense a few days back as I planned them—now felt murky and muddled and messy.

I tried to read through my edits, but I genuinely could not tell if they were working. My brain was mush. Everything I’d changed seemed stupid. The whole book felt stupid. I started to fear that maybe I’d made everything worse and should just revert to the previous version and see what my betas thought of that iteration.

Ultimately, I didn’t have time to dwell on what to do. I had a rental car to pick up, and a new baby niece to meet. I drove to my sister’s place, and over the next few days I snuggled my adorable little niece, went on some hikes, ate good food, drank good wine, and spent a lot of time catching up with my sister, who I don’t see nearly enough.

I spent four straight days ignoring my book. I didn’t work on it. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t send it to anybody.

And guess what? I was pleasantly surprised at what I found when I opened my manuscript during my flight home.

The edits I made four days earlier worked quite nicely. I could see why I made them; my instincts had been right all along. I just needed a few days away to gain perspective.

This shouldn’t have been surprising. I’ve always known (and suggested to others), that time away from our manuscripts is crucial. We writers can definitely be too close to our work to see it clearly. Sometimes, we can’t see the forest for the trees, so to speak.

Stepping away wasn’t my first instinct when my book suddenly felt murky last month, mostly because my plan was to step away after I sent the manuscript to my beta readers.

I feel quite lucky that my travel derailed those plans, because who knows what might have happened if I’d powered ahead. Maybe I would have over-edited and made an actual mess of those scenes that were now working. Perhaps I would have deleted all my edits and reverted back to an older version—a version that was flawed. Stepping away from my manuscripts earlier than intended was exactly what my brain needed.

I passed CABIN off to my beta readers yesterday. I will now pivot to other work while they read and compile notes for me. This break will be longer than my previous break, and with any luck, this will allow me to gain even more perspective regarding the story.

I tend to think that 2-4 weeks is the ideal time to set a manuscript aside before returning to it. The longer I’m away from my projects, the more clearly I tend to see my own writing.

But we don’t always have a month—or even two weeks—at our disposal. Sometimes all we have is a few days.

Consider this is your friendly reminder that if you truly put your book out of sight and out of mind, a long weekend is definitely enough time to return to it with fresh eyes.

Until next time,

It’s the middle of summer vacation, and I hoped to have a lot more of my WIP drafted by now. Once upon a time, way back in early June, I set a goal of finishing this draft before my kids went back to school. That’s now seeming very unlikely.

I won’t lie. I’m frustrated and disappointed with my lack of progress. But also? I probably set unrealistic expectations for myself.

Some authors can draft in tiny piecemeal chunks. I have never been that type of writer. I need long stretches of uninterrupted time to both draft and revise,1 and I thrive on routine. Planning to finish a draft during the two months of the calendar year when my kids are home the most and my writing time is scarcest was incredibly ambitious and somewhat short-sighted, to say the least.

But what I’m most disappointed about is the fact that I’ve been playing comparison games during these already challenging months.

I’m watching friends finish drafts and sell books, and beating myself up for not being able to do the same. I’m feeling thrilled for my friends’ successes while simultaneously feeling more and more shame over my own stalled career.

I know this is a dangerous game. One of the most important lessons I learned during my debut year was to keep my eyes on my own paper. So many things are out of our control in publishing, and nothing good comes from comparing. Plus, I haven’t even been comparing apples to apples. Many of my writing friends write full-time. Some don’t have kids; others do, but they have full-time child care. My situation is entirely different from theirs. I’m comparing apples to oranges.

And hey, even if I knew a writer with my exact situation—drafting the same genre manuscript, under the same self-imposed deadline, while working a part-time day job and dealing with kids at home all summer save for two weeks of camp—nothing good can come from playing comparison games. I’ll either feel bad about myself, or superior, and how do either of those feelings help my writing in any way? How do they help me achieve my goals?

The short answer? They don’t.

It’s human nature to compare. People have been comparing since the dawn of time. Humans crave solidarity, and in many ways, comparing can lead to a sense of belonging, especially when we see others sharing our struggles and/or facing similar challenges. Comparison can also serve as a motivator, encouraging self-improvement and personal growth. But far too often, comparing does more harm than good, leaving us feeling anxious, envious, and less confident in our self-worth and skill.

I am, without a doubt, envious of the book deals I see other authors securing. I am absolutely starting to question my own skills and writing chops; I’m not nearly as confident in myself as I was several years ago.2 And on top of it all, I am currently slower than I’ve ever been.

That final sentence is a self-comparison, but I’m not sure that even this type of self-reflection is helpful. The writer I am today is not the writer I was in the early 2010s, nor is she the same writer from just five years ago. I was faster at the start of my career for many reasons. I did not have children yet, for starters. I also didn’t know what I didn’t know. Skill and experience have made my process slower, because my bar has risen and it takes a lot more time/revision for me to be pleased with a draft.

