I am very empathetic to literary agents. In my own work, I’m often in a similar position. Instead of writers and books, I represent documentary films and filmmakers. Instead of trying to find one publisher, I work hard to get the films I represent on not just one, but hundreds of PBS stations. It’s not easy and, like the publishing industry, it’s getting harder every day.
Because I work with hopeful filmmakers, I feel for literary agents dealing with the hopes and dreams of writers. And because I am a writer, I feel for filmmakers who want me to represent their films to public television.
Just this week, I turned away two film projects. With the first, I’d spent more than a hour watching the full film, taking careful notes. Much as I liked the topic, I turned it down for what I felt were uneven production values. With the second, I turned it down immediately, feeling the director was tone-deaf to the realities of the geopolitical times we are in these days – even though I’ve worked with him before.
Having recently received a rejection myself from a literary agent in New York City, however, I’m empathetic to their feelings.
But here’s the unusual thing: the agent I queried not only responded, he responded in two days. From what I understand, both are unusual. The third unusual thing is he took the time to write a nice note to me:
Many thanks for reaching out. You have an interesting story to tell and there’s a lot to like about your approach. But, in the end, I’m afraid I didn’t come away fully convinced this was something I could represent successfully for you. I’m sorry not to be more enthusiastic, and best of luck in placing it elsewhere.
Although the second part is generic – and perhaps the whole thing is – that he took the time to respond filled me with respect and appreciation for him because I know from my own work it’s never a fun thing to do. It’s so much easier just to ghost someone.
I wrote back that same day, expressing my appreciation for his thoughtful response, (privately thinking I might use it myself when turning away potential documentary films.)
Did either of the filmmakers whose films I’d turned away express their appreciation for my time? Nope. And would I ever consider another film project from them in the future? Again, no. If they lack the basic decency to thank someone for their time, it’s unlikely I will ever be interested in representing them or their films.
I don’t think they are unusual, however. And that may be the reason most literary agents don’t bother taking the time to respond.
As Jimmy Buffett once wrote, if the phone doesn’t ring, it’s me.
[photo credit: Kristin Fellows – Asheville, 2016]
Interesting perspective to be on both sides!
I've little affection for agents. I'm not happy the publisher requires me to use them, then makes me pay for using them (!) Also there's a lot of dishonesty. For instance, they encourage submissions, when they know chances are slender to nil they'll receive a ms that can be sold. They probably aren't even reading queries. I know I wouldn't. However, agents are forced to leave the door open, the same way companies accept job applications, even though they have no job openings.
What I'd like is a little honesty, and since the industry can't be honest, at least among ourselves. Consider alternatives. Start by sending work to those who want it, lit journals, magazines, even publishing on Substack. Then hope someone in the industry takes note. Good writing, after all, is obvious.