For my final querying stats and the query letter that got me four offers of representation and an agent,
scroll to the end of this article.




I.               The Start of My Journey – a.k.a., The Naive Days




Every voracious reader tinkers at some point with the idea of becoming an author or working in publishing. At least, this is my belief after reading a lifetime’s supply of How I Got My Agent posts and looking back at my own precocious, borderline-unhealthy reading habits. I was already a writer. Deciding to be an author was inevitable.


Achieving that dream was not.

Image, left: 
Look at that little writer, longing to have her own book sold at Barnes & Noble!

As early as elementary school, my writing began to receive recognition. In high school, I attended a writing retreat sponsored by a Pulitzer-prize winning novelist. At its culmination, the chair of Sarah Lawrence college’s English department told me that MFA grads are a dime a dozen. Essentially?


Being a good writer isn’t enough to be successful.


This message stung, but I needed to hear it. As well as what came next: he encouraged me to live a life off the beaten track, spurring a unique perspective and writing inspiration. At eighteen, I moved to Japan for college, eschewing traditional creative writing programs to pursue a life abroad.


Which was great. EXCEPT I NEVER HAD TIME TO WRITE. (It turns out that learning and taking classes in a foreign language is hard. Who knew!)

Between 2012-2017, I attempted to write my first original novel. It was a genre contemporary fantasy/urban fantasy. I took way too long writing it, editing slowly and painstakingly, spending three weeks on a scene where a character walks through a hallway. I was 85% finished when I gave up. The plot hole at the climax was insurmountable, and I had a lot going on in my expat life.

Fast forward to late 2018: my husband and I moved to Hawaii and decided to use up our savings to give me a one-year writing sabbatical.

I joined a local writing group, met “serious” writing folks (including a highly succesful hybrid author), and spent half of every weekday in a coffee shop, brainstorming and writing. I finished the first draft of my novel! I decided to position myself as a YA fantasy writer! This was huge!

In 2019, we moved to Colorado. I connected to a group of women publishing short story and working on YA novels, like me! They helped clarify the voice, structure, and pacing of my first novel-length manuscript. They also introduced me to writing workshops—which I didn’t even know existed as a high schooler in the 2000s. (The internet wasn’t great back then, okay?)

In early 2021, I applied to and attended several YA workshops: the Highlights Foundation Whole Novel retreat, the Pacific Coast Children’s Writers Workshop, and the ABLA Big Sur Workshop. I revised my manuscript for most of that year. I met mentors who invited me to participate in short story anthologies.  Best of all? Aan agent at one of those workshops read my full manuscript and “loved” it. 

She asked for an R&R. And one month after I sent it. . . she passed. (Lingo for ‘didn’t offer representation’)

Heartbroken, I rallied and queried in 2022:

By the end of the 2022, I finished my second round of revisions. To make sure I was ready to query, I went to one final workshop and shared my first 5 pages with a critique group and an agent… only to receive the same feedback I had at Lambda and Tin House: my voice didn’t quite connect. STILL. I was gutted. Even worse? I had paid for another crit session over the weekend and sensed I’d get similar feedback. What was I going to do?

Well. . . I’d had this one other, quirky idea I had been kicking around. So I said “F it” and printed out the 3,000 words I’d written but barely edited. I loved this story, but I was sure it would never sell because I couldn’t find anything like it in the market.

Imagine my surprise when the whole critique group, from the ambitious sixteen-year-old girl to the eremitic white man in his fifties, laughed out loud, completely engaged while reading. The agent at our table looked me in the eye and said: “Send me the rough draft when it’s done.”

And that’s how I spent my third trimester of pregnancy writing SAMANTHA SPÜK: PARANORMAL WEDDING PLANNER.

If you know what being in the third trimester of pregnancy is like, I’m sorry. To everyone else: imagine getting kicked repeatedly in the bladder and the head every day, then having people say, “Congratulations!”. Anyway, I kid you not, I sent manuscript #3’s rough draft to that agent from my hospital’s Labor & Delivery ward.

While recovering from childbirth, I began querying my second manuscript. Here are my stats:

As I’d been warned, the differences in the querying world between 2022 and 2023 were stark and grim. Responses to the fulls/partials eked into my inbox. Though requests off of referrals came in immediately, another full request took six months. (I still haven’t heard back on a partial, two years later) You might be wondering: why did I send out so few queries, altogether? Because. . .

1.  I was following outdated advice to send out queries in small “rounds”, not understanding that agents’ reply timelines have doubled, tripled, or worse compared to pre-2020;

2. One of the full requests came back with a SEVEN PAGE HATE LETTER from the agent’s intern;

3. The agent who’d requested the rough draft of manuscript #3 lost my manuscript, forgotten they’d asked for an early draft, and then didn’t think it was ‘ready’. Let’s just say by that point it was a mutual pass.

Dear reader, I nearly gave up. Though I was as driven as ever, my creative well had either dried up or become ridden with poisonous algae. Also, my extended family began to wonder what I was doing with this career. Now that I had an infant, I was paying nannies/daycares to write. Remember how they say money is supposed to stream toward the author? Yeah, that was definitely not happening.