I’m currently the most skilled I’ve ever been, and also the busiest. In another month, the kids will be back in school and I will regain ninety minutes of daily writing time—a brief window after they get on the bus and before I need to clock in for my day job. This will be huge.

I want so badly to reach the next step (translation: have a book ready for sub), but the book will take however long it takes. I want it to be ready, not rushed.

I’m genuinely uncertain when I’ll have a finished manuscript, let alone an edited one. I used to be better at estimating this, but gosh, things are just hard now. Plus, every time I think I’m making some progress on this book, I discover something new about my world or characters, and have to backtrack to weave it in. (This book has required so much layering, guys. But with each layer, it gets stronger.)

Perhaps the only silver lining is that I forget all about my feelings of inadequacy when I’m busy writing. I forget to fret about my pace. I forget to worry about how long its been since I’ve sold. I forget to compare myself to others. (At least until I pause drafting and then all those worries come rushing back to the surface.)

The sooner I can get back to drafting the better, because the best remedy for comparison games is to write. To stay offline. To keep your eyes on your own paper.

This has been true for forever. It’s just that for most of my writing career, I was fighting to avoid comparisons of advance sizes and marketing plans, sales numbers and cover specs, reader reception and trade reviews. All the things that happen after a book deal. Now I’ve been out of the game for so long, I nearly feel like an aspiring author all over again, trying desperately to break into the industry.

My career does not currently look like many of my longtime writer friends’ careers. But that’s okay. We’re all on our own path. And like me, I imagine my friends slip into comparison games at times, too. We’re only human, after all.

The trick is to be able to recognize when you’re playing those games, to stop comparing asap, and to get back to writing.

Keep writing / write the next thing / all you can control is the writing … These sentiments truly are the answer to 99% of writing/publishing woes, aren’t they?

Until next time,

I’ve been thinking about generative AI a lot lately. To be fair, I’ve been thinking about it for several years now, but until recently, I didn’t want to wade into it via my newsletter. The trouble is, many of you follow me for posts about publishing and writing, and it’s becoming borderline impossible to talk about either of these things without discussing AI.

I don’t really want to discuss how AI is effecting the industry as a whole, or what its presence means for the business of being an author. This was covered by Jodi Meadows recently, and I don’t have much to add to the excellent points she makes in this post. Instead, I want to talk about AI from the creative standpoint, which is a bit more philosophical, but I hope you’ll hear me out.

I understand that people think AI is the future, and I can see the various ways in which it makes certain administrative tasks easier and more efficient. But I just do not understand AI at all when it comes to artistic endeavors.

I’m an author. I write books. And I truly struggle to see the appeal of using generative AI to “write” a story. Putting aside all the obvious reasons to not use these LLMs (negative impacts to the environment and communities, the unethical theft of IP committed in order to train them, the dangerous reality that we don’t truly know how they work, etc), I’m baffled that some people even want to “write” this way.

It truly doesn’t make sense to me. How does one even consider themselves to be “writing” when something else produces the text? This is akin to Musk hiring gamers to play Diablo IV for him and then claiming he’s one of the top-ranked players. (Um, no you aren’t Musk. Someone else is. You weren’t the one playing the game.)

The same logic applies with writing. If AI is writing your novel, I just don’t see how you’re the author. The machine wrote the book and you just slapped your name on the cover. Even if you edit and revise the words it spat out, you’re still not the author. You’re an editor of AI output. (Output that only exists, mind you, because the AI was trained on the stolen work of your colleagues.)

One of the pro-AI excuses I see a lot online is something along the lines of “But not everyone has the same skill set” or “Some people need AI to help them write,” and I’m sorry, but I just don’t think these are valid reasons to turn to these LLMs.

If you want to write a book… write the book. I’m begging you. Your draft might be bad, but that’s okay. Being bad is the first step toward getting better.

Authors who don’t like genAI aren’t telling people to not use it because we’re gatekeeping, or trying to keep folks out of publishing, or want writers to struggle. We know writing is hard. We know it takes time, and we know it doesn’t come easily to everyone. But writing with AI isn’t a magical solution for success, folks. It’s just not. If anything, it will actively make you worse at writing because you’re handing the creative reins to a machine.1

Instead of getting your own voice and style on the page, and infusing the story with your unique viewpoint and lived experience, you’re accepting a story that was strung together off stolen IP. By letting a machine speak for you, you are choosing to say nothing. And that might be the whole point of writing to begin with: to SAY something—and to share those thoughts, worlds, and characters with others, in turn.

No one gets good at something overnight. The Olympian spends a lifetime training and honing their skills. So does the photographer, the musician, the carpenter, the painter, the writer.

To get good at something, you have to do the thing. It’s as simple and as hard as that. Yes, our baseline skill levels might all be different, but to be an author—a person who authors a book—you have to write. And to write well, you have to put in the work.

