The thing I hate most about querying agents is not writing the letter. It is not researching the agents and their authors. It is not trying to decide whether to include sample chapters. It is not the postage. It’s addressing the envelopes. I used to be a secretary in another life, and I knew perfectly well how to get printers to type directly onto envelopes. I was paid to know precisely that, along with how to make coffee. Somehow, in the days and years since my secretary time, I have lost this essential expertise.
For a few years, I solved the problem by using labels. I DO know how to make labels with my printer. It’s a pain, but I can do it. The problem starts when I have 200 sheets of blank labels with one label in the right corner missing. It’s even more of a pain to figure out through trial and error how to do a single label on say row 2 line 6 of a sheet of blank labels. I get hopelessly entangled in the math of it all and should the sheet face back or forward and how can I change the print type to fit in a longer name and a thousand other minor irritations that add up to a frustrated writer who never claimed to be smart, but who feels pretty stupid admitting defeat by an envelope.
I also have to confess to my greatest shame: giving up and writing out the agent’s name and address on the damn envelope in ball point with my best penmanship–something that says artist, but not too flashy. I’m sure it looks amateur to hand write an envelope, no matter how cool my script, but this is what I’ve been reduced to. At those times when the labels get the best of me, I tend to tell myself that an assistant will open the mail anyway, just the way I did for my bosses when I was a secretary. Of course, as much as I would like to pretend otherwise, not all agents have assistants. And if they do, they might paper clip the envelope to the top of the query, like my most anal ex-bosses insisted I do.
I have this envy of friends who send me Christmas cards with my name and address laser printed in some fancy script directly onto the cheery red envelope. How did they do that? And why am I so reluctant to try to relearn this old trick? I’m sure it has something to do with printers in my past that I’ve inadvertantly jammed with the adhesive strips that somehow peel off the back of the envelopes during the printing process and worm their way into the gears of the printer fucking it up but good and forever.
Still, I sense the ridiculousness of my plight. I’ve got the letter almost ready to go, and damn it, I’m going to spend some time today remastering the art of envelope printing. As God is my witness, I will never hand write an envelope to an agent again!
Leave a Reply