Hook an Agent Part V – Bestselling authors share how they found their agent

In Part I of my ‘Hook an Agent’ series I shared my submission letter for The Sister which you can read here. In Part II, here, Literary Agent Rory Scarfe told us ‘Never let your ideas be ordinary.’ Part III was Rowan Lawton sharing her top 3 tips for writing that synopsis & I shared part of my synopsis for The Sister. You can read that post here. Part IV, you can read here, featured agent Eugenie Furniss advising us to tighten those first 3 chapters, I also shared the opening of The Sister.

Today, the final part of the series, is all about how to find an agent. It’s tricky to find the right agent for you and as with any industry there are those who are fabulous and those who aren’t. It’s imperative to find someone you can trust because not only will they be guiding your career, they will also be taking a percentage of your earnings. There are horror stories of course, authors who have had their fingers burned, and while I feel it’s better to have no agent, than the wrong agent, the good news is there are so many credible ones to choose from.

We all have different approaches from reading the Writers & Artists’ Yearbook to Googling Literary Agents. I was very careful and almost reluctant to submit my manuscript. It took ages for me to draw up a list of who I wanted to submit to. For my search I read as many books as I could in my genre and when I fell in love with one I emailed the author to ask who their agent was and whether they were happy with them. If the answer was positive (and they weren’t all positive) I’d find out who else was on that agent’s list, how successful the books they placed were. Then I’d stalk them on social media, trying to get a sense of whether I thought I could work with them. I ended up with a small list but it’s important to not initially send your submission package out to as many agents as you can, as sometimes that ‘no’ will come with personalised feedback on your story and then you’ve the option to tweak your MS if you agree, before you send out again. I’ll hand over now to this fabulous bunch of bestselling authors who will share their journey.

I bought a copy of The Writers & Artists’ Yearbook and circled all the agents who represented the bestselling authors in my genre. I then drew up a list of thirty and sent a personalised cover letter, synopsis and the first three chapters to my top six. It didn’t take long for the rejections to start rolling in but Darley Anderson (who represents Lee Child and Martina Cole) asked to see the full manuscript. Six agonising weeks later he rang me back. The book had potential, he said, but it wasn’t of publishable standard – yet. He told me what I needed to work on and told me to resubmit when I’d written a new draft. Several weeks after I resubmitted it I had a phone call. It was Madeleine Milburn who was (then) Darley’s head of foreign rights. She loved my book so much she said, that she’d asked Darley if she could represent me. Maddy’s enthusiasm for my book was infectious and I signed with her. Several years later, when she left to start her own agency, I went with her. We’re now approaching our ten year agent/author anniversary! C. L. Taylor

I finished writing The Teacher and then sent my first three chapters off to fifteen agents. After four immediate rejections within a week, I was contacted by Diane Banks who asked to read the rest of the book. She then travelled to Ramsgate from London and we met for lunch. It all happened so fast! I got on really well with Diane and so I signed with her agency. Katerina Diamond

I’d given up hope of finding an agent, and I’d signed a two book deal with HQ Digital (Carina at the time) when i got an email from Lisa Moylett, my now agent asking to read the full. I was in France with no wifi, so had to tell her that I’d send it when I got home…I sent it the morning after I got home and she emailed that night to say could she call to talk to me about representation…only problem was, I’d been for dinner with a friend and had sunk loads of wine so had to email back and say I couldn’t speak to her til the morning! Luckily, even though I did give her a bit of hassle, she still wanted to represent me – I was invited for lunch with her and Jamie MacClean, her business partner, and was instantly made to feel like part of the CMM family. There was no way I couldn’t sign with her! Lisa Hall

