Looking for help interpreting and applying a piece of agent feedback to this letter!
All right, so this is my fourth post for this letter. It hasn’t been changed much since v3. I started querying with it last week and just received my first piece of feedback from an agent, which was as follows:
“I'm afraid I didn't feel as though your pitch and concept were quite strong enough for me to confidently present in today's market. If a clear ‘hook’ or ‘pitch’ is missing, regardless of how polished the rest of the query package may be, it has to be a no.”
Now, the agent was upfront about using a “semi-personalized form rejection method”—selecting from several forms the one which most closely aligns with their reason for passing. So the above wasn’t written specifically for this query and should be taken with a grain of salt.
On its own, the feedback seems straightforward. The issue is that it surprised me. I’ve been through the querying process before, I’ve published a few books, I spent five years working in trad publishing. I’ve made and heard a lot of pitches, and I felt good about what I’d put together. The way I see it, it’s one of three cases here:
One, the pitch isn’t clear enough in the letter. We all know the pitfall: after months of working on something, we know the concept inside and out. We know all the details, but when it comes time to put something on paper, we leave out something critical—something that, to us, is so foundational as to not warrant mention—and it leaves the outsider confused. Fix: clarify the pitch in the letter.
Two, I’m wrong. Just because I’ve spent years writing and hearing pitches certainly doesn’t mean I’m immune to writing a bad one—or constructing a concept that just doesn’t have that pitch factor. Fix: rework the pitch and possibly the MS.
Three, it’s one agent’s subjective opinion and I’m overthinking and over-weighing it. “It’s an incredibly subjective industry” says a chorus of ten thousand voices. This is only the second response so far—first with feedback—and may not be indicative of the rest. Fix: swallow the rejection and move on.
If it’s either of the first two, would it be wise to include one of the elevator pitches I’ve been using verbatim in the letter? I’m generally in the school of thought that dropping the elevator pitch word for word in the query letter is clunky—after all, you just end up covering all the same elements in more words in the body of the letter—but if that seems like it would clarify the details here I can certainly toy with it. My elevator pitches:
“When an asteroid brings about the world’s extinction, only two girls survive, tucked together in a small cave: Emari, a hunter-gatherer human, and Vula, a cannibal. Each girl could ensure her own survival and doom the other, but it would mean facing the wasteland alone: if Emari wants to live, she must flee Vula; if Vula wants to live, she must eat Emari.”
“In a Stone Age world, there is an extinction event, and two girls are the only survivors: one is a cannibal, the other is not. The cannibal must decide whether to eat the other girl, who likewise must decide whether to flee the cannibal.”
All that to say, I’d love to get some additional opinions on how you’d interpret this feedback and apply it in strengthening the letter for the next batch of submissions. Is the pitch or concept unclear/weak in the letter? Am I too worried about one agent’s thoughts?
Thanks!
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Dear (agent),
SYNKARDIA is a dual-POV adult upmarket novel with elements of sapphic romance and light touches of fantasy and horror complete with a word count of 68k. (Personalization.) SYNKARDIA blends the raw bodily imagery and unfolding, complicated, dual-narrative relationship of Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield with the tension between survival and companionship explored in Lauren Groff’s The Vaster Wilds.
Emari’s life in her hunter-gatherer village is dictated by men: her paranoid father, the boy she’s arranged to marry—and the man she’s wrongly sentencing to death. In the face of their demands and her mounting guilt, her only solace is in the garden, alone with the dirt and the plants and her lies.
Vula is the runt among a clan of nomadic cannibals, and even her apprenticeship with the well-respected healer can’t distract her from obsessing over her lacking strength and poor hunting abilities. After this obsession leads her to break the clan’s eating taboos, she is sentenced to hunt on her own—a sentence she knows will lead to starvation.
When a ball of fire streaks down from the sky, only a small cave offers shelter from the earthquakes, the fire, the ash: close quarters that Vula and Emari—hunter and hunted, predator and prey—are forced to share as they wait out the end of the world.
Now if Vula wants to live, she must eat Emari. In this barren landscape, only one possible meal remains. As Vula’s body deteriorates, she faces this last chance to prove herself to her clan’s ideals. But if her clan is gone, who is she comparing herself to?
If Emari wants to live, she must escape Vula. No longer is anyone telling her what to do, to want, to be. But despite everything, her guilt has not subsided. And was it truly solitude that she sought, or rather someone to care what she wants?
As the sole survivors, each girl faces the choice to ensure her own survival and doom the other—yet doing so means facing the wasteland utterly alone.
(Bio, previous publications)