It’s true you might not be very good at first. But you’ll get better with practice. It may take hours upon hours, but that’s how you grow.

If you don’t have those hours or the desire to put in the work—that’s okay! It just means you might not actually want to be an author. It’s okay to NOT be something.

Years ago, back when I was still a full-time designer and had only just started to write seriously, my then Creative Director bought a book for everyone on the design team. It was called Rework, and it was about start-ups. Organizing one, building schedules, working as a team, time management, etc. There was one section in the book that stuck out to me then and still feels as relevant as ever to me today:

There is always enough time if you spend it right . . . When you want something bad enough, you make the time—regardless of your other obligations. The truth is most people just don’t want it bad enough.

I read this at a critical moment in my writing endeavors. I had just completed my first ever manuscript. (It wasn’t very good.) I had several more book ideas, and wanted to try to get published, but it all felt so overwhelming. Even still, I knew I wanted it badly enough. I’d been carving out the time up until that moment, and I had no intention of stopping.

This was unique to other pursuits in my past. Like when I wanted to be a singer-songwriter as a teen, for example. I had a guitar and loved writing music, but when I tried actually recording stuff, I never wanted to do more than one take. I quickly realized I just liked messing around with my guitar. Writing music and playing for myself, alone in my room, was enough. I didn’t want to spend more time on it—and that was fine!

But writing? Pursuing publishing? I always found the time. Even now, after five years of heartbreak and no new publishing contracts, I’m still finding the time to write and revise, carving out the hours between family time, my day job, and all of life’s obligations.

When you want something bad enough, you make the time.

If you can’t find the time to write your book, this might be the universe’s way of telling you you don’t actually want to be an author as badly as you’ve told yourself you do. And trust me, it’s okay if you don’t have the time, energy, or drive to write a novel. IT’S OKAY. Just carry on with life and don’t write that book.

But if you want to write a novel? Write it. One word at a time. If you keep putting words down you will finish. I can’t say how long it will take because not everyone’s twenty-four hours look the same, but you will finish if you don’t give up. You will finish if you keep carving out the time and don’t let yourself quit.

And once you finish, you can edit that draft, and with each revision, your manuscript will get better.

This is called writing. That’s the process.

If you turn to genAI instead, you’re not putting in the work. Heck, even if you “only” use it for brainstorming or outlining or one small part of the process, you’re still outsourcing your creative thinking to a machine that functions off the stolen IP of others. What an insult to those writers. What an insult to yourself! Don’t smother your own voice. Don’t rob future readers of your unique perspective.

I’m begging you to do your own thinking. I know it’s hard. I know it’s uncomfortable. But that discomfort is actually critical to becoming better. Working through that friction—not skipping it—is what helps a writer grow. And it will be worth it! The euphoria you feel when you puzzle out something on your own is unmatched. When you nail that character arc. Fix that plot hole. Stick the landing. YOU did it.

This is the whole point of writing. To dream. To think. To create. To have an idea and wrestle it from your brain onto the page.

Let yourself be bad at it. I’m still bad at it often! My first drafts are nothing like my final books. And sure, my first drafts today are better than my first drafts twenty years ago, but again, that’s only because I put in twenty years of work.

Be bad so that you can be better. And if you don’t have the grit to be bad at it, consider that it’s okay to simply not pursue that thing.

We all have limited time on this earth, and we should spend it doing things we love. If you only love seeing the book on the shelf and the money in your bank account, you’re actually in love with the result of publishing. And look, I love these two things as much as the next person. I have bills to pay and there’s no high quite like seeing your novel on bookstore shelves.

But if you don’t love the actual writing? If you want to skip or speed through it or have AI do it for you? Then I’m sorry, you don’t actually want to be a writer. You want the glory of having published, without having to put in the work.

Writers, write. Or at least they used to. But in this new landscape, I’m no longer sure that’s true of all writers. Some, it turns out, ask AI to produce books for them.2 They publish novels made from the stolen IP of their colleagues, and skip some or all of the actual writing.

That’s not me. I hope it’s not you. If it’s not you yet, but you’re considering using AI to “write” your books, please ask yourself why you want to write to begin with. If it’s for more than the end product and cash… if you really do want to write a novel, I’m begging you to use your own brain to do it.

Writing with genAI isn’t writing. It’s theft, it’s killing our planet, and it’s holding users back from true growth. On a philosophical level, a personal level, and a craft level, I simply don’t get the appeal. I don’t think I ever will.

Until next time,

A few weeks ago, social media was abuzz with discussions of what authors can do to “move the needle” when it comes to sales of their books. This is a tale as old as time, and one that seems to crop up on social every few years.