I first came across Rowan Lawton on the Novelicious website where I read that among other things she likes issue-led debuts. My first novel was issue-led, so I thought Rowan might like it. Instead of submitting directly to her, I entered that novel into a competition on which she was a judge. I was shortlisted, and Rowan liked my book and worked with me for some months on changes. In the end, she turned me down. Of course, I was gutted, but I remained determined. I entered the Bristol Short Story Prize twice when she was a judge and to my astonishment was shortlisted both times. I met up with Rowan at one of the prize ceremonies – and as we chatted, I realised that we loved the same kind of books. She was so friendly and engaging, and unlike any other agent I had approached, she was eager to read everything I sent her. Finally in June 2016 when I sent her my third book, The Maid’s Room, she agreed to represent me. I was ecstatic because I knew this was a game-changer. I hugged her very hard indeed. Sure enough, four months later, I signed with Hodder & Stoughton as well as several foreign publishers, and my debut novel The Maid’s Room is out on 16th November. Fiona Mitchell

I was a bit fed up about royalties one day and decided to approach (the late, great) Carole Blake. We were friendly on social media and when we met at conferences and I sent her an email that began, ‘I know you’re not taking anybody on, but I’m going to ask you anyway.’ She felt that lovely Juliet Pickering, another agent in the Blake Friedmann Literary Agency, was a better fit for me, let Juliet read my work and made the introduction so we could see how we got on. We got on very well and Juliet has played a leading role in steering my career to greater things. I am a very happy (agented) author! Sue Moorcroft

I’d researched agents who I knew wanted psychological/crime fiction and those who I would love to be represented by, then made a ‘hit-list ‘of favourites. The list was fairly long! I got the usual rejections, then some wonderfully exciting emails asking for me to send my full manuscript. The agent I signed with happened to be the first agent who asked for the full. Her response ended up being a rejection, but with a snippet of hope tagged on the end – the magical words: ‘I think you are talented and would be very happy to talk more about you and your writing, or to see anything else you might write in this area.’ By the time I received this email, I’d begun my second novel – Saving Sophie – the opening chapters of which had been longlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger, so I immediately let her know of this! A meeting was arranged for the following month and I accepted her offer of representation about a week after. Sam Carrington

I had known my agents for some years prior to signing with her and our paths had crossed several times at various writing events. When the time came for me to look for an agent, I wanted someone I felt comfortable talking to, someone who I could speak to freely and someone who I felt loved my work. My agent ticked all these boxes, so it was an easy choice for me. Sue Fortin

 

Thanks so much to all who have taken part in my ‘Hook an Agent’ series. I do hope it’s been useful to writers approaching the submission stage. Good luck to all submitting!

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Hook an Agent Part IV – Tightening those first 3 chapters

In Part I of my ‘Hook an Agent’ series I shared my submission letter for The Sister which you can read here. In Part II, here, Literary Agent Rory Scarfe told us ‘Never let your ideas be ordinary.’ Part III was Rowan Lawton sharing her top 3 tips for writing that synopsis & I shared part of my synopsis for The Sister. You can read that post here.

Today I’m joined by Eugenie Furniss, from Furniss Lawton Literary Agency and this instalment is her tips for tightening those important first three chapters.

  • There’s a temptation to overwrite that I note frequently – particularly in the first few pages of any novel.  Be sure that the density of your prose at the opening of your novel chimes with the rest of the book, unless, of course, you are making a conscious decision to do something different with it – you open with a diary entry, for instance.
  • I would argue that in our time of short attention spans, it’s critical to engage the reader from the first page or two.  It’s tough, in your opening chapters, to get the balance right between action and scene setting.  If in doubt, I’d always recommend focusing on action, and keeping exposition to a minimum.  Character’s backstories can be drip fed into the narrative later, for instance; you don’t need all the information you wish to impart about someone up front.  It’s particularly important in your opening chapters that you’re showing not telling.
  • Keep it simple.  While I love a surprising prologue or alternative point of view, before forging forward with the central narrative, you don’t want to make the reader have to work too hard.  I’d avoid setting up more than two (max three) story lines in your narrative in the first few chapters.
  • If there’s a prologue you can send that in addition to your first three chapters.

Thanks so much Eugenie. That was really helpful. Next time we’ll be looking at how to find the right agent for you and some bestselling authors will be sharing their ‘how they hooked an agent’ stories.

Below is my opening chapter for The Sister. Good luck to everyone submitting!

