This is a transcript of a speech I gave at the Wheeler Centre in 2012. Everything in it is still true today, except the situation is much much worse.

Hello, my name is Sean Condon.

As you may or may not know I was – or maybe am, I’m not too sure anymore – I am or was a writer. I wrote books and stories and articles and funny pieces because I was, I thought, quite good at it and I enjoyed it. I loved the hours and as everyone knows you make a lot of money from it and get to hang out with celebrities and catch private jets everywhere. Plus people respect the hell out of you. As a career path, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

I had an agent, frequently described as the doyenne of UK literary agents. Her name was Pat Kavanagh. Her friend and client Clive James described her as “beautiful, clever and loved to laugh, but she could also have a blunt way with a fool. She could make publishers shake in their handmade shoes.”

Her roster of clients included Ruth Rendell, Margaret Drabble, Robert Harris, Joanna Trollope, William Trevor, the British poet laureate Andrew Motion, her husband Julian Barnes…. And me.

She came to be my agent in a pretty straightforward fashion. This was back in October 2001. I was living in Amsterdam and I’d published three books. I wrote to her, telling her what was what – that it was October 2001. That I was living in Amsterdam and that I’d published three books and was looking for representation. I expected not to hear from her, ever but she asked to see the manuscript of my novel and a couple of weeks later called – actually telephoned me – to say that she liked it and would be happy to be my agent. It was pretty amazing. So I went over to London and met with her several times, had some nice lunches, called her at home once (and spoke to Julian Barnes!), she sold my novel to a great publisher, Fourth Estate, and everything was pretty great and I was happy because, why not? I kept on writing and she kept on representing me, and then in October 2008 she died suddenly of a brain tumor.

It was sad and awful and I have nothing glib to say about it. Her support and encouragement meant an enormous amount to me; like most writers – the good ones, anyway – I’m not particularly confident and having someone like Pat in my corner was invaluable in all sorts of different ways.

When I started to consider replacing her, my first thought – and I have to be honest, my first choice – was the Wylie Agency, helmed by my former agent’s arch-nemesis, Andrew Wylie. In 1995, Pat and Andrew became famous enemies after Wylie famously poached Pat’s client Martin Amis away from her with a million dollar (or pound) advance for his novel The Information. I thought it would be a nice irony to go from her to him, and a million dollar (or pound) advance would be fine with me, too. The Wylie client list is, to put it mildly, impressive. They represent Dave Eggers, Philip Roth, Salman Rushdie, Elmore Leonard, Raffi Khatchadourian along with practically every other New Yorker writer, King Abdullah II, Australia’s Elliot Perlman, as well as the Estate of Everybody Who Ever Published Anything Very Successful. But the problem with the Wylie Agency is, you don’t pick them, they pick you. Or to put it the way they do on their very austere and intimidating website: “The Wylie Agency does not currently accept unsolicited submissions. Not now, not ever. So fuck you”. I added that last bit but you get a pretty strong sense that that’s what they mean. Nevertheless, I wrote to an agent there, Sarah Chalfont, and explained my circumstances. She didn’t get back to me so I knew I’d have to settle for an agency that reps fewer Nobel and Pulitzer winners (as well, for some reason, Al Gore’s wife, Tipper, author of 1987’s ‘Raising PG Kids in an X-Rated Society’).

So I began sending out letters of enquiry (to those institutions who allow such boldness). But it’s not a simple matter of drafting something snappy and interesting and then doing a mass mail-out. Each agency has its own special, individual, often pernickety requirements of such letters because they’re all so desperate for an excuse not to read your ms that if you don’t rigorously follow their guidelines – such as, all sentences must begin with the letter Q – they’ll eagerly, almost ecstatically, disregard your enquiry/your work/your entire self.

Anyway, so my letter of enquiry, a template which I tweaked and altered where necessary was this:

Dear Sir/Madam,

My name is Sean Condon; I am writing to see if you might be interested in taking a look at a manuscript I have written.

I should also mention, without wishing to seem arrogant or presumptuous, that I am a published author (Penguin, 4th Estate, McSweeneys, Lonely Planet  Journeys and many others have published my work) and that the reason that I am seeking representation is because my former agent, Pat Kavanagh of PFD and United Agents, passed away.

MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD is a [blah blah blah] YA book that was published by Penguin in Australia in late 2007. Briefly, it is about what happens to the young narrator, Michael Sweeney, in his final year of high school when a semi-mysterious American student shows up. It's  about doing the right thing, getting into trouble and falling in love. Also, a school production of The Breakfast Club plays a critical role.

I would be grateful if you would consider taking a look at it.

If you like, you can learn a little more about me and my work at seancondon.com*

Thanks for your time.

Yours sincerely,

Sean Condon

*Now defunct

So, staggered over the next few months, I sent this letter off to: ICM; WMA (where I already had two agents repping me for film work at the L.A office); Waxman; Levine|Greenberg|Rostan; Writers House; Foundry Media; Trident Media; Dystel Goderich & Bourett; Cheney Literary; Fine Print Literary; Sanford Greenburger and Associates; Betsy Lerner at Dunow, Carlson, Lerner; Neeti Madan at Sterling Lord Literistic; Sarah Burnes at Gernert Agency; Diana Fox at fox literary; Jill Grinberg at Jill Grinberg Literary; Jill Corcoran at the Herman Agency; Herman Agency at the Jill Corcoran Group; Julia Churchill at Greenhouse Literary; someone I’ll call Agent X at the XYZ Agency; and many, many more, including a woman named Susan Hawk at The Bent Agency of Brooklyn, New York.

Almost without exception, the responses I received were along the lines of “you’re a very talented writer” (which is true) “but it’s a very difficult marketplace right now” (which is also true, but of far less flattering interest to me) and you deserve an enthusiastic agent who can passionately champion your work blah blah blah we wish you every success in finding the perfect agent and publisher for your work.

Except for the one from Susan Hawk at The Bent Agency, of Brooklyn, New York. Hers read:

Dear Sean,

Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you  keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.

All best,

Susan

The Bent Agency 204 Park Place, #2 Brooklyn, NY  11238

Despite the claim of “considering each query carefully” the response sounded suspiciously… generic and oddly hollow. And there was no mention of what a talented writer I was. So I sent another ‘test’ email.

SEPTEMBER 22, 2010

Hello Susan,

I have an idea for a kids' book. It's about a rock named Rock who sits around doing rock-like things such as not moving and coping with the elements. What do you think?

regards,

Sean

After carefully considering my query, she replied:

Dear Sean,

Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.

All best,

Susan

So I wrote:

Dear Susan,

Did you really consider my semi-geological query carefully? Be honest – I can take it.

Yours,

Sean

Silence. I waited patiently for a month or two before sending her a nudge:

Hey Hawkey,

It’s Connie the Rock man here. I haven’t heard from you for a while, I guess because you’re carefully reading and considering my last email with the perspicacity, perspicuity and perspiration that’s put you at the very top of your game (Brooklyn Division). Nevertheless I thought I’d send you this brief update on all things Rock.

I’ve decided on a title for the kids’ book about a rock named Rock who does rock-based things (like not moving, not speaking, not emoting in any way despite suffering many hardships such as being stepped and/or rained on):

Rock: My Story; A Tale of Courage and Redemption with a Neat Third-Act Twist; For Children of All Ages.

A Novel.

What do you think? Please send me the list of publishers you plan on engaging in a fierce bidding war for this sure-to-be-hot property as soon as you have carefully read and considered this email.

Rockspectfully yours,

Sean

Well, this last one really got her attention and she fired off a response:

Dear Sean,

Thank you so much for writing me about your project. I read and consider each query carefully and while yours is not exactly what I am looking for, I would certainly encourage you keep trying. I know your work is important to you and I am grateful that you wrote to me.

All best,

Susan

The months rolled by… Every few weeks I’d receive a delayed and often somewhat patronising reply, such as this one from Julia Churchill at Greenhouse Literary: “While your story has some nice points, I’m afraid it doesn’t stand out quite enough for me.” Nice points?

Another problem with the manuscript soon emerged.

“While there really is so much to love here, and while this was a success in Australia, the setting doesn’t quite translate to the American YA market I unfortunately have to pass on this.” So said Kerry Sparks, Levine Greenberg. Which was kind and decent of her, and showed some actual careful consideration. Meanwhile Steven Malk at Writers House wrote, “We thought this was a great concept, and that the voice and the setting felt authentic and realistic. However, we worried that the Australian setting and the slow pacing at the beginning would make this a tough sell in the American market, so I'm sorry to say that we must pass on this project.  I wish I could be writing with better news, as we do think you are a strong writer.” 

I genuinely appreciated the thoughtful feedback and the time that these agents took with the manuscript and their responses. Nevertheless, it got pretty depressing, hearing over and over again what a tough market it is and how the slow action took place in the wrong country. And in a particularly low moment of rage and despair I wrote this:

Dear Blah,

My name is blah and my book is called blah and it is about blah blah. Among the reasons you may not want to represent it are: it is not set in the USA and certain readers may find this troubling; there are no vampires in it; nobody is really, really hungry. Please choose one of these and press ‘reply’. Thanks for your time.

Yours sincerely,

Blah

Obviously, I never sent this to anyone because I am not crazy.

But I didn’t give up – I didn’t give up because all the advice websites about everything tell you never to give up – and boy are they wrong. I know that now, but I didn’t know it two years ago. My not giving up meant going out with yet another round of queries, and one exchange in particular is noteworthy. Once again it was my usual letter, adjusted according to whatever unique and specific requirements this literary agency demanded but in this case I was pitching Michael Sweeney’s Method and another novel, called The Third Act…

It’s Thursday, February 4, 2010 11:42 a.m

Dear Sir/Madam,

My name is Sean Condon; I am writing to see if you might be interested in taking a look at two manuscripts I have written.

MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD is [etc]

THE THIRD ACT is the story of two friends who, in the early 1970s, drive from New Orleans to Los Angeles with the idea of turning whatever happens to them into the screenplay for a movie. Along the way they meet a mysterious blonde and are pursued by two Mexican killers. And the whole thing is narrated by the ghost of a long-dead Choctaw Indian.

I would be grateful if you would consider taking a look at either or both of them.

Thanks for your time.

Yours sincerely,

Sean Condon  

A few days later I received this:

Thank you for submitting your query to InkWell Management. Unfortunately, your project is not one that I think would be right for our agency at this time. Publishing is a subjective business, and other agents may well feel differently. I wish you all the best in your search for representation and publication.

Sincerely,

Charlie Olsen

And very promptly, I sent back this:

Dear Mr Olsen,

Please take the time to read my polite, correctly-spelled letter of enquiry a little more carefully and make the few slight alterations to the form reply with which you have so heedlessly responded.

Yours sincerely,

Sean Condon

Five minutes later:

Sean,

Your book is not for me.

Best,

Charlie

Me:

Good lord, Charlie - there are TWO projects mentioned in the enquiry. That would require a plural form of rejection, i.e 'books', 'projects' and 'are'. If you can't even properly absorb a few paragraphs I'd seriously question your ability to apprehend a manuscript; of course, I'm only a writer, while you're an agent so you'd probably know better.

SPC

Him:

Sean,

What are you hoping to accomplish here? I'm not interested in either project and my name is not 'Dear Sir/Madam' so the personal letter of enquiry wasn't very personal and neither was my response. Best of luck getting it published but I won't be working with you on this.

My best,

Charlie

Condon:

Dear Charlie,

What I’m hoping to achieve by this wearying back and forth is that next time you see fit to summarily dismiss an enquiry you will do so with just a little touch of humanity. Being a writer is quite dispiriting enough without being further ground down by a succession of impersonal form letters, and while I’m not suggesting that you tailor a thoughtful, empathetic reply to every feckless sap that arrives in your in-box, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you actually address the content of his or her enquiry. (For example, if a person is pitching more than one project, throw in a couple of ‘s’s when you tell them you’re not interested.) As far as your somewhat petulant outburst of “my name is not 'Dear Sir/Madam' so the personal letter of enquiry wasn't very personal and neither was my response” – the submission guidelines on the Inkwell site allow only for initial correspondence to be sent to info@etc, therefore ‘Dear Sir/Madam’, however personally upsetting this may be to the sir or madam in question, is the only option.

Finally, to your wishing me luck in getting ‘it’ published; you’re very kind, but once again your powers of reading and comprehension desert you. It’s already been published – and not by me, by Penguin – and what I am looking for is a US publisher. And as soon as I stop receiving robotic form letters I’m pretty sure I’ll find one because, as you would be in a position to appreciate if you bothered to read it, it’s a good book.