This time, the discussion popped up in a slightly round-about way. A hyped book (Silver Elite) released to great sales, and because it was written by a bestselling author using a pen name with their actual identity unknown and their social media presence nearly nonexistent, many folks pointed to the title as proof that if a pub wants to make a book perform, they can and will. Some went on to warn that nothing an author does on their own can truly move the needle.

From there, some well-meaning folks chimed in saying they actually have seen a boost in sales given their efforts, and here’s what they did to see that needle jump. Others cautioned that those same efforts won’t work for others for x, y, or z reasons.

I’m being a bit vague here, and it’s because the details (the things that worked for some authors and the reasons they might not work for others) don’t matter.

The truth is that yes, a publisher getting behind a book can make it perform… or not. An author hustling to promote their book can increase sales… or not.

You’ve likely heard me say before that good luck and timing factor into selling a book to a publisher. Well guess what? You also need good luck and timing for a book to move copies.

If getting tons of preorders was as simple as posting consistently on social media, a lot more books would be bestsellers. If making a book break out was as simple as a pub backing it, every book they backed would blow up. But this isn’t the case; every lead title does not succeed.1

So what actually makes a book perform? Publisher backing definitely helps the odds. I will be the first to admit this. But what is the book’s age category? What about genre and tropes? Are those things hot right now or oversaturated? Is the idea commercial and big concept, or quieter and more niche? Will the algorithms work in the book’s favor? Are the right hashtags being used? Is word of mouth being generated?

I could keep going, but I think you get the point. Some of these things are beyond anyone’s control and are instead the product of luck and timing. No matter how hard an author pushes/promotes/markets/advertises, certain factors are simply out of their hands.

I can hear some of you groaning. I groan occasionally at this, too. It’s incredibly frustrating to have no real control over your book’s performance. But it’s also freeing.

If some of the advice on how to move the needle overwhelmed you the other week, you have my permission to ignore it. Because here’s the thing: you could do exactly what one author did to “move the needle” for their book but get wildly different results for yours. You’re doing it at a different time, for starters (timing factor), and presumably your book is unique from theirs (e.g.: different age category, genre, tropes, pitch, etc), meaning it may or may not resonate with readers when you promote it (luck factor). Not to mention that not all writers have the same privileges, budgets, or reach.

Again, frustrating. But also? FREEING.

It doesn’t matter what you do! Your efforts might work, or they might not, because you don’t actually have control, and none of us can see the future.

That said, there is one thing you can control: the words you put on the page. 2

This is why my approach to book promotion the last few times around has been focused and narrow. I do things I enjoy on social (sharing teasers, for example) and don’t bother with the stuff I hate (like repetitive daily posts). I make a budget (based on my advance for the book and also the amount of effort I see the pub putting in) and stick to it when handling things like giveaways, mailings, and swag. I do enough promo so that if someone stumbles upon my instagram or newsletter, they can easily see that I have a new book coming out and know where to buy/order it if they’re interested. After that? I focus on writing the next thing, because that, I can control.

I know this might sound depressing, but I don’t look at it that way. After fifteen years in this field, I’ve truly made peace with how little control I have over the reception and performance of my books. This has been freeing for me—and I hope it can be for you, too.

If you still find the concept unsettling though, I’ll leave you with this:

The big takeaway here isn’t “nothing the author does can move the needle.” It’s instead: “There is no guarantee that what the author does will move the needle.”

Sometimes marketing and publicity efforts pay off. More likely, they won’t, simply because the luck/timing stars rarely align.

Once you accept that your book might not sell at the level you want, not even if you go All In, you begin to adjust your mindset, and with that, your strategy regarding marketing efforts. On the flip side, if you don’t accept your lack of control, you will keep trying “move the needle” and risk being perpetually disappointed if luck/timing doesn’t go your way.

Personally, I find publishing hard enough without putting extra pressure on myself. If I can’t control something, I’m not going to beat myself up about being unable to control said uncontrollable thing. Instead, I focus on writing my next book and making it the best I possibly can. Because if/when those luck and timing stars do align, I want my upcoming release to be an absolute banger. And you should too.

Until next time,

This is a bonus installment in my How to Query series. For anyone querying for the very first time, I encourage you to focus on the first four parts:

• Part 1: Writing your query

• Part 2: Actively querying

• Part 3: Communicating with agents

• Part 4: Signing with an agent

Reminder: I’m approaching this from the context of traditional publishing, with trad standards and norms in mind. That said, a well-established indie author with plenty of books/sales under they belt may find this post helpful.

Today we’re discussing changing agents mid-career—why you might want to find new representation, how the process can differ from the first time around, and the perks of utilizing referrals.

Let’s get started…

Is changing agents the right move?

Anyone who’s been in the querying trenches before knows that it can be a long and trying process. Jumping back into those trenches can be, well, scary. But sometimes it’s a necessary step for your writing and your career.