Stepping out of my car with heartbreak-heavy legs, I zip my jacket and pull on leather gloves before hefting my spade and bag from the boot: it is time. My wellingtons slip-slide across the squelching mud to the gap in the hedge. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. I shiver as I enter the forest; it’s darker than I’d thought and I take deep breaths of the pine-scented air to steady myself. I fight the urge to go home and come back in the morning, remind myself why I’m here and drive myself forwards.

My smartphone lights the way as I look out for rabbit holes I might fall down. I take giant steps over fallen limbs of trees I’d once have hurdled. At twenty-five I’m not too old to run, but my load is cumbersome; besides, I’m in no rush to get there, I was never supposed to do this alone.

I stop and rest the spade handle against my hip, splay my fingers and shake out my pins and needles. There’s a rustling in the bushes and I have a sense of being watched. My heart stutters as two rabbits dart out, bounding away when they see my light. ‘I’m OK,’ I reassure myself, but my voice seems loud and echoey, reminding me how alone I am.

My rucksack feels tight across my shoulders and I readjust the straps before marching on, snapping twigs underfoot. I’m beginning to think I’ve taken the wrong fork when I reach the clearing with the lightning-struck tree. I wasn’t sure it would still be here, but as I look around it seems nothing has changed – but of course, everything has. Memories of the last time I was here hit me so hard I feel winded. I sink to the ground. The dampness of the leaves and earth seep through my trousers, as the past seeps through to my present.

***

‘Hurry up, birthday girl, you’ll be sixteen at this rate. I’m freezing,’ Charlie had called. She’d been perched on the weathered gate at the edge of the cornfield, plastic bags strewn around her feet, blonde hair gleaming in the weak coral sun. Never patient, Charlie kicked her heels as I trudged towards her, cradling the box that contained our hopes and dreams.

‘Come on, Grace.’ She jumped down, scooped up her wares and dashed into the trees. I shifted the box under my arm and tried to keep up, following flashes of her purple coat and wafts of the Impulse body spray she always stole from her mum’s bedroom.

Branches and brambles grasped at our denim-clad legs, snagged our hair, but we kept going until we burst into the clearing.

‘Your red face matches your hair,’ Charlie laughed as I dropped the box and hunched over, resting my hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. Despite the cool early evening temperature, sweat beaded on my temples. Charlie upended the carrier bags: snacks, drinks, matches, a trowel and a small present, wrapped in sparkly purple paper with a ‘Fifteen Today’ sticker on it, all scattered over the crumbling earth. Smiling, she handed the gift to me. I sat cross-legged, carefully opening the ends without tearing the paper, and inched the box out. Nestled inside was half a gold heart on a chain engraved with ‘BFF’. Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at Charlie. She tugged the neck of her fleece down, revealing the other half of the heart. I fastened the chain around my throat as Charlie began to dig a hole. Always the Girl Guide, I lit a small fire. It would be even colder when the sun went down, and the evenings were drawing in quickly now. By the time the hole was deep enough, Charlie was breathless, her fingernails caked in dirt.

I carried the memory box over to the hole and placed it in the ground. We’d spent a whole Saturday choosing the contents and decorating the outside of the plastic tub, sticking on pictures from magazines of supermodels and pop stars we wanted to emulate. ‘You can never be too rich or too thin,’ Charlie said. She scooped an armful of dirt and began to cover it.

‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘I want to put this in.’ I waved the birthday wrapping paper in the air.

‘You can’t now, we’ve already sealed it.’

‘I’ll be careful.’ I slowly peeled back the Sellotape and popped off the lid. To my surprise, sitting on top of a stack of photos was a pink envelope that definitely hadn’t been there when we’d filled the box earlier. I glanced at Charlie, who was looking secretive.

‘What’s that, Charlie?’ I reached towards the envelope.

Charlie grabbed my arm. ‘Don’t.’

I pulled free, rubbing my wrist. ‘What is it?’

Charlie wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘It’s for us to read when we come back for the box.’

‘What does it say?’

