Do you want an agent? Or do you want agency?
Let’s face it — most of us are a little surprised that we’re the adults now. Every generation goes through its own level of disappointment in the one that came before it, everyone feels a combination of disorientation and fear when the authority figures in our lives (parent, teacher, manager, etc.) don’t have all the answers and can’t fix everything. We then embark on a quest to replace this figure with another. Father disappointing us? Boyfriend to the rescue. Mother overly controlling? Teacher to the rescue. And this need for someone else to approve and validate our opinions and sense of direction translates into other arenas: the workplace, and the query trenches.
If you’re looking for an agent, you might feel as if you’re swimming through a vast ocean, with every rejection a powerful wave taking you further away from shore. The signs of hope—an encouraging note in a rejection, a full request, a revise and resubmit—can feel like mirages of dry land.
So it might mean that when you finally get an offer of representation, you grab it like a lifeline… even if it isn’t taking you where you actually want to go.
There are predatory agents, who can’t actually get your book published, who demand payment for their services, or who court you like you’re the next Zadie Smith and then ghost you for months if your book doesn’t get past the first round of submissions. There are agents who set up private Discord servers and start bullying and badmouthing other writers and agents. Yes, this happened.
Okay, deep breath. You’re not actually drowning. You’ve researched your agent and their agency and they’re totally legit. Their other writer clients love them, and they’ve sold amazing books from authors just like you. They believe in you and are hugely supportive of your work, their edits make your work shine, and maybe they even land you a book deal.
But an agent represents you, not just that one book. This is a relationship that should span your entire writing career, and like any relationship, either one or both of you might grow out of it. Your agent might hit it big with a few clients whose books are selling so well that they no longer have the time to help nurture your talent. You might decide you’re tired of writing in the genre that agent represents, and want to branch out into something new; they no longer have either the expertise or the network in the publishing industry to help you.
When either of these things happen, the relationship can start to chafe. You might want more attention than they’re able to give you. Agents don’t get paid until you land a deal, which means that they often spend months or years on you for 10-15% of your (usually paltry) publishing advance. They might start to feel you aren’t growing or writing fast enough to be able to produce the kind of book they can sell.
As with any other long-term relationship, polite, professional communication is key. Sometimes, the right answer is to go your separate ways amicably. Obviously, if you become wildly successful, don’t dump your agent to find a “bigger name” one; I heard the story of a writer who did this, and he never found an agent again. The industry is small, and publishing professionals are extremely well-connected.
The key is to know when you’re either not being treated well, or your goals have diverged from your agent’s, and you’re now on different paths. Also, a bad agent is worse than none at all. Many publishers accept direct manuscript submissions, so you don’t need an agent unless you’re trying to be picked up by the biggest publishers. You might also simply want more agency, to create without the constraints of genre, to publish your own books and set the price and timing, and not feel yourself at the mercy of others. That said, nothing beats having a great agent, someone who is at once a great cheerleader and therapist and coach and critique-partner all in one, who also happens to be ace at networking and positioning your book and negotiating contracts to get you the best deal.
But, even then, circumstances might mean you and your agent must part ways. For instance, recently, The Good Literary Agency, one committed to supporting diverse and marginalized authors, announced that it would be shutting down due to lack of funding. The publishing industry is in a financial crisis, and the pay most agents receive is so little as to make it completely unsustainable. Many of them work multiple jobs, and aren’t able to support authors the way they used to. It means that authors must learn to become their own agents and advocates, getting their work as ready as possible for publication so it’s impossible for anyone to say No.
Which takes me to the workplace, where many people expect that their managers will act as agents, providing them with air-cover, acting as their advocate and defender in all conversations, giving them mentorship and coaching, and placing them in the best opportunities. There was a time when managers could do all that, when we spent our time trading management frameworks, or trying out whatever new trick we learned in our latest management module (Begin by asking how you can best support them. Show you care by giving them your full attention). I had the luxury of growing under gentle managers who spent between an hour or two a week just on improving my skills.
I’m not sure anyone has the capacity for that these days. Most of us just get told to expense a copy of HBR’s Managing Yourself and do our best. We stay in relationships with our managers that aren’t working for us, or aren’t taking us where we want to go, but we don’t always get into the driver’s seat and just demonstrate agency.
Here are some things I’ve been trying to do myself, across work and the writing life, to do as much as I can to be my own agent or manager, while being grateful for the ones I have / had who brought me this far, and may take me somewhere new in the future:
Knowing my values: What do I want out of my career or my writing? Why do I do these things, and when would I walk away from a job / agent / publisher? There are things I won’t do at work, and there are changes I won’t make to my novels. I can hear out feedback and understand where it’s coming from, but I don’t have to do it. I can always walk away.
Being scrappy: Often, we wait to get started on something until we have the perfect conditions. We want the perfect writing location, the Lamy pen that feels like skating through butter, or that fancy laptop and ergonomic setup. Being able to work or write any time, anywhere, puts me a bit more in control of my destiny.
Building conviction: There are always reasons to think our endeavors are going to fail, so it’s important to counter that with why the work needs to succeed or why our novel needs to be out there. Then, when the authority figure(s) aren’t as enthusiastic as we’d like them to be, we don’t wilt and quit.
Knowing the end-game: We can often fixate on the immediate goal, whether it’s finding an agent, getting this story published, getting a promotion or a book deal. Okay, but what are those in aid of? When you have those things, are you done? If you know the end-game, then if this particular approach isn’t working out, there may be other ways to get to the destination.
Having a deadline to pivot: When I’m in a situation that isn’t ideal, e.g. waiting for a reply from an agent or publisher, or having my destiny in someone else’s hands somehow, I set a clock. At what point do I stop waiting and try something else? Just as many of us had a “safety school” while waiting for our dream school to accept us, I have a Plan B waiting if / when Plan A doesn’t work out.
Hope this is helpful! If you have any other strategies you’ve tried, or you don’t know if these could work for you, let me know in the comments!