Some reasons you may want to seek new representation:

• The agent’s general style is no longer a good fit for your wants/needs

• Poor or untimely communication from the agent

• You are branching into a new age/genre/category that your agent does not represent

• The agent is retiring or leaving the business

• The agent has been unable to sell your book(s)*

• A gut feeling

You’ll notice that “agent was unable to sell your books” has an asterisk. Let’s talk about that, because it’s important.

Not all books find homes, and often times this has nothing to do with the agent and is instead a reflection of the state of the market, or perhaps the book, itself. However, if an agent is unable to sell multiple books in a row and/or you’ve spent years trying to sell multiple projects with no real success, this could be a sign that the agent doesn’t have the right connections for your stories and/or that they are struggling to pitch/position your projects well.

This is when it is important to have an honest conversation with your agent about your career and what their plans are when it comes to strategy: How will the next submission round be different? Where should you focus your energy next? etc.

If you’re left feeling like the agent doesn’t have answers (or a strategy), this may be a sign that the agent is no longer the best fit for you, at this moment in your career. Even still, I don’t think this decision should be taken lightly, and I don’t think one failed book on sub is reason to end an otherwise healthy agent relationship.

Have conversations with your agent before you make any rash decisions. Your agent signed you for a reason and they want you to be happy. It is impossible for the agent to do their job well if they don’t know you’re unhappy and/or you don’t give them a chance to adjust to meet your requests.

I know many authors who hate confrontation (I hate it myself!), but what is the worst that could happen when you tell your agent you’re unhappy about something? The agent reacts poorly, gets defensive, and/or yells at you? Well, this is telling in itself and will likely make it very easy for you to know it’s time to pull the plug. Best case? They listen, validate your concerns, and make some changes, essentially eliminating all your issues. This would be a huge win, and you wouldn’t have to head to the query trenches at all. Hence why you need to talk to your agent.

It’s also important to make sure you are being reasonable with your wants. For example, many authors want an agent who communicates in a clear and timely manner. “Responds within an hour regardless of the topic of my email or the day of the week that I send it” is not a reasonable ask. “Responds asap for emergencies and within 72hrs for other emails” is completely reasonable. Another example: writing full time and consistently selling books for $200K+ sounds like a dream… but it’s not realistic. Most authors work second jobs and no agent can guarantee a huge book advance. You can hope for one, but six figure deals are often the product of luck and timing. It’s unreasonable to expect an agent to always secure this sort of advance.1

If you’re unsure if your wishes are reasonable, talk to other authors, preferably authors who are also mid-career. I can’t stress this enough. Text close friends or get feedback from a trusted author discord or slack group.2 You may quickly see that you’re being unrealistic—or you may get confirmation that, yes, what you’re dealing with is not ideal and it may be time to query again.

In summation, if you’re unhappy with your author-agent relationship:

1. Talk to your agent about what you’d like to see change

2. Give the agent some time to make adjustments

3. If you’re still unhappy, use trusted author friends as a sounding board before making any rash decisions.

Ultimately, you may decide you need new representation. If that’s the case, it’s time to prepare for the query road ahead.

Making your list

Much like you did the first time you queried, you’ll need to make a list of agents you want to work with. The difference this time around is you’re not a newbie. You thought you knew what you wanted in an agent early in your career. Now you actually know.

Use these wants/needs as your guiding star while making your querying list.

For example, the last time I queried, the following things were high on my list:

• Extremely strategic with a goal of relaunching—then growing—my career

  • This means not just selling the book I query with, but figuring what else we can do to build and retain a fanbase in an increasingly challenging market

• Represents kidlit and adult

• Strong subrights

• Excellent and timely communicator

As you’re building your list (in QueryTracker or via whatever method you prefer), be sure to make a note if you personally know someone with each agent. Why? If possible, you’ll want to use referrals to connect with agents directly, rather than having to submit via the slush.

Utilizing Referrals

In the context of querying, a referral is when a client emails their agent, vouching for another writer and asking if they can send said writer the agent’s way.

Agent Kristin Nelson describes a referral as “[a] holy grail of introductions for a writer. It lets you skip ahead to the front of the line. It’s a get-out-of-query-jail free card. What writer wouldn’t want that?”

Who wouldn’t want that, indeed!

If this sounds almost too good to be true, please remember that a referral is not cheating and it can not guarantee you an offer.3 It simply puts your pitch and pages at the top of the agent’s inbox. Since most agents prioritize referrals, you’ll likely hear back quickly, too. A referral can also be incredibly valuable if an agent is currently closed to unsolicited submissions. Without the referral, it would be impossible to reach out.

To start the referral process, you’ll want to email (or text) your contact who is a client of the agent you intend to query. This message can be short and sweet, with a subject line as simple as “Referral” if you’re using email.

Here’s an example of what that message could look like:

Hi [Author Friend],

I hope you’re well. I’m writing with a somewhat personal question/favor: I'm on the hunt for new representation and thought [Agent] might be a good fit because [reason]. Would you be willing to see if [Agent] is interested in seeing some pages from me, and if so, how I should send them? No hard feelings if this puts you in an uncomfortable position and you'd prefer to not refer. I completely understand either way.

Thanks for your time,
[Your Name]

Once you’ve got your querying list ready and your referral request emails drafted, there’s just one thing left to do: end things with your current agent.

This is never fun, but you can’t move forward until you pull the plug.

Ending an author-agent relationship

Timing

Leaving an agent is always a bit complicated, but the most ideal time to sever ties is when you are a) not on sub and b) all your existing publishing contracts have been fulfilled.

If your agent just took a book on sub, a new agent will likely be hesitant to touch the project, which means you don’t have anything ready for a new agent to try to sell. And if you have an existing publishing contract in the works, this means a new agent will be supporting you for quite some time before making any money of their own. (Remember, it’s the agent who sold the novel who will receive commissions on your advances and/or royalties for that contract, not your new agent.)

Any professional and legitimate agent who really wants to work with you will not be swayed by an outstanding contract. It’s just something to consider as you weigh when to sever ties with your current agent.

It’s also great to be armed with a new manuscript before querying again, even mid-career. However, this sometimes just isn’t possible. Maybe your agent is retiring or leaving agenting. Maybe you’ve been forced to cut off an agent relationship in a hurry for some ethical reason. Either way, circumstances sometimes arise that push you into querying when you only have sample pages or a partial.

Mid-career, this is usually okay. It’s always easier for an agent to react to a full manuscript, but if you have multiple published novels under your belt, agents know you can deliver a completed book. My advice is to just be upfront of what you have written.

The “break-up”

Once you’re ready to actually walk, you’ll need to call or email your agent and tell them that you want to terminate your author-agent agreement. If you call them, you should follow up with a written email, as many agency agreement contracts require the termination to be delivered in writing.

Most terminations are not considered final until thirty (or sometimes sixty) days after written notice. You can ask for this period to be waved so that you can immediately begin seeking new representation. In my experience, both times I asked for this, the agent agreed without issue.4

Even if ending the relationship is the right choice, be prepared for it to hurt like heck. It’s very much like a break-up; you had a working relationship with this person for a good chunk of time. Presumably there have been really great moments in addition to the less than stellar moments that have led you to end things. It may help to remember that in the same way most people don’t stay at one company their whole life, many authors do not stay with the same agent their entire career. It’s normal to switch agents, and most agents have been “broken up with” at least once. If they are professional, they will likely wish you the very best and accept your decision with humility.

Once you’ve taken care of this uncomfortable but necessary step, you can finally start reaching out to new agents.

Querying again

If you don’t have any referrals to pursue, start sending your queries the regular way. If you do have potential referrals, send those drafted referral emails to your contacts. Your contact will hopefully reply with good news and the agent’s contact info, in which case you can then email those agents directly.

A few suggestions that differ from first-time querying:

• If possible, put your name/credentials in the subject line. If you have a referral, call that out first. Examples:

  • Referral via [Name]: [TITLE] by Edgar Award-nominated author Erin Bowman

  • Query: [TITLE] by critically acclaimed author [Name Here]

• Be clear about what you’re seeking representation for. Examples:

  • While this is a new category for me, I hope to continue writing [category you’re publishing in]

  • I am seeking representation for the full scope of my career: middle grade, young adult, and adult

• Consider opening the query by introducing yourself (bio, published titles) and why you are reaching out (“I’ve recently parted ways with my agent and am seeking new representation”)

  • Don’t be afraid to brag. I know this is hard for a lot of us, but if you have a substantial award or best-seller status, now is the time to mention it!

• If you have other book ideas in the works, consider mentioning them at the end of your email. Category/genre and a one sentence pitch is plenty — just enough to show the agent what might be next for you.

  • E.g.: While the above is what I hope to focus on next, I’m also working on a [category/genre] about [one sentence pitch]. I’m happy to discuss it in more detail, should you have questions.

• Don’t worry about your email length this time around. Your main pitch should aim for the standard query length of 250-300 words, but if you go over this because of your intro/bio and other relevant info, do not worry.

After your queries are sent, sit back and wait for the responses to roll in. From here, the rest of the process is a lot like it was the first time around. You can stay organized with things like QueryTracker, and if/when you communicate with agents, be polite and professional, and always thank the agent for their time.

If you’re lucky enough to have a call with any of the agents, make a list of questions ahead of time. Be transparent and upfront about what you are looking for in this new relationship, but avoid bad mouthing the previous agent in the process; be honest while also remaining professional.5 When the agent responds to your questions and/or shares information about their style, strategy, or agency, make sure you really listen. And don’t be afraid to ask follow-up questions via email later, if necessary, or even request a second call. You were willing to brave this entire querying mess again in the hopes of landing a better agent match, so make sure ask the questions that will allow you to make an informed decision and snag that good match.

