The Problem With The Book Publishing Industry Today
As told by a Mexican-American author rejected by 100 literary agents.
DISCLAIMER: I’ve altered my thinking in this post. To read my updated stance, click here.
I started querying my first book in November 2021. I sent out five queries to five literary agents I felt my book would best resonate with. When I received five rejections — and after I finished my five mental breakdowns — I went back to the drawing board and fleshed out a new and stronger query.
And so the cycle continued. I’d send out new queries, receive a batch of rejections, mend and improve my original pitch, and find new agents to contact. With each query improvement, I got pickier with whom I’d pitch. I wanted someone who was open to the bold and imaginative, who worked in different genres, and who promised to uplift diverse voices.
The latter wasn’t difficult to find. After all, nearly more than half of every publishing house and agent I researched promised they were an advocate for diverse voices. They promised they’d fight for the ‘underrepresented’ voice.
“I’ll find him or her,” I told myself after I sent out another batch of tweaked queries, “the perfect agent is out there somewhere. I’ll find them and they’ll fight for me. They’ll fight for my story.”
Yes to diversity, just not a diversity of ideas
‘I’m the problem,’ I’d tell myself with each rejection. ‘Not the system. Or the agent. I have to make things better.’
Before I sent out my seventieth query, I had reached a state in which I was fully confident in my pitch. When it comes to queries, there are generally two problems with why you’re being rejected. One, your book isn’t strong enough yet. And two, your pitch is weak.
My book was strong. I put in the work, money, and time to hone it. My pitch, however, wasn’t. It took me seventy queries to make it strong. “I’m the problem,” I’d tell myself with each rejection. “Not the system. Or the agent. I have to make things better.”
And I did. Once I sent out my seventieth query, things started to change. I received rejections with tailored and personal responses that said things like, “I love the writing. I love the concept. I’m excited to see where the story will go. But, the story is too long. It blends too many genres. It isn’t an easy sell.”
And there lies the problem with the book publishing industry today: it’s open to diversity, just not a diversity of ideas. There’s a system in place made up of rich CEOs and businessmen that declare what will sell and what won’t. And what they want to sell is usually the exact replica of the last best seller. They want the next Twilight or Hunger Games written by a diverse author. An easy sell from the same label that’s packaged differently.
Handling adversity and rejection
Much like a man who gives his heart and soul to his first love, I poured my heart and soul into my first book.
In August 2022, I stopped querying after the hundredth personalized rejection that told me my book wasn’t an easy sell. I was down but not out. “Success has different roads,” I told myself, “so, let’s find a different road.” I queried smaller publishing companies and submitted chapters of my book to writing competitions, yet still, I was met with rejection.
By October 2022, I reached my breaking point. Since 2018, the year I began writing my book — an act that gave my life meaning and purpose — I’ve faced nothing but adversity, criticism, and rejection. I had been strong all those years and I was tired of it.
I was tired of fighting, tired of grinding, of being strong all the time in the face of adversity. I felt as if I had wasted four years of my life and hadn’t truly accomplished anything significant. I felt like a failure. And I just wanted to disappear. To take my own life.
Much like a man who gives his heart and soul to his first love, I poured my heart and soul into my first book. Because of it, my emotions and attachment to this book are — to say the least — intense. Thankfully, I was able to rise above contemplating suicide for two reasons.
The first was my family and best friend. Thinking of them, of the pain I’d cause them should I depart this world prematurely, hurt me to my very core. The second was sort of an epiphany I had after my most severe mental breakdown.
When it comes to suicide there are those who contemplate and those who declare. And those who declare need all the king’s horses and all the king’s men to put them back together. I was far from declaring. I was contemplating which meant I was indecisive which meant that I still saw the light. That I still saw the beauty that this world has to offer.
Learning to pick myself back up
To shelf a book means to give up on your dream. To give up on yourself. And I was never, ever going to do that.
After my epiphany, I stopped trying to sell my book altogether. I didn’t give up, I just thought it would be best if I put a pin on it and returned to it at a better time. During that hiatus, I did what I did best, and made me happy: I wrote.
I continued a new book I started before my query journey and began a new novella. I wrote feverishly up until I remembered my first book. Then, I told myself, “I need to get this book out into the world. But… how am I going to do it?”
When rejecting a manuscript, most literary agents advise new authors to, “shelf the manuscript and write something new.” I agree with the latter, not the former. To shelf a book means to give up on your dream. To give up on yourself. And I was never, ever going to do that.
The traditional path, for this particular book, wasn’t working out. The self-publishing route, which I’d tried with a previous novella, wasn’t the best option because I still lacked proper knowledge and experience which I’d need to hone in more than a year.
Because these two go-to options weren’t right for me at the time, I decided it best to literally just put my first book out there. I chose an online reading platform, Inkitt, and made a plan to release a chapter a week for free which I’m continuing to this day.
A deeper problem in storytelling and Hollywood
Sure, I’m a Mexican-American author that ticks that box of diversity but because my book wasn’t considered an easy sell, agents — despite loving the concept and writing — weren’t willing to fight for me.
Choosing to release my first full-length book for free is a choice I’m happy with but it’s a choice that I had to resort to because the publishing industry is open to diversity, just not a diversity of ideas. Sure, I’m a Mexican-American author who ticks that box of diversity but because my book wasn’t considered an easy sell, agents — despite loving the concept and writing — weren’t willing to fight for me. To stand firm in the face of the juggernaut that is ‘the system’ that deems what will sell and what won’t.
At the end of the day, I’m a storyteller. And as a storyteller, I’ve noticed that this diversity of ideas issue spreads outside the book world. With films, people have grown tired of Marvel pushing out bland material following the same formula. With TV shows, production companies like Netflix cancel bold and creative ideas like “the OA” — a work run by a woman, featuring a diverse cast that includes a trans actor.
Looking to the future
I’m hopeful that a literary agent will discover and fight for me… but I’m not going to hold my breath.
What can be done to fix this diversity of ideas issue? Collectively, I’m not sure. Individually, I have an idea. Literary agents, producers, and anyone with power can begin to make a stand should they discover and fall in love with a new idea. Change and the start of a movement begin with the individual.
What can I do? I’m hopeful that a literary agent will discover and fight for me… but I’m not going to hold my breath. To quote Anthony Q. Farrell from an interview where he was let go as a screenwriter for The Office, “I decided I wasn't going to wait for someone else to give me a break. I was going to create my own opportunity.”
While releasing my first book for free was a small step in creating my own opportunity, creating this newsletter is a giant leap not just for me but for all authors and writers who have been rejected by the world.
I failed as a self-published author.
And I failed to land a literary agent for my first full-length book.
For most people, these failures are just that: failures. To me, however, they’re hidden opportunities. Doors that lead you to what you’re truly meant to do in this life. To something special that’ll cater to your various passions without ever losing sight of who you are whilst maintaining your freedom and integrity.
Substack is that special something.
For the first time in my life — other than the declaration that I’d finish my first book no matter the cost and learn about the publishing world — I can wholeheartedly say that by writing like a madman on Substack, and sharing my work with the world, I just know that somehow, someway, opportunity will strike.