Leaving my first agent was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Looking back at it now, it was unequivocally the right decision, but at the time I didn’t know that. All I did know was that after years of querying, I finally had an agent and the idea of taking that step back was enough to send my anxiety spiraling. I was with my first agent for nearly two years, but I think mentally I was ready to leave after the first. It took 8+ months of stressing out and looking at the decision from all angles before I finally left.

A note here before I get more into specifics: I’m not going to name my first agent so please don’t ask me to. They have clients who are very happy with them and others who have made their frustrations known. You can find people discussing their experiences with agents and more on sites and forums like Absolute Write. Picking an agent is a lot like settling down in a relationship–what works for some people doesn’t work for others.

So there were a few red flags that happened before I left that I didn’t recognize as red flags at the time. I want to talk about those in today’s blog post not to trash talk or rant but to help other authors who might find themselves in a similar situation. Since leaving my first agent, I’ve interned at two literary agencies and signed with my own brilliant agent, so I’ve gotten a lot of insight about what, exactly, agents do and don’t do.

The first red flag was that I was never really sure what was going on. I signed with this agent on one manuscript and finished another shortly after. We agreed that the second manuscript was stronger and did a few small edits before it went on submission. Beyond that, I didn’t really know what was happening with it or what the submission strategy was. On the surface, this is fine–some authors don’t want details, some do. I’m definitely in the latter camp. The red flag was that I asked for more details several times and was never given any more information.

Specifically, I remember during an in person meeting, I asked if there was any news and my agent told me that we’d just gotten a rejection. This was probably about six months after we’d gone on submission so I assumed there had been other rejections and, after six months of distance, I had the clarity to see the flaws in this manuscript and I was ready to dig back in and edit. I knew enough to know that editors usually gave reasons for their rejections and that those could be handy to keep in mind while I edited. But when I asked my agent for them, I was told that there were reasons (and I assume from other editors as well) but that she couldn’t find them at the moment but they weren’t really important and we were going to keep submitting it as it was.

Just to reiterate–it’s fine to be kept in the dark about submission stuff, if you want to be. I repeatedly asked to be looped in and was rebuffed, which was the first big sign that it was not a great fit.

The editorial issue was another big sign. There are two kinds of agents when it comes to this–editorial agents and non-editorial agents. It’s fairly self-explanatory and again, a personal preference. I will say, though, that it’s tough out there for debut authors–especially in saturated markets like YA–and your manuscript usually needs be pretty close to perfect by the time it goes on submission in order to get an editor’s attention. Agent Laura ended up doing two pretty sizable edits with me before we went on submission and I don’t think Ash Princess would have sold without them.

The biggest red flag, and the reason I ultimately left, was that there was a lack of communication. While this agent was responsive when I first signed with them, it got to the point where weeks or months would pass before I got a reply to an email. This is the most important thing I want to talk about because I thought this was normal. Sure, maybe when you’re Leigh Bardugo your agent gets back to you in a few hours or days, but I hadn’t even sold a book yet and I’m sure my agent was busy with her other clients and

No. Not normal. It should not take your agent months to get back to you. You shouldn’t feel like you’re annoying them by checking in. No. If that’s the case, you need to have a serious talk with your agent.

TL;DR: Signing with an agent is the start of a partnership. There are different styles of agents for different styles of author and what works for one person might not work for you. But no matter what, communication is key.

Also, if you’re querying you should check out my agent, Laura Biagi. She’s pretty phenomenal.

I moved into a new apartment a few months ago and as I boxed up everything I owned, I realized that books and clothes made up the vast majority of my belongings. Obviously I love books–I wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t–but I also love fashion. Fashion gets a ditzy rep, especially for women, and I’m sure you’ve read your share of books where the main female character pointedly rejects fashion in the author’s attempt to distance herself from ‘other girls’, which is forever one of my least favorite tropes.

I’ve actually found that working fashion into fantasy not only adds another layer to the world building but also tells the reader a lot about your characters.

Fashion plays a big role in Ash Princess in particular and to find the right aesthetic I searched through a lot of runway collections. You can find these handily collected on Vogue for an array of designers sometimes dating as far back as 1991 and a lot of them look like something straight out of a fantasy novel. Don’t believe me?

Here’s a look from Comme des Garçon’s Spring 2017 collection. Doesn’t that look like it would be right at home in some strange Alice in Wonderland retelling? A completely different world than…

…this dress from Elie Saab’s Spring 2017 collection, which looks like something a princess would wear in a delicate high fantasy.

And if you’re ever low on inspiration, Alexander McQueen’s archives are a gold mine.

For Ash Princess, I used a few different designers and collections (below is Reem Acra and Zuhair Murad). In the book, one country conquers another and so there’s a melding of cultures happening. The Kalovaxians used to favor stiff velvets and full silhouettes, but since they’ve been in Astrea, they’ve coopted Astrean fashions, which are more Ancient Greek and Byzantine–lots of draping and intricate gold accents.

I think all writers are also painfully familiar with the note “show don’t tell”, and describing what your character wears can be a handy way to do that. Color, for instance, can show us a lot. A character who wears deep red will likely be associated with passion and daring, while a character who opts for a pale blue will probably be thought of as shy and quiet. The same goes for whether their clothes are tight or loose or long or short–every choice says something, even if your character doesn’t realize they’re saying it.

So next time you’re setting up a scene, try asking yourself what your character is wearing. Maybe find pictures of something similar if you’re stuck. I’m not suggesting you describe every detail, which can drastically slow down the pace and come across as boring, but pick the details that matter. A scarlet gown with gold epaulettes, for example, