Freelance Editorial Association News, Fall-Winter 1992-1993 Volume 8, Number 3
Charles D. Coe
What do editors want?
That question has bedeviled humankind since the dawn of creation, and any writer who wants to break in as a freelancer has to grapple with it.
One extremely useful tool in helping to solve this mystery is the query letter. The basic idea is pretty straightforward: the writer sends the editor a punchy, irresistible one-page letter proposing an idea for a feature piece.
I’m not going to reinvent the wheel and talk about how to write a query letter. Numerous books and magazine articles discuss its mechanics, formats, tones, and styles. My purpose here is to examine why editors prefer query letters to completed manuscripts and how writers can use queries to help develop positive working relationships with editors.
A general rule is that you should send a one-page query letter instead of a completed manuscript if you expect a manuscript to be longer than 1,500 words or so. A query letter is a great time saver for all involved. The writer doesn’t spend time researching and developing a piece just to discover that the target publication isn’t interested, and the editor doesn’t have to wade through piles of unsolicited manuscripts just to find something interesting.
…sending the completed manuscript instead
of a query letter marks you as an amateur.
In fact, most editors don’t bother to wade. Most unsolicited manuscripts get a quick trip back to you in your self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE). That’s why the query letter is your best bet for catching a sympathetic editorial eye. The few exceptions include humor and essays about personal experiences. When in doubt, write for a copy of your target publication’s guidelines.
Editors receive an unbelievable amount of stuff—both professionally presented queries and unsolicited, completed manuscripts—and they generally take the same approach that personnel officers take to résumés. They look for quick and easy ways to reduce the size of the pile. Criteria include excess typos (actually, one is too many), anything printed with a moribund ribbon, and a two-page letter when one page is the rule. One quick way to wind up in an editor’s out box is to send a completed manuscript instead of a query letter, thereby showing that you don’t know the game.
"But wait," you say. "What if I send a completed manuscript that’s so boffo the editor can’t resist it?" That’s certainly possible. But besides taking less time, query letters are preferable for another reason. Seeing your article in the idea stage helps the editor shape the completed piece to fit the publication’s needs.
Let’s say you have an idea for a magazine article. You want to examine the fact that membership in ethnic social clubs in your town is on the decline. You write a tight, one-page query letter to the editor of your target magazine, in which you propose to interview older members of ethnic clubs to see how they feel about their shrinking membership. The editor likes your basic idea but wants you to focus more on finding out why the younger generation isn’t interested in such clubs. Typically, the editor’s preference is based on the magazine’s demographics; perhaps most of its readers are between twenty-five and forty. After a phone conversation, you agree to write the piece, albeit with a slightly different slant than you originally envisioned. And everybody’s happy.
But what if you had just gone ahead and sent in the completed article with the original focus on the older club members? Even if the editor bothered to read your piece (not a good bet) and is interested in the basic idea, the editor faces more work in babysitting a major rewrite than in helping shape an article in the idea stage. In addition, sending the completed manuscript instead of a query letter marks you as an amateur. Editors are extremely gun shy about working with amateur writers, no matter how talented, because amateurs miss deadlines, resist subjecting their deathless prose to editing and rewrite, call too often, and generally need the kind of hand holding that editors don’t have time to do.
The difference between an amateur and a professional isn’t necessarily the number of articles published. It’s a question of presenting yourself. If you do your homework to find out how the industry does business and then indicate that you respect the editor’s time, you’re showing that you’re a professional. Editors tend to treat you accordingly.
Of course, you want to do the necessary legwork before sending a query letter. When you think you have a saleable idea for an article, research your target publication. Go to the library and dig out a year’s worth of back issues to make sure this publication hasn’t included anything on the same topic, or even one related, for at least a year. Also check your target publication’s competitors to make sure that none of them has published anything similar.
Meanwhile, an Everest-size heap of unsolicited
queries and manuscripts (affectionately dubbed
the "slush pile" in some offices) is sitting in the
corner, growing ominously with every mail delivery.