I asked my partner, “Why do you still believe in me? How long do I keep doing this?” To which he replied, “The market sucks right now. Give it another five years.” (See, this is why I had to marry him.)

All this to say, I got through 2023 and early 2024 by sheer grit.

It took half a year, but finally, I finished revising manuscript #3. I made the decision to query with the working title, SAMANTHA SPÜK: PARANORMAL WEDDING PLANNER, because I thought including my hook in the email subject line might give me the best shot at success. I confided in my writing groups, “If my querying strategy doesn’t work, I’m self-pubbing my manuscript.”

I decided to take a new approach to querying. It could be summarized as, “front loading the hell out of it”:

• After finishing my rough draft, I immediately began working on my query and synopsis;

• Before sending queries, I solicited feedback on my query letter and synopsis from 10 trusted folks, intending to use only one, near-perfect version. (Note: the combined editing time was over 20 hours);

• After finishing the final draft of SAMANTHA, I created multiple Word documents, enclosing excerpts from my novel of differing length in order to accomodate different agents’ requests. I labeled the documents things like “Author name-TITLE-5 pages.docx”, etc. I also edited each version of the manuscript so that the first 5, 10, 20, 30, and 50 pages would end at a captivating, engaging point;

• I developed QueryTracker materials for anticipated requested content, such as: Similar books, Audience, Author biography, Logline, Pitch (short), and Pitch (long). I also asked my trusted writing friends to read through and brainstorm these materials with me;

• I drafted emails, preparing subject lines;

• I planned to tell the agents that my manuscript was 79,800 words. At that time, it was over 84,000 words. This was a “Later Aleese” problem;

• In addition to asking for agented friends’ opinions and querying lists, I got a subscription to Publishers Marketplace and used information under “Deal Makers” to refine my own list. Between that, Query Tracker, MSWL, and some website stalking, I narrowed down to the following sub-lists: A) agents open, whom I could query immediately; B) agents closed, whom I could query later; C) agents open, whom I could query at the same agency if the corresponding agent in group A rejected me; D) agents opening soon (dates included). I also had a temporary category “E” for agents whose track records I wanted to investigate further before querying.

On March 25, 2024, I was ready. My pages were so shiny, they hurt to look at directly.

I sent out 37 queries in five days. I started getting full requests almost immediately. My fastest one came in 11 minutes, followed by 30 minutes; another was same day. For one requesting agent, I had to work 8 hours straight to cut about 4,000 words. By the time I received an email asking for a call—on April 14th—I’d had six full requests and one partial that turned into a full request, equaling seven full requests total.

Twenty days had passed.

Did I break the querying code?


Was this possible? Or impossible?

Yes to all three?

In order to move forward in my writing career, I needed to plumb my querying experience to understand what was working. (For my sanity, I needed to center on my own agency in the process) After careful thought, I determined I had taken the same actions in all three manuscripts/query attempts:

1. I showed decent-to-good level of writing craft (this is obviously subjective, but I knew I wasn’t in the “horrific” camp when I started querying);

2. I followed querying rules carefully;

3. I worked with solid writing groups and sent out only well-edited and prepared materials:

4. I attended conferences and workshops to solicit feedback/get a sense of market readiness;

5. I read extensively in the YA fantasy and YA contemporary fantasy genres;

6. I drafted many times;

7. I worked to develop a strong pitch.

But, I now realized I’d done four things differently with manuscript #3:

1. I finished a rough draft in just 3 months (in spite of many obstacles);

2. I didn’t personalize most of my queries, but if I did, I made minimal effort;

3. I had a succinct, punchy hook;

4. I had initially drafted the protagonist as being in her twenties, not her teens.

Thinking about point #1:

it wasn’t the amount of time or energy I had that caused me to write the draft so quickly. With manuscript #3, the words flew out.  I felt giddy when I finished writing. I was in my element. I was writing with a voice I had never employed, except briefly in manuscript #1.

Here’s a bitter pill: I spent 2018-2022 trying to write “serious” work. In workshops, I listened to editors share examples of how they helped authors pull out deeper characterizations, using pacing-killing flashbacks and laborious internal monologues. I tried very, very hard to follow this craft advice with my second manuscript. It often felt like I was banging my head against a bad-natured metal wall.

I like literary short stories, but the reality is my tastes in fiction are wide-ranging and kind of trend toward work that is more. . . fun. I’ve always gotten a kick out of humorous and wry writing—in the SSF sphere (Douglas Adams, John Scalzi, and recently, Gideon the Ninth). I remain a devoted fan of Georgie Nicholson and Jane Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series. But I could not envision a comedic voice selling in the trad publishing market unless toned down and re-packaged as a rom-com. I knew I did not want to make a rom-com. Manuscript #3 is not a rom-com. It was a weird third thing, that as I mentioned before, I didn’t see a market for.

But once I’d gotten an agent’s interest, my feelings about my humorous writing voice pivoted. I believed in it. I leaned into it.

My third manuscript was the one where I finally let myself do what I wanted.

Thinking about point #2:  

Personalizing queries really hadn’t helped. And when I think about it, I have to say: I wouldn’t make a business decision based off of insincere/canned personalization, either.

