After years of researching, writing, editing and finally completing the first draft of a novel that is intended to be the start of a series the ‘no-mans land’ of agents and submissions is a strange and unfamiliar place. I have been submitting to literary agents for four months now. Over sixty separate agencies submitted to, following their guidelines, honing the covering letter and the synopsis, adding the extras – brief bio, or back cover blurb. Whatever is desired.
And then nothing, the vacuum is almost perfect with only some bothering to reply so say ‘not for us’. A couple of scraps of encouragement. The majority don’t do anything and I have to score them off after 4, 6, 8 or 12 weeks as ‘not interested’ though I have no idea what they thought. So far the combined lack of interest is close to 60% including nearly 25% which are outright rejections.
Why anyone chooses to write and to seek publication is a mystery. There is zero encouragement, support or succour. I have been asked why don’t I try self-publishing. Internet types encourage this in the belief that the internet is everything (it isn’t!). I was avoiding the ‘fan-fiction’ or ‘vanity publishing’ labels. I have always wanted to be a genuine published writer. Work and life have always made this difficult but never diminished the ambition.
I have established a niche. A small and seemingly overlooked niche in historical fiction and its proving to be a lonely place despite the potential for storytelling in a violent time of many upheavals that is crucial to understanding the history and culture of Britain.
The patience and resignation continue. There is no choice in a tunnel, you make your own light.
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