I am in denial.  Every day I pretend I have a life, and the reason I check my emails seventeen times an hour has nothing to do with the three requested fulls I have currently under consideration with agents.  I act cool, casual.  Pretend patience.  But I’m not fooling anyone.  The truth is, I’ve been bit by the querying bug, and the prognosis isn’t good.

I’ve heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, with the expectation of getting different results.  I’d say that’s the definition of of querying, too.  Can the fact that the two share an identical definition be coincidence?  Nope!  So, what is one to do when bit by the querying bug?  There are several options.  The first, as we’ve just established, is to go crazy.  Let me provide a few tips on that:

• Use a magnifying glass if you’re trying to tell if that paper rejection letter has been hand signed.  The ink will blur and bleed into the paper and appear uneven when compared to printed letters.
• If the letter seems so courteous as to be almost encouraging and you’re sure it’s personalized, check query tracker.  You’ll probably find someone else who’s posted the letter–hoping it’s a personal rejection!
• If you’re still not sure and can’t rest ’til you know, simply make up a fake novel (preferably with a really bad premise) and a pseudonym, and query the agent again.  If you get the same encouraging letter, you know it’s a form.  If you get a request to see pages, start writing.  Fast.
• A rejection letter with the title of your book mentioned has been slightly personalized, but doesn’t have the same rejection clout as a letter which mentions your characters by name.  The first can be pulled off with a merging program (or so I understand) while the second requires an overworked assistant or exhausted intern to actually glance at your pages.  This is real rejection currency, my friends.  Use it wisely.
• The highest form of rejection letter is of course a letter which suggests editorial changes in case you’re inclined to do a rewrite.  However, this most worthy of all rejection letters is closely followed by a one-line note from the actual (real live!) agent that’s been added underneath the standard form rejection.  Rejection letters like this are good for a batch of home-baked brownies, or maybe even a carefully casual brag at your next writing group meet up.

Another course of action when out on submission (or, if you’re like me, an option to pursue in and around the crazies) is to try your hand at actual writing.  You know, the thing we do when we’re not critiquing, blogging, networking, guest posting, mentoring, organizing writing get togethers, editing, reading books on writing, researching, reading fiction (to keep up with the genre!), perusing publisher’s marketplace, researching agents, writing query letters, obsessing over rejection letters and fantasizing over bestsellerdom.  Here’s a handy scale to put this writing project in perspective:

1. The worst writing project is something like a short story.  You finish it too fast, and will have to come up with a new project.  What’s more, if you send it out on submission you’ll just add to your rejection woes.
2. The second worst project is the sequel to the book out on submission.  You will either discover that you don’t really have anything more to say and catch a deathly fear of series, or you will find yourself even more invested in the sequel than the first book, and each rejection letter will sound a double death knoll to your beloved books.
3. A medium level project is a companion novel set in the same universe/place as your submitted novel, but not dependent on it.  This will allow you to pretend you’re not obsessing, while enjoying the writerly euphoria of developing back story and creating a world building encyclopedia.
4. One of the best projects you could work on is a new, standalone novel that is independent of your submitted book but still works well with the ‘brand’ you’ll establish when (note my optimism!) you get the first book published.
5. An almost ideal best project is one you can kid yourself into believing needs to be completed before agents get back to you on the submitted book.  For example, that lovely (but impractical) story you promised your nieces you’d write.  Once you’re ‘real’ book is under contract/agented, you won’t have time for fun projects, so you’d better get it done now while you have the time.  If you can make yourself really believe this logic, you can make the time waiting to hear back on those Fulls really fly.
6. The ideal project is one which combines  4 and 5, so you’re not only working productively, but believe you have a compelling need to finish this project before the agents get back to you.  And this must be done without falling into the sequel trap of project 3.  Good luck with that!

The third way of dealing with the submission willies is to cultivate optimism.  You are going to get an agent, it’s only a matter of time.  Since the deal is as good as inked, there’s no reason to feel anxiety or lose any sleep.  You can spend your time doing sensible things and enjoy the contented feeling of knowing that your agent is out there–they just haven’t found you yet.

Of course, if you master that last, uber-optimistic method, odds are good you fit nicely into the definition we started with–crazy!