Yours sincerely,

Sean

Olsen:

Sean,

You're vicious. Send me "Michael Sweeney's Method." But if it's something I don't like, don't expect me to write you a two-page paper on why that is so you can sell it with someone else. Deal?

Best,

Charlie

Tuesday, May 04, 2010 2:17 AM

Dear Sean,

I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I've read about half of Michael Sweeney’s Method and I don't think it's something I can sell. You have a finely-tuned wit but the story just didn't grab me as much as the idea — I wish I could come back with a positive answer! Thanks for sharing two of your books with me, and best of luck searching for a new agent.

If you have anything else you'd like a read on, feel free to send.

My best,

Charlie Olsen

So he passed and that was the end of that. We parted on good terms.

By now it had been the best part of a year since I’d begun my search to replace Pat and it was time to review the situation. And during my three-minute review it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from a certain Agent X at the XYZ Agency.

Back in February 2010 she’d responded to my query promptly, nicely and thusly:

Dear Sean (if I may),

Thank you for querying me. I would be happy to consider MICHAEL SWEENEY'S METHOD.  Please email the full ms to me and cc Assistant P in my office at blahblahblah.com

I look forward to reading.

All best, 

Agent X

Eleven months and a handful of extremely inoffensive emails to Agent X (cc-ing Assistant P) later I broke… It wasn’t that I thought there was a chance she (or he) would want to represent me or that there was a chance that the book might find a U.S publisher - those hopes were long gone - but it just burned me up that after an initially pleasant beginning this woman (or man) could just so coldly ignore me. (I should also point out that she (or he) was far from the only one; lots of them are more than happy to pretend that you don’t exist, even a tiny bit. But there’s not much you can do about that without seeming harrassing and crazy.) Anyway, I guess that a year of failure and repudiation had finally gotten to me. So I wrote this email to Agent X, which actually probably does make me seem a little bit crazy.

Saturday, November 10, 2010 6:34 PM

Ms (or Mr) X,

I have to confess that I’m somewhat mystified about what may have occurred during our brief correspondence that’s inspired you to treat me and my follow-up enquiries with such contempt. Was the sample of my work that I sent you so utterly wretched that you simply cannot bring yourself even to tell me get lost? Whatever the reason, your resolute ignorance of the polite, patient emails I’ve sent you over the past few months is as dispiriting as it is despicable. I’m sure you don’t give a good goddam what some stranger from the bottom of the world thinks of your basic social morality but if you feel even a slight sense of shame you may find a small measure of consolation in the fact that you’re far from alone in your behaviour, that rude silence in the face of genuine hope is the incredibly lazy, incredibly dismaying default ‘response’ of many others in your profession.

yours,

Sean

Recently, in preparation for today’s talk, I checked back in with the Bent Agency of Brooklyn NY. This time I wasn’t pitching my story about the rock who does rock-like things; this time I was going with a tried and tested classic – I was pitching Maurice Sendak’s multi-million selling classic, Where the Wild Things Are. Just under a different name. Before sending my pitch through, though, I read some of the advice for aspiring authors they’d posted on their website, just top ensure that mine and Maurice’s idea was on the money.

BENT ADVICE:

Consider your story in your opening, where is your protagonist? Are they doing something mundane like flossing? NO! Are they dreaming, or rambling through a monologue, giving the reader too much information before we even know what they’re about? NO WAY! Are you writing the moment that will change their life and set them on the first stages of this unstoppable journey they’re about to take? HELL FUCKING YES I AM! Or are you starting at point A when there’s not really a point B? WHAT?

 July 1 2012

Dear Ms Hawk,

My name is Sean Condon. I am - or maybe was - a writer. I’m querying you with an idea.

My picture book is called ‘Erase Main Duck’.* It’s about a kid who has a tantrum and won’t eat his dinner and then he gets in a boat (possibly imaginary) and visits a land where he becomes king of these creatures that are there and then gets tired and goes back home on the boat (possibly imaginary) and, despite expectations (the kid’s; the reader’s), his dinner is still hot. It’s for young readers; the word count is 336. I’ll send you all of them – in the right order – if you show even a slight bit of genuine interest in this idea.

Sincerely,

Sean Condon

*Anagram for ‘Maurice Sendak’.

You can probably guess the nature and tone – perhaps even the exact words – of Susan Hawk’s reply.

UPDATE March 5, 2021

I do not have an agent.

UPDATE November 13, 2023

I still do not have an agent.