Submitting the proposal.
I’m going to break down psychologically what that means because words carry their own underling energy based on the origins contained within them (and we act accordingly - call it an inherent gift to tap into an archaic model upon which we are all connected - a collective unconscious of sorts).
To submit.
The prefix "sub" is full of interesting implications: a prefix occurring originally from Latin freely attached to elements of any origin used with the meaning "under, "below", "beneath", "secondary", "subordinate"...
So then an offer of marriage is really just a proposed plan to spend the rest of your life with someone.
Let’s go with the best visual of the two - the marriage kind - to see exactly how one should best approach submitting a book proposal.
You get down on one knee (ie; take a submissive position - there’s that sub prefix again), ask someone to spend the rest of their life with you (ie; invest time, energy, money and effort), and show them the ring (hook ‘em in the first paragraph into wanting to hear what you have to say as they stare at that glistening diamond that could be theirs).
When you see that look on their face that says they’re not convinced you spend the next few minutes (ie; pages) using the best arguments you can come up with to prove that what you are offering will bring them terrific dividends in the form security, contentment and hopefully some bonus elements beyond their expectations - like great rollicking sex for the next twenty years (ie; a bestseller).
It’s a delicate matter.
Some agencies request a proposal that sounds more like a bragfest: 'If you marry me, I will not only promise you the moon, I’ll deliver' (that would be the marriage proposal in movies that takes place on the big screen during the ninth inning at White Sox game) while others want ‘Just the facts ma’am’ (sit me down in a nice restaurant and tell me what you’re offering and how being with you is suppose to make my life better).
But when your book is humorous it’s hard not to want to get that across in the proposal since it may be the only chance you have to strut your stuff: I’ve got so many insights on cyber dating I make the view from the Sears Tower look like the inside of a maximum security prison.
The bottom line is, like in a marriage, you have to find someone that is a good fit.
And just like dating, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find someone willing to turn into your literary advocate prince (or princess).
When you start to go through agency after agency, you start to get a feel for what they’re looking for and what they might be like to work with.
Some of it is based on their website, but a lot of it can be based on the tiniest things that send subliminal messages that trigger a ‘gut feeling’, like photos of their agents actually smiling or a clever sentence: eg: We license rights in every territory on earth - and, in case you were wondering, throughout the universe.
I loved these guys. In law school when people asked me what kind of a lawyer I wanted to be I’d say: “I’m going to be the first intergalactic lawyer so that when we make first contact I’ve got the market cornered”.
I just had to write them. As luck would have it, I received a favourable response. (Fingers crossed).
Then again, I looked at websites that made me feel no matter how clever I might be, (or easy to deal with), these people would rather chew off their left arm rather than be stuck in a bear trap with the likes of me - I don’t have enough credentials to satisfy the standards required to qualify trying their grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies never mind read through the proposal.
And that’s totally understandable. The funny thing is I don’t take these things personally. You simply cannot.
If all agencies were the same, it would be a dull world indeed and you would need sub-agencies just to weed out those writers who have no business contacting anyone because they can’t actually formulate a sentence let alone pull a story together.
So I get it.
And then you have the agencies who pretend they’re ‘open to submissions and unsolicited materials’ who send you what looks like an ‘auto-reject’ response ten minutes after you’ve just painstakingly fired off another query letter or proposal tailored to their specifications.
That’s okay too. They just want to look like the good guy even though they’re not really looking. That’s the woman who rejects your proposal of marriage who, even though she put out all the signals that she wants to settle down and have kids, never had any such intentions in the first place. But she just doesn’t want to look bad because she thinks this is what is expected of her.
I just want to find an agency that is a best mirror reflection of me.
They work hard, but know that life must also be balanced. And when they’re under the gun they can still operate with a sense of humor and compassion, yet deliver what they promise.
So when you’re ready to find an agent, send out as many feelers as you can, but use your gut instinct to find the ‘good guy’ and focus your intent on that one. There’s nothing worse than being stuck with someone not suited to you who only believes in you half-heartedly.
Nobody wants their marriage to end in a messy divorce.
As for the martini part? There’s no secret in that.
Once you’ve sent out a whack of these proposals, you have to celebrate.
It doesn’t matter that no one has responded yet or even that you’ve had auto-rejections. The point is, you did it.
And all the little steps in life that are designed to move you forward - regardless of outcome - must be celebrated.
NEXT: Act “As if”...
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