Charlie snatched the wrapping paper from between my fingers and scrunched it inside the box, banging the lid on top. When Charlie didn’t want to talk about something there was little point trying to pursue it. I decided to let it go; I wouldn’t let her furtiveness spoil my birthday.

‘Drink?’ I grabbed a cider; it fizzed as I pulled back the ring, and froth spilled over the side of the can. I wiped my hand on my jeans and took a gulp; it warmed my stomach, washing away my unease.

Charlie packed the earth into the hole and pounded the surface with her trowel until it was flat, before coming to sit by my side.

The campfire crackled as we leaned against the horizontal tree trunk toasting pink marshmallows on sticks, and it wasn’t until the embers burned out that I realised how late it was.

‘We should go. I’m supposed to be home by ten.’

‘OK. A pinkie promise we’ll come back and open the box together?’ Charlie proffered her little finger and I curled mine around it before we clinked cans and drank to a promise that we didn’t know would be impossible to keep.

***

There is only me now. ‘Charlie,’ I whisper. ‘I wish you were here.’ Charlie’s half-heart, forever on a chain around my neck, spins around as I lean forward, as if it’s searching for its partner, desperate to be whole again. I gently lay down the wreath. The overwhelming panic that has plagued me since Charlie’s death four months ago bubbles to the surface, and I tug my scarf away from my throat so I can breathe a little easier. Am I really to blame? Am I always to blame?

Despite the January chill I feel hot, and as I pull off my gloves I think I hear Charlie’s last words echoing through the trees: I did something terrible, Grace. I hope you can forgive me.

What did she do? It can’t be any worse than what I did, but I am determined to find out what it was. I know I won’t be able to move forwards until I do. I hadn’t been sure where to begin until this morning, when I received a letter in the post in a pink envelope, which triggered a memory of the letter hidden in the memory box that Charlie hadn’t wanted me to read. Perhaps the letter will hold some kind of clue? It will be a start, anyway. Asking people who knew her hasn’t been getting me anywhere, and besides, I’m the one who knew her best, aren’t I? I was her best friend.

But can you ever really know someone? Properly know someone?

I sit back on my heels, remaining motionless for an indeterminable time as the air cools around me. Branches swish and sway as if the trees are whispering their secrets to me, encouraging me to unearth Charlie’s.

I shake my head, scattering my thoughts, and pull my sleeve down over the heel of my hand before wiping my wet cheeks. Picking up the spade with arms that feel too heavy to be mine, I grip the handle so tightly, rockets of pain shoot through my wrists. I take a deep breath and begin to dig.

 

 

A day in the life of…Dr. Carol Cooper

 

 

Today on my blog I welcome Carol Cooper. I’ve got to know Carol via social media and she always seems incredibly busy with so many things, I’m curious as to when she carves out time to write. Let’s find out…

My working life is varied and no two days are the same, but I usually wake up about 7 a.m. unless I’m on breakfast TV. I’m not that sharp in the mornings, so it’s just as well when I can sit in bed for a bit to catch up with social media and sip coffee made by my husband.

I’ve been a hospital doctor, GP partner, and a locum, but nowadays seeing patients is a very small part of my work. I now get more of a buzz from teaching medical students at Imperial College, which means getting to west London by 9 a.m. on some days.

My students are usually fifth or sixth years, so they’re very nearly qualified doctors and already have a vast store of knowledge which they haven’t yet started to forget… I lead small workshops, and it’s my job to help students deal with a range of challenging scenarios. We often use actors as simulated patients. In fact, just such an actor appears in my novel Hampstead Fever, but she’s entirely a product of my imagination. I’d never, ever, put real colleagues, students, or patients in a novel. It’s totally taboo – a bit of a shame, I sometimes think, as I’ve met some wonderful characters.

