By Sally Jenkins
My first novel was self-published and my second was partnership-published. I was determined to get my third book traditionally published.
A round of agent submissions created a mound of rejections. I entered a Twitter agent-pitching contest. Honing my blurb to its bare bones resulted in a call for the full manuscript. The agent asked me to rewrite several chapters from a different point of view and then resubmit. Any feedback is like gold dust and, to me, this request was positive. I gave the rewrite everything I’d got. The result was rejection: “I didn’t find myself investing in any of the characters . . . Rooting for characters is crucial in commercial fiction . . .” I was down but not out.
At a publishing event, I was given the name of another agent to try. In my submission email I quoted the name of the person I’d spoken to at the event, who was known to the agent. This may or may not have helped, but the agent asked for the full manuscript and then offered to sign me, on the proviso that I was willing to work with her to improve the novel. I said ‘Yes!’ and as I wrote my name on the contract, I naively believed a publishing deal with a generous advance could be the only outcome from this partnership.
Together we did three rounds of structural edits before my agent judged the book ready to send to the big UK publishers. While we waited for responses, I imagined my name on posters at railway stations. The replies were positive but no one wanted to buy my book. I was devastated.
“Write another novel,” said my agent. “We might be able to sell this one later.”
I wrote another novel but my agent didn’t like it. I wrote another one which she did like and, again, we went through several rounds of edits before it went out to the big UK publishers. I planned my launch party and imagined my name in the bestseller lists. Again, we received positive comments but no one wanted to publish it. It was a harsh wakeup call to the fickleness of the publishing industry and the realization that having a literary agent is only a step on the ladder. It does not guarantee success.
“Write another novel,” said my agent.
“No.” I was approaching sixty and couldn’t keep writing new novels without the previous ones being published. My literary ambitions became lower. “What about the smaller, digital first publishers?” I asked.
My agent explained these publishers didn’t pay an advance and she could add little value to such a deal. This type of submission would be best undertaken by me, un-agented.
Parting company with a hard-won, well-respected literary agent, who had spent much time on my manuscripts, seemed foolhardy but so was continuing to write novels on spec. I decided to go it alone and parted from my agent amicably, with the door still open if I wanted to submit something new in the future.
Striving for a small publisher independently resulted in another mound of rejections and then I struck gold! ChocLit (now part of Joffe Books) offered me a three-book deal, books one and two were to be those edited with my agent and they have now, finally, been published.
I don’t regret my decision to sign with my agent, nor the decision to part with her. She taught me a lot about novel-writing and the publishing industry, however I needed to be published in order to find the enthusiasm to keep writing.
About Sally Jenkins: Sally writes uplifting women’s fiction for Joffe Books. She was the winner of the UK Romantic Novelists’ Association Elizabeth Goudge Award in 2023. When not writing, she feeds her word-addiction by working in her local library, running two reading groups and giving talks about her writing. Find out more: Linktr.ee/SallySJenkins7