Once you’ve sent a terrific query letter, what are your chances of getting the assignment? The bad news is that it’s harder than ever to break in as a freelancer. Advertising revenues are down, so operating budgets are low. Less money is available for hiring freelancers. Also, staff people are shamefully overworked, and editors have less and less time to groom new writers. Everyone on staff is going nuts just trying to keep up with production schedules. Meanwhile, an Everest-size heap of unsolicited queries and manuscripts (affectionately dubbed the "slush pile" in some offices) is sitting in the corner, growing ominously with every mail delivery. Every once in a while, the editors rub their throbbing temples, stare balefully at the pile, sigh in disgust, and mutter to no one in particular, "Guess we’d better plow through some of this crap."
Pretty bleak picture. But the odds against you aren’t as bad as they sound because a lot of what’s in that pile doesn’t have a prayer of seeing print. Much of it consists of lengthy completed manuscripts, poorly written query letters, or proposals that don’t mesh with the publication’s focus. If you submit interesting, tightly written query letters that demonstrate your awareness of the publication’s needs, you’re already way ahead of a lot of the competition.
But you still have to face the likelihood that the first query to any publisher won’t result in an assignment. What do you do when your proposal gets rejected? The first step is to allow yourself a short mourning period. I call it my "self-pity break," something between, say, two and twenty-four hours. For a specified period, give in completely to anger, disappointment, and shattered self-confidence. Call a sympathetic colleague. Eat some chocolate. Watch your favorite trashy TV show.
I also consider revenge fantasies very healthy when you’re trying to get over rejection. Here’s one of my favorites. I’ve just stepped out of a limo and into the New York Hilton, where I’m scheduled to receive a Pulitzer Prize for my writing. Before heading into the main hall for the ceremony, I make a quick pit stop in the john, only to discover that the restroom attendant is an editor who rejected one of my article ideas. But not being the sort to harbor a grudge, I generously tip this poor soul a dollar before dashing out to make my acceptance speech.
We tend to see rejection as personal failure, as proof that we "weren’t good enough." Well, it ain’t necessarily so. An editor might reject a query for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with the quality of your work. Space considerations, a similar article in process, and the editor’s personal biases are just a few of the many reasons that queried proposals are rejected.
So cheer up. And when you’re done with your self-pity break, pick yourself off the floor and send the proposal to another editor. (Be sure to change the letter to tailor it to the new target publication’s needs.) Next, take another look at the rejection slip. It will usually say something bland and noncommittal like "We appreciate your interest in our publication, but unfortunately your proposed article does not meet our needs at this particular time." But if the editor made personal comments or actually wrote you a letter, especially one with constructive criticism of your article idea, you should consider the news good, even though your article was rejected. A personal response from an editor says that your query was impressive enough to warrant attention. It also says that this editor is a person who treats writers like human beings.
I recently sent a query to an editor for whom I’d never written. A couple of weeks after I mailed the letter, the editor called me (it happens sometimes). He explained that he liked my idea and the way I’d presented it but didn’t have room to run it. He went on to say that he usually breaks in new writers by having them do shorter pieces, and he encouraged me to submit more ideas. I did, and he recently published one of my pieces.
A personal response from an editor says that
your query was impressive enough to warrant attention.
<>
So don’t judge a query letter a failure just because it doesn’t result in a writing assignment on the first try. Instead, consider a successful query to be any letter that establishes rapport with an editor. Building relationships with editors is the bottom line for freelance writers. That’s why it’s better to send regular query letters every two or three months to a few editors than to query a dozen editors once or twice a year.
If you keep tapping on an editor’s door with interesting, well-considered query letters and then follow up with occasional phone calls, which you keep short and to the point, you’ll eventually work your way into some assignments. The good news is that even through breaking into some markets can be difficult, many editors are willing, if not anxious, to work with new writers who have good ideas, write well, and present themselves in a professional manner. Believe it or not, editors are people too, people who love the printed word at least as much as you do. They might grumble about the slush pile, but they’re all looking for the occasional gem hidden inside it.
Just remember: there are stories that only you—of all people on earth—can tell. If you tell them with craft and with honesty, it’s only a matter of time until you find your readers.
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