The teaching session ends around 1 p.m or 1.30 p.m., in time for a bite to eat. In the afternoon, I try to do some writing. I’ve been the doctor for The Sun newspaper for 18 years, which means I can get asked for my say on whatever health story hits the news, be it a radiation spill or a celeb with an injury from stumbling out of a nightclub at 4 a.m. My contribution is usually a short My View, written on the hoof. I well remember an editor asking me for 300 words on the dangers of drinking petrol, adding, “You’ve got bags of time. Take 45 minutes if you need it.” The job keeps me on my toes, and I love it. I never know what’s coming at me next, so it’s just like being a doctor in Accident & Emergency but without getting my hands dirty.

At the moment, I’m working on my third novel. My first two are contemporary fiction with multiple viewpoints, and they’re all about dating and family life in London. The current WIP is a bit of a departure. Although it still focuses mainly on relationships, it has just one viewpoint, covers several periods of time, and is set mostly in Egypt, where I grew up. I often have a non-fiction book to write or co-author at the same time, but this novel needs a tad more research than most of my fiction, so I’m concentrating on just the one book.

I say ‘concentrating’, but my willpower evaporates when it comes to Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.

On some days, there might be a radio interview or television appearance, such as ITV This Morning. It’s usually on a topical health issue, or on parenting. I’ve written a slew of child health books, including two on raising twins.

My own three sons have grown up and flown the nest, but one or other of my twins might drop in (my eldest son lives in Birmingham so I see him less often). Evening is a lovely time to sit on the terrace with a glass of something with my husband Jeremy, and rearrange the plants or just watch the sun set. If we’re in Cambridge, we’ll go down to the river for a stroll. Jeremy usually cooks supper. I think he’s the better cook.

On some evenings, I give talks to expectant parents of twins and triplets. I’m an honorary consultant to Tamba (Twins and Multiple Births Association), and involved with a couple of other charities as well, including Lucy Air Ambulance for Children, and APEC (Action on Pre-Eclampsia).

Fortunately I don’t have to work as hard as I did when I was a hospital doctor (in the bad old days, it could be 80 hours a week), and I enjoy seeing friends, especially at evenings and weekends. Some of my close friends go back to my childhood or to uni days, but many are fellow authors that I’ve met more recently. Book-writing is a more welcoming world than a lot of people imagine, and I’ve made good friends.

I often read a novel in bed before I drop off, and I always have pencil and paper on hand in case I have a bright idea in the night. Too bad I can’t always decipher my notes in the morning.

WOW. Don’t think I’ll complain about being too busy again. Thanks so much for sharing, Carol. 

Now you can get Hampstead Fever as an ebook for just 99p from October 14 for two weeks.

Carol Cooper is a doctor, journalist, and author, living in London and Cambridge. She contributes to The Sun newspaper and broadcasts on TV and radio. After a dozen non-fiction books, including an award-winning textbook of medicine, she turned to fiction with her debut novel. One Night at the Jacaranda follows the fortunes of a motley group of 30-somethings who, looking for love, find themselves. Her second novel Hampstead Fever focuses on six North Londoners grappling with life and relationships while their emotions boil over in the summer heat. This year, Hampstead Fever was picked for a prestigious promotion in WH Smith travel bookshops around the UK. Carol enjoys gardening on her patio. She’d probably have other hobbies too if she didn’t love writing so much.

You can follow Carol’s blog Pills & Pillow-Talk, or find out more about her writing on her website. She’s also happy to connect on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Pinterest.

 

Excerpt – The opening of The Surrogate & my thoughts on THAT end!

My third novel, The Surrogate, was published a few days ago and I wanted to share the opening with you. I had such a fabulous time writing this book. The story of Kat and Lisa was definitely one where I thought I knew where it was going, but the characters grew darker, the plot more complex and the twists and turns gather pace until the end hit me like a sledgehammer. I never saw it coming and once it was written, it was great fun to go back and plant the clues for readers, although judging from the over 100 five star reviews it’s already amassed no-one has yet predicted the ending either (BIG thanks to all who have reviewed). It’s the most intricate story I’ve written, everyone in this book has a secret. The e-book has now been selected as part of a special promotion so you can grab it for £0.99/$1.30 across all digital platforms. You can find it on Amazon here.

 

Later

There is a rising sense of panic; horror hanging in the air like smoke.

