Rethinking the Form Reject

Writers seem to unanimously hate the form reject. Sure, even I've wondered if agents' keyboards look different from ours. Like they have a specific little red button labeled "hell no" and they hit that when they want to remove uninteresting queries as quickly and completely as possible. I haven't reached the place where I actually find myself annoyed by the form reject.

And pray I never will. Because, you know, I don't get anymore. That'd be just lovely.

I mostly imagine them to be a necessary evil all around. I'm sure there are times when agents have much more specific comments they'd like to make just as we would love to have specific feedback. But I can see how agents might have to take a hard line on form/personal Rs. If you tailor rejection for one writer, how do you justify not doing the same for all the others? Then you double your query response time and time, as we know, is money.

Plus, most writers have a day job and agenting is an agent's day job so they want manuscripts that will keep the lights on. Or so I assume.

So form rejections don't really piss me off. What does piss me off is when an agent might have just done me a real favor by hitting that red button and leaving it alone. Sometimes it's best NOT to know why a no is a no. Believe me.

To wit: I recently received the following rejection on a partial (and for the record, I don't feel bad posting this for two reasons. 1. I'm certainly not going to mention any names because that would be disgustingly unprofessional; and 2. Every writer who comes across this will be able to say "at least that didn't happen to me." I want someone, somewhere to get some use out of this.)

Ms. Coleman,
While I enjoyed reading your work (FYI, I knew I was screwed right here) I won't be requesting further pages. To be honest, you're a very talented writer and your voice is likely to appeal to YA audiences as well as potential cross-over readers. I like the balance of humor and edgy plot. (I was feeling pretty good around this point. Pretty damn fine, indeed.) Yet, I have to be honest when I tell you that it's a bit too ambitious for a writer from Eastern Kentucky. You've incorporated a lot of literary references that are going to seem inconsistent with your roots. I wouldn't know how to market you. (Here the words 'what the hell' began to swirl around in my head.) If you write anything more fitting of your geographical location, please send it to me. (You should not hold your breath, my dear.)

Sincerely,
Agent Douche


No, the agent's name clearly isn't Douche. And I feel a little bad even adding that disparaging remark despite the fact no one will ever know to whom I'm referring.

I don't like it when people assume that stereotypes are true. Not about races, genders, or even "geographical locations." This is something I've lived with my entire life. This assumption that I must not be capable of intelligent discourse because I've got my roots buried in the Bluegrass. I didn't like it when Diane Sawyers pulled this crap and I didn't like it when a literary agent I had a whole lot of respect for did it.

I suppose it hits me on two levels, as a writer and educator. More so as a writing specialist. If this agent assumes people can't write with intellectual authenticity because they're from Eastern Kentucky, why in the hell am I bothering to get up every morning?

See, that's the other reason (besides my own driving need) that I will keep right on until I'm published. If we don't break these stereotypes, my kids are going into the world at a distinct disadvantage. Worse, if writing a literary professional believes to be good can't pass muster because of the return zip code, then how can I give up--not only on myself but on the hope it can be different for the kids I face every day?

Anyway, bottom line time. If a form rejection is the flip side of this type of rejection, I'll happily remain a red button kind of writer. Right up until someone sees the value of my writing is worth more than the difficulty of convincing the world it could be written by someone from my neck of the woods. More importantly, I don't think the world is quite so narrow-minded as to doubt that possibility.

This problem, I feel, belongs solely to one agent in particular and shouldn't be considered a reflection on the rest of the wonderful people who take up this difficult profession.

Okay. Rant now over.