Why We Won't Read Your Manuscript

As a young inexperienced writer, I had several ideas for books I wanted to write. But when I sought to approach publishers, the process was absolutely daunting. I had no computer or Internet, no agent, no access to a mentor or a writers’ conference. More often than not, I gave up before I started. Maybe someday, I would get lucky and make the right connections.

Today, of course, almost everyone has access to those important resources. Who’s the Romance editor at Random House? Ask Google. What agents handle my genre? Ask Yahoo. Where’s the nearest conference, and what does it cost? The answers are only a few keystrokes away. With very little effort you can easily find out almost everything you need to know, to write that Great American Novel and set it before the eyes of all the right people. You’d think that modern technology makes everyone’s job easier, right?

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Wrong.
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You see, every agent and editor has a prescribed process for how they want to be approached by aspiring authors. It’s called “guidelines.” Some only handle mysteries, or children’s books, or some other specific category. Some require a one-page query at first contact, or sample chapters, or a proposal, or a combination thereof. Some will only accept new projects by referral from someone they already know. And if you want to get noticed by one of these industry insiders, you have to follow their guidelines carefully. Which you can find out easily by consulting their website. (If they don’t have one, it could be a clue that they already have enough to do and aren’t interested in hearing from you.) Hence, armed with all the right information, today’s writers only submit to a select list of carefully researched agents and editors. Right?
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Wrong.

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No matter how easy we make it, our inboxes fill up every day with submissions that fail miserably out of the gate. We don’t handle that genre. Your synopsis tells us nothing useful. Your book is way too short, or way too long. We ask for a word count, and you tell us a page count. We ask for a query and you send a bound volume. We ask for a .doc, and you send a .pdf. We want double-spaced, you send single. You can’t spell, punctuate, or construct a decent plot. Which means that either you're not paying attention, or you just don't care. Not a good first impression.
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At the end of the day, the tragedy is this: You might have a wonderful story in there somewhere, but we can’t tell. We gave you every opportunity, and you wasted everyone’s time including your own. And when I say “we,” I mean the agents and editors of America. I’ve discussed these issues with hundreds of colleagues from East to West, and their laments all sound the same.
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Under these circumstances, why should we bother to read your work? Is it right that we should reward such sloppiness? Do we really owe you a rejection letter, and must we tell you why?

Just this week, I received a huge paper manuscript in the mail. The envelope had $12 in postage on it. It contained a lovely cover letter on elaborate letterhead, from a sweet young lady who showered me in praise and assured me that she had followed my guidelines to the letter. She anxiously awaited my reply, and felt certain that I would quickly offer representation.
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The problem: I have never asked for a paper manuscript, and I don't handle erotica. (Oh, and did I mention the five typos on page 1? Yes, indeedy.) Like almost every agent and editor out there, my guidelines will tell you that I require a Word doc by email attachment. And that, only after you’ve intrigued me with a decent query and I ask for it.
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So, why is this such a big deal? A few things: 

• When you follow instructions, it’s a good omen that you’ll be easy to work with.

• We do almost all of our work on a computer screen, not a pen and paper.

• We’ll probably send off your work to a couple of readers for evaluation. Email makes it easy, quick, and cheap.

• When we go back and forth with you on editing, we can both save time and money.

• Almost all of the editors that we might send your work to, require electronic submissions for the same practical reasons we do.

And as for me personally, I often work out of coffee shops. So when I head out in the morning, I’m not interested in carrying a heavy pile of paper. I could drop it, or lose it, and thereby enable some local punk to steal your story. But when I go paperless, your confidential documents will remain safe in my password-protected Carbonite account.
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Generally speaking, in my experience, the only publishers who require paper submissions these days are the snooty boutique houses who only release a handful of new titles per year and will never communicate with you. You don’t want them anyway.

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So, do you want us to read your story? Make it easy on us, follow instructions, and send us something worth reading. We might surprise you.