‘They’re such a lovely couple. Do you think they’re okay?’ says the woman, but the flurry of emergency service vehicles crammed into the quiet cul-de-sac, the blue and white crime scene tape stretched around the perimeter of the property, indicate things are anything but okay. She wraps her arms around herself as though she is cold, despite this being the warmest May on record for years. Cherry blossom twirls around her ankles like confetti, but there will be no happily ever after for the occupants of this house, the sense of tragedy already seeping into its red bricks.

Her voice shakes as she speaks into the microphone. It is difficult to hear her over the thrum of an engine, the slamming of van doors as a rival news crew clatters a camera into its tripod. He thrusts the microphone closer to her mouth. She hooks her red hair behind her ears; raises her head. Her eyes are bright with tears. TV gold.

‘You don’t expect anything bad… Not here. This is a nice area.’

Disdain slides across the reporter’s face before he rearranges his features into the perfect blend of sympathy and shock. He hadn’t spent three years having drama lessons for nothing.

He tugs the knot in his tie to loosen it a little as he waits for the woman to finish noisily blowing her nose. The heat is insufferable; shadows long under the blazing sun. Body odour exudes from his armpits, fighting against the sweet scent of the freshly cut grass. The smell is cloying, sticking in the back of his throat. He can’t wait to get home and have an ice-cold lager. Put on his shorts like the postman sitting on the edge of the kerb, his head between his knees. He wonders if he is the one who found them. There will be plenty of angry people waiting for their post today. ‘Late Letter Shock!’ is the sort of inane local story he usually gets to cover, but this… this could go national. His big break. He couldn’t get here fast enough when his boss called to say what he thought he’d heard on the police scanner.

He shields his eyes against the sun with one hand as he scouts the area. Across the road, a woman rests against her doorframe, toddler in her arms. He can’t quite read her expression and wonders why she doesn’t come closer like the rest of them. At the edge of the garden, as close as the police will allow, a small crowd is huddled together: friends and neighbours, he expects. The sight of their shocked faces is such a contrast to the neat borders nursing orange marigolds and lilac pansies. He thinks this juxtaposition would make a great shot. The joy of spring tempered by tragedy. New life highlighting the rawness of loss of life. God, he’s good; he really should be an anchor.

There is movement behind him, and he signals to the cameraman to turn around. The camera pans down the path towards the open front door. It’s flanked by an officer standing to attention in front of a silver pot containing a miniature tree. On the step are specks of what looks like blood. His heart lifts at the sight of it. Whatever has happened here is big. Career defining.

Coming out of the house are two sombre paramedics pushing empty trolleys, wheels crunching in the gravel.

The woman beside him clutches his arm, her fingertips pressed hard against his suit jacket. Silly cow will wrinkle the fabric. He fights the urge to shake her free; instead, swallowing down his agitation. He might need to interview her again later.

‘Does this mean they’re okay?’ asks the woman, confusion lining her face.

The trolleys are clattered into the back of the waiting ambulance. The doors slam shut, the blue lights stop flashing and slowly it pulls away.

From behind the immaculately trimmed hedge, hidden from view, he hears the crackle of a walkie-talkie. A low voice. Words drift lazily towards him, along with the buzz of bumblebees and the stifled sound of sobbing.

‘Two bodies. It’s a murder enquiry.’

I wrote this opening genuinely thinking I knew who the bodies would be, and why but as the characters developed and took over the story I found it almost out of my hands. The reveal shocked me and just when I thought I’d finished writing the final twists come in the Epilogue. I felt so drained after writing this book. I hope as well as being entertaining, I’ve also sensitively handled the emotional side of a couple longing for a child. I do hope it’s a thriller with a real heart.

Here’s the blurb:

‘You know that feeling? When you want something so badly, you almost feel you’d kill for it?’

Be careful what you wish for…

Kat and her husband Nick have tried everything to become parents. All they want is a child to love but they are beginning to lose hope. Then a chance encounter with Kat’s childhood friend Lisa gives them one last chance.

Kat and Lisa were once as close as sisters. The secrets they share mean their trust is for life… Or is it?