Hopefully, in a few weeks (or months), you will have a new agent and will be feeling optimistic about the future of your career.

And… that concludes the How-to-Query series! (Unless I decide to expand upon it in the future, as I did with this installment.)

If you have any outstanding questions on about querying mid-career, please drop those in the comments and I will answer them as best I can.

Until next time,

Hi, friends! I’m back!

No, this is not an April Fool’s joke, but I do want to be upfront: I won’t be resuming my biweekly schedule. I fear that would be biting off more than I can chew and will only lead to burnout, causing me to have to pull back again. I also won’t be unpausing paying subscriptions yet. For the foreseeable future, I plan to post monthly. If that seems sustainable I may turn paying subs back on and/or bump up to posting every other week. But for now, once a month is the goal.

My last newsletter dropped in November of 2024. A lot has changed since then (*gestures at… everything*) and also, on a personal career level, not much has changed at all.

I don’t have any fancy book news to share. My career has not turned a corner. I still haven’t sold anything and there is nothing contracted on the horizon.

However, I am continuing …

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For every happy publishing milestone that an author announces on social media, there is another author (or twelve) who has nothing splashy to share. Worse still, there’s probably others who have just received less than ideal news, or maybe even bad news.

Take this friend of mine, for example. She is having a really rough go. She’s trying to make a big pivot and break into a new genre/audience group, but no editors are biting.

Struggling to sell a book? Don’t most writers deal with that? Yes. For sure. But this friend also had a long stretch of bad luck leading up to this attempted big pivot. An mg partial and proposal that her editor wanted to move in one direction and she couldn’t quite make work, so she shelved. Another YA proposal rejected by a different long-time editor because sales of earlier books in the series weren’t strong enou…

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Picture this: You’re reading a new fiction novel about time-traveling dragons when—bam—something happens on page that’s just not believable and you’re pulled out of the story. It’s no longer a thrilling tale because you can feel the author in the room with you.

Why does this happen? How can we suspend our disbelief for wild premises like dragons and time travel to begin with?

Readers (and viewers) of fiction are familiar with the impossible. Magical powers, futuristic tech, paranormal creatures—we gobble it up. But it’s the details supporting these things that make them palatable. If the world-building feels shoddy or underbaked, or giant plot holes emerge, the illusion shatters. The reader can no longer suspend their disbelief.

The line at which this happens varies for each reader. Sometimes the same reader may have a different line depen…

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If I had to sum up publishing in two words, I might choose “it’s complicated.” Or perhaps “it’s luck” or “stay persistent” or “be patient.”

But the complicated bit sums up everything.

It’s a complicated industry for many reasons—the luck, the timing, the grit you need to survive, the patience you need to practice with yourself (and others.) It’s also complicated because almost nothing happens as you might expect or hope.

A long time ago, when I was a bright-eyed and eager aspiring author, I thought getting that first book deal would be the hardest step. Once I had it, I’d be in! I didn’t think things would be easy after that point, but I was fairly certain that the hardest work would be behind me.

Turns out staying published is the truly hard part. (Nearly anyone who’s been doing this for a decent amount of time will tell you the same.)

Asid…

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Today I’m answering a reader question from B.L. Jasper:

I’ve got a cool magic system but now I need a plot. Advice on how to generate plot ideas?

I love this question.

Sometimes books come to us plot-first. We envision a hero with a goal and we can see the things standing in their way. Other times, however, we merely stumble upon a kernel of a story. Perhaps it’s a unique setting, a fascinating character, a special piece of technology or, as you said B.L., a “cool magic system.”

I have had books come to me in both manners. Most recently, Dustborn came to me world-first. I had an amazing setting, and the more I daydreamed in that setting, the more I learned about the world. Eventually I had a notebook FULL of details, but I still didn’t have a hero or a plot.

So how did I get there? Well, characters are products of their worlds, so I spent se…

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A few weeks ago, there was a lot of chatter online about how the heck one finds the time to write when busy with all the normal life stuff.

Many folks chimed in with “Just write,” and some people found that wildly unhelpful. Meanwhile, plenty of other writers were chorusing, “No, but really! That is the answer. Just write—whenever and however you can!”

A lot has been said on this topic already, but I realized it’s not something I’ve spoken about often here on my Substack, so I’m going to add my two cents.

I’ll start by saying that writing. is. hard. Reaching the end of a draft takes tons of perseverance, grit, and yes, work ethic. (I’m reminded of the line from A League of Their Own: If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it.)