Thinking about point #3:

 I had a good idea and got lucky. (It took a long time to get lucky.)

Thinking about point #4:  

I developed the hook for manuscript #3 from concepts in manuscript #2. When I set to writing, I discovered a voice I hadn’t expected - edgier and older. I didn’t know how to write for an adult market, but after more than a year of letting the idea percolate, I came up with an idea for a YA plot and made the protagonist as old as reasonably possible.

The reality is: all four offering agents suggested that we sell to the adult market, and said that the voice, themes, and storyline would work well for an adult commercial/genre fantasy audience with only surface-level changes. 

I had queried my book “wrong”. Maybe, even, I had been writing for the “wrong” market all along.

After receiving my first offer, I sent out emails to both agents who 1) hadn’t replied, and 2) had my full manuscript. I used two pre-fabbed emails for each category so I could efficiently inform dozens of people that they had 14 days to read and/or request my manuscript and decide whether to offer representation. This is industry standard.

Over the next two weeks, I received 6 additional full requests and 3 additional offers of representation. I withdrew from 2 agents with my full manuscripts because I knew that I would prefer one of the other offering agents over them.

During each call to offer representation, I asked prepared, semi-individualized questions, transcribing the agents’ answers. I got less and less nervous over time. Fortunately, each call started off with “I love your book!”. Agents, you are heroic for employing this strategy!

Every night, I poured over the answers with my husband, talking about each agent’s publishing records and the editors/houses they sold to. I talked to multiple clients for each agent—so much time! (easily 14 calls while my toddler slept or was in daycare). I also activated all my whisper networks so I could get information from people who weren’t directly solicited by their agent to offer a referral.

Finally, the night before my deadline, I was exhausted, on day three of a (Stress-related? Hormonal?) migraine, and had to make a choice.

Everyone said I had no bad options. I was so lucky that the four agents who offered were awesome people that clearly cared about their clients and worked tirelessly, evidenced by anecdotes/testimony and publishing data. So, using my gut and publishing data, I narrowed it down to two agents. Both agents A and B had similar visions for selling/revising the book, similar editing timelines (fast!), and similar excitement (each had already hyped my book to people in their networks). Agent A had offered early on, entrancing me. Agent B felt like a long-lost best friend.

In the end, I did a gut check by talking with Agent A for a second time (because at this point, almost ten days had passed) and my gut still said yes. This is how I signed with Caitlin!

Caitlin Blasdell stood out in several ways: her long experience in multiple adult commercial and genre spaces—which I realized might be where I belonged; her work as a senior editor for a Big 4 publisher, giving her remarkable editorial insight and an edge at building relationships with editors; the clear wording of her editorial notes, cutting through the fog of my neurodivergent brain and perfectly depicting what I’d done and what I needed to do next. Listen—I could gush about how cool she is, but that’s not why you’re here (unless you’re wondering if you should query Caitlin, in which case the answer is YES!).

You’re still here because you want to see my query letter.

Caitlin is old-school. She wants an email query with no pages attached. Then, she requests a partial. After that, a full.

Here is my query letter:

[Opening salutations]

SAMANTHA SPÜK: PARANORMAL WEDDING PLANNER is a 79,800 word YA contemporary fantasy with adult crossover potential. In this novel, the humor of WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS meets the wedding hijinks of WE CAN’T KEEP MEETING LIKE THIS. Readers will be delighted by tropes such as forced proximity, hidden royalty, chaotic fay, and witchy vibes.

All eighteen-year-old Samantha Spük wants is to break her family’s legacy of zany, witchy chaos. Having freshly enrolled in NYU’s accounting program, she's on track to do just that. But then Grandma Rose dies and names Samantha executress of her will. Samantha returns to her hometown of Salem, MA, saltier than a salt factory. Making matters worse, while clearing out Grandma’s house, she discovers a literal talking, decapitated head in the closet. Samantha launches a head-burying mission in a midnight graveyard—only to be caught by a handsome stranger who thinks she’s a florist and event planner. The stranger refers her two clients. Two vampiric clients. Hell, no!

Samantha wants nothing to do with Salem’s supernatural, spooky scene, but she can’t get back to NYU until the will’s conditions are satisfied. No, really, she can’t, thanks to a magical slap bracelet. Refusing to abandon her dreams, Samantha transitions to remote learning; and, to fulfill Grandma Rose’s distressing wishes, she leans into paranormal wedding planning. Samantha coordinates weddings for werewolves, druids, and mermaids. She hires a pixie employee and enlists the help of the hot, woodsy stranger to tackle a slew of quirky challenges. Unfortunately, the weddings are just the start of her problems. Samantha’s GPA is slipping. The friendly head from Grandma’s closet harbors a centuries-old secret. The guy Samantha has been falling for may be less eligible than he seems.

The biggest obstacle of all: Samantha might be enjoying the paranormal world more than she’s letting on.

[Biography paragraph excluded]

And of course, I look forward to hearing back from you.

[Closing salutations]

This query was just under 400 words, placing it on the long side, but hey—it worked!