Just when the couple’s dream seems within reach, Kat begins to suspect she’s being watched and Nick is telling her lies.

Are the cracks appearing in Kat’s perfect picture of the future all in her head, or should she be scared for the lives of herself and her family?

How far would you go, to protect everything you love?

From the no. 1 bestselling author of The Sister and The Gift, this is an unputdownable psychological thriller which asks how far we will go to create our perfect family.

Buy it now for £0.99/$1.30 across all digital platforms, including Amazon here.

Square Graphic - The Surrogate - 10

 

 

Hook an Agent Part III – The dreaded synopsis…

 

In Part I of my ‘Hook an Agent’ series I shared my submission letter for The Sister which you can read here. In Part II, here, Literary Agent Rory Scarfe told us ‘Never let your ideas be ordinary.’ We’ll skim over the part where my teenage son now thinks that’s a fabulous quote to get tattooed on his arm and move swiftly on to nailing that synopsis, often the most feared part of the submission package.

Today I’m joined by the utterly fabulous Rowan Lawton, from the dynamic Furniss Lawton, who will share her top 3 tips to bear in mind when writing that synopsis.

1) Know the difference between a pitch blurb and a synopsis.

There is a big difference between writing a blurb for your pitch letter and putting together a synopsis. Your synopsis should be a plainly written description of specifics – what actually happens in your novel. There is no rule about length but I’d advise sticking to a couple of pages at most.

Approach the blurb as though you are writing your own jacket copy for the finished, printed version. Imagine your book on the shelf in a bookshop and what elements of your story would entice someone to choose your novel over another.

2) Do give away the ending in your synopsis.

When an agent is reading your synopsis they want to see how it’s all going to come together at the end. Will it be a satisfying read? Is the plot convincing? We get so many submissions that we often want to know how a story is going to end before we commit to reading a whole manuscript.

3) Don’t try to make claims about the themes of your novel in the synopsis.

This advice applies to your cover letter and blurb too, apart from possibly a line or two right at the end. I want to know who your main characters are, what is going to happen to them and where the action is going to take place, much more than I want to hear generalisations about themes. ‘This is an epic love story exploring themes of loss, human connection and forgiveness’ tells me nothing about what’s actually going to happen the book I’m about to read!

Fabulous advice Rowan, thanks.

Now I’ve pondered how to share my synopsis for The Sister (submitted as Buried Memories), as I did my covering letter, and have been advised not to as it would ruin the book for those who have yet to read. I will however share my opening so you get the general idea without giving away spoilers. For me, it only came together firstly, when I was able to put aside the rich, descriptive language I love to use when I write and keep it very basic and to the point. Secondly, I had to stop viewing it as an enemy. The synopsis is a friend we use to demonstrate the plot hangs together and an epic love story doesn’t suddenly fall apart when aliens randomly appear in chapter 43 and in the epilogue it turns out it was all a dream anyway.

 

‘BURIED MEMORIES’ is a domestic noir story featuring Grace Matthews, an anxious 25-year old woman who is devastated by her best friend Charlie (Charlotte) Fisher’s death and can’t understand why Charlie’s Mum, Lexie Fisher, would blame her. She feels until she discovers the meaning behind Charlie’s last words ‘I’ve done something terrible, Grace, please forgive me,’ she can’t move forward.

Struggling to know where to start unravelling the mystery Grace remembers a memory box she and Charlie buried as teenagers and digs it up. Grace realises that Charlie’s biological father might know what Charlie did and decides to trace him. During the search Grace is followed by a mysterious figure and becomes paranoid and dependent on medication.

Dan, Grace’s boyfriend agrees to help find Charlie’s father even though he’s struggled to cope with Grace’s misplaced sense of guilt, and erratic behaviour, since Charlie’s death. They begin an online campaign and Anna comes forward. Anna tells Grace she is Charlie’s half-sister and that their shared father is deceased. Lonely Grace seizes the chance to form a bond with Anna, keeping a link to Charlie. Without checking her out Grace readily agrees when Anna asks if she can stay for a few days…

 

I do hope that was useful. Take a deep breath, remember to stick to the submission guidelines (the synopsis might need to be anything from 300 words to one or two pages).