The reason most people’s advice is “Just write!” or some variety of that, is because we often don’t know the what the…

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Today I’m answering another reader question, this one from Shelby, who asks:1

Do you have any advice on querying, especially when hitting walls? After a year of rejections, I feel like I’m out of options. What next?

I love this question because hitting walls is a thing that happens often in this field, and not just to querying authors. It happens to agented-and-aspiring authors, too, and even published authors, often times in acquisitions meetings. Progress is rarely linear, and success can be followed by slumps or ruts or flatlines.

I’ll start by saying this Shelby: I’m sorry you’re feeling discouraged, but in a strange twist of fate, this feeling of “Ugh, what next?!” is a great feeling to get comfortable with. You don’t have to like the feeling, of course, but most writers I know ask themselves this question at least once a year—maybe even monthly—so you’re not alone!

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In today’s newsletter, I’ll be answering a reader question. Liz asked1:

Can you talk a bit about how to change genre without losing your unique voice and/or the things readers have grown to expect from your stories?

This is paraphrased because I asked for newsletter topics on insta and then foolishly forgot to save the responses before the poll expired and they were lost to the digital ether.

This question stayed with me though, in part because it is something I’ve experienced many times throughout my career (if you’ve been with me for awhile, you know I love to jump genres), and also because it’s very timely for me! I am—yet again—in the midst of trying something new.

In short, I feel particularly qualified to speak on this topic.

Before I dig into this question, I want to state that it is not inherently bad to write the same type of story…

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Recently, my nine-year-daughter abruptly turned to me and asked, “Mom, are you still a writer?”

If you’ve been following me a while, you know I’m in a bit of a dry spell.1 It’s extended long enough that my kids are now picking up on it. After all, I recently “went back to work,” and they are noticing all the changes that come with that, mainly how this new day job has shifted the type of work I do, and when.

But back to my daughter’s question…

She didn’t ask it with malicious intent—it was simply blunt and inquisitive—but it felt like a dagger to the heart.

I thought for a moment about how to answer, because I knew that she was listening carefully. She knows writing is my dream, and how parents talk to their children about dreams (or anything, really) matters. Kids internalize a lot.

In the end, I told her, “Of course I’m still a writer, I’m just not actively publishing right now.” I went on to explain that even if I don’t have an upcoming book release on my schedule, I’m still writing. And perhaps I will publish again in the future—that’s definitely my hope—but the outcome won’t change the fact that I am a writer.

I sit down and I write, so I’m a writer. It really is that simple.

She nodded, quietly working this over, and then the topic rapidly shifted to something completely unrelated. Probably Pokemon or what time softball practice was or when we could next go to the library. I don’t quite remember.

But the conversation lingered for me. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.

I think the reason it stuck with me so much is because the last few years have been an emotional rollercoaster for me on the trad publishing front. I’ve battled back a lot of negative voices, particular ones that pose the very same question that my nine-year-old asked me. But the thing about her asking it, rather than my own subconscious, was that I had to answer with kindness. The answer was delivered with a sort of care, honesty, optimism, and encouragement that I rarely manage when speaking to myself. I realized that this was the first time I’d spoken gently about the state of my career in, well, years. I was speaking to my daughter, the nine-year-old, but also to my own inner nine-year-old.

And once I had to explain things in a way that would make sense to a child it really became quite straightforward.

I keep choosing to sit down and write. So I’m a writer.

If you keep sitting down and writing, you too are a writer.

Heck, even if we take some time away from our writing, that doesn’t remove “writer” from our identity, so long as we eventually come back to it.

If you are doing the thing, you own the label. And in the case of writers, we don’t have to be earning money from our writing for that label to still apply. We also don’t need to have packed events or sell our movie rights or go on fancy tours or have special editions of our book. We don’t even need a book deal. Those things don’t make anyone a writer. They are part of a certain type of writing career, sure, but they aren’t necessary ingredients to be a writer.

To be a writer, all you need is an idea, a keyboard/notebook, and some time to tell your story. To be a writer, you simply need to write.

And when the writing gets tough, we’d all do well to speak to ourselves like we would to a friend; to address our inner nine-year-old with kindness and encouragement.

I needed this reminder a few weeks ago and I thought some of you might need it as well.

Signed, your fellow writer,

I DNF’ed a book recently.12 It had a killer premise—I was so excited to read it—but within several chapters, I realized it had absolutely zero stakes. If the hero failed in their efforts, life was just going to… carry on as it always had. Sure, the hero might have been sad for a few days, but after that? Everything in the first 100p implied that the hero would simply return to business as usual. And frankly? This is boring as heck.

The importance of stakes

In fiction, stakes are what may be gained or lost during the course of the story. The lost part is especially key. Succeeding is fun, and the hero will most certainly gain something if they succeed. But what happens if they don’t? What might failure cost them? Without something on the table that the hero might lose (literally of figuratively), you can end up with a flat plot, or worse, re…

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