I'm clearing out the backlog of email and snailmail queries this weekend. One of the the things I've noticed is people assume I remember who they are or what they sent previously. Never assume that.
For example, I received a cover letter that made no reference to a previous email exchange. Without that reference, the cover letter and pages looks like a query with no SASE. There was also no email listed on the cover letter. Only by searching my email program for the sender's actual name could I find the previous emails. I didn't remember him or his query at all. He was lucky not to get tossed with no response.
It's always smart to remind me of previous contact: "Your email asking for further details about TITLE"; "your email asking for the first 3-5 pages" etc.
The volume of mail here means that I'm responding to up to 20 queries a week with questions, or requests or followups (and my daily email volume is 150, easily). Everything you do to make it easy for me to remember you is smart querying.
7 comments:
Here's how to respond to people who assume you remember every damn thing on the planet:
Dear Nitwit,
Yes I remember you and your query, it was so terrible that I poured gin on my head and lit my hair on fire. Learn to write, or go back to sculpting.
Sincerely,
Janet Reid, The Memory Wizard who never forgets even a minute detail.
I always get a giggle when you put on your stern bloggy voice while simultaneously exposing yourself as someone who searches for a way to respond to a writer who goofed.
There is no easier way to confuse a book-selling pixie than to send a check with a note that says "for book" and not tell me for which book.
Or, my personal favorite: A money order sans name and address or reference to the book wanted. ... Then the sender gets all huffy because a confused pixie can't read minds.
[I've tried placing the unidentified payment to my forehead to penetrate the mists. But either your mind is too cloudy or mine is. It doesn't work!]
Im sure Literary Agents do not handle confusion of this sort any better than book-selling pixies.
---
Me: Bill, you're very affectionate today.
Bill E. Goat: Who me? Whaddya mean?
Me: Well you keep laying your head on my lap. Either you're seeking some human contact, or you've turned into a unicorn.
Bill: I'm not a unicorn, and you're not a virgin. I'm trying to read your mind! Either you don't have one or it's not working.
Pixie boredom is a dangerous thing:
Dear Miss Reid,
Before I tell you about my book, I have a vital and important question, except I fogot what it was. Oh, yes. How does one get sticky stamps off one's beard? Email me if you know.
I write hard boiled detective stories. I've been published in Agricultural Journal (a photo of me is on page 5 of the July issue. You will see I'm very handsome.)
I've modeled my hero after one of the great goats of all time. ... a certain Bill, who's given his name to all handsome male goats.
Here is the first page. Read it and sign me up. I don't have an email because I'm not allowed on the computer. In fact, I've snuck out of the truck and into the library to send this to you. If I get caught, I won't get lunch or something.
Anyway here it is, my magnum opus, my pull of the tail, my ... is there a latin phrase for this?
"Pay attention, son, and I'll show you how a pro does it."
"Yes, sir. I'm all ears."
"Why, oh why am I stuck with a species challenged kid," W. E. Goat muttered. He bent over the corps, and lifted the canvas cover. "Dead," he said more loudly.
"I'd say so, pop. Her neck's been wrung. ... I mean she is a ..."
"Quite. Pay attention! Observe." Inspector Goat turned to the M.E. "I suppose we took you from your dinner."
The ME flicked her long ears. "Actually, no. I was giving a kick to Jack ..."
"You know martial arts?"
Jenny Equius frowned. "I suppose you could call it that, but we were really ..."
"Good girl." Inspector Goat cut her off. "Do we have a time of death?"
"About six minutes ago. Old Mac's wife wanted chicken ..."
"Strangulation?"
"Yes." Doctor Equius sighed. "If you're done with me, I'd like to go back to kicking ..."
"Photos? You take crime scene photos?"
"I don't have fingers, you twit. Listen Bill, I'm done playing. Jack is waiting, and I'm kinda anxious to ..."
"Details, details! I need photos!"
Jenny wandered off, her longish ears flicking in disgust. "That's the last time I'm playing Goat detective, especially when I have more important things to do, like erotic kicking!"
"Pop, can I go play with Susie?"
"Pay attention son! If you want to grow up to be a famous detective you've got to pay attention! I didn't name you Sherlock for nothing."
"Pop, isn't that double negative?"
"A what? No, she was strangled, not shot. ... Saaay ... what caliber is a double barreled negative anyway. It might explain the dead crows ..."
"Father, it's a grammar term. I learned it from that Rachael woman you talk to all ..."
"Concentrate! ... What's this on her ear?" Inspector goat sniffed at the victim's head. Vacant, glazed over eyes stared back. "Smells like spit."
"Chickens don't exactly have hears, pop, but that's drool. When you get excited you ..."
"Damn it! It's the Wet Willy Murderer! He's struck again."
"Pop!"
"Quiet, kid. I've gotta think."
I am very glad to see Bill E. is alive and well. I miss him quite a bit.
Snarky! Come baaaaackkkkk!
MISS SNARK! AND Bill E.?
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