You’ve got this. Good luck!

For the final instalment we’ll be joined next time by Eugenie Furniss who’ll give her advice for tightening those all important first three chapters.

 

Soaring High #FlashFiction

Image courtesy of Douglas M. MacIlroy

 

I’m free and yet I’m not. Not in a cage but still trapped by bars of my own making, but they bring me comfort, these bars. They keep me safe. They stop me flying because if I were to flutter my wings where would I go? Who would I be? What’s to stop me falling? The world is so huge and I feel so small. So insignificant.

I screw my eyes up tight, blocking the voices telling me I can, my own telling me I can’t. I try. There’s a shift. A movement and then it happens. I’m rising, soaring, flying. Free.

 

How joyous I was when I saw this perfect prompt. This weekend I conquered a lifelong phobia of public speaking and appeared at the Althorp Literary Festival. You can read how I got on here and see the photos.

 Yesterday I had a great time on the radio chatting about Friday Fictioneers, the way it’s helped me tighten my writing and my love for the WordPress writing community. You can listen to that here.

 Soaring High was written for Friday Fictoneers. A weekly 100 word story challenge inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries and join in over at host Rochelle’s blog here.

 

 

 

One terrified writer, one HUGE literary festival, one big mistake?

 

Over the past year I’ve been asked to speak at several events, some big, some small, but all have one thing in common – I’ve said no. I think I can pinpoint exactly when and why my phobia of public speaking started, but knowing that, understanding that, hasn’t made it any easier to cope with. On the occasions I’ve tried, I’ve ended up in such a state I’ve not been able to sleep or eat in the weeks preceding and have been physically sick and unable to talk on the day. Shaking, dry mouth, fainting, you name it, I’ve suffered with it.

Althorp Literary Festival is in its 14th year and when an email dropped into my inbox I assumed it was asking me to buy tickets as I’ve attended most years as a guest. Instead, it was an invitation to take part in a panel event. I felt equally honoured and disappointed. There’s no way I could possibly take part, or could I?

Unusually, I didn’t rattle off a polite ‘thanks, but no thanks’ straight away. Althorp is a very dear place to me. I grew up 10 minutes down the road and have many happy childhood memories of our Sunday afternoon drives through the beautiful grounds after a roast lunch, my parents in the front of the car, me playing eye-spy in the back with my sister, ending with tea and cake and the more I let the memory cover me like a blanket, the more it grew – the urge to say yes. My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I quickly punched out an acceptance. And then I cried. And then I set about finding a solution, painfully aware I wouldn’t just be representing myself but also the festival, both my publishers and my agent. No pressure then. My google research resulted in me booking a course of hypnotherapy. I genuinely enjoyed every second of my talk and I’ve since signed up for various events and I honestly can’t wait. Next week I’ll be interviewing my hypnotherapist, Carmen, and she’ll share her thoughts on why public speaking is such a common phobia and give her tips on giving a great performance and I’ll be talking about the things that worked for me.

Today though I want to share my memories of what was an amazing weekend.

On arrival I was escorted to the Green Room, the library. The sight of all those books was instantly calming, admittedly so was the sight of the gin…

It felt so surreal at first and I had to remind myself to focus and pay attention to the other panellists as initially I was sitting there thinking ‘I’m on a stage at Althorp! How did this possibly happen to me?’

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There were books everywhere and at my first official signing I had a touch of anxiety I’d scratch the beautiful desk. I didn’t, and chatting to readers was one of the highlights of my weekend.

Umm there’s always one, lowering the tone, photographing the food. That would be me…

The grounds are absolutely stunning.

And no festival would be complete without a champagne bus. thankfully the sun shone and it became open top. 

I met some amazing people, caught up with old friends and made some new, and whether I’m invited back as a speaker or not, I can’t wait for next year’s event.

Huge thanks to everyone involved in putting together such an amazing festival and leaving me with memories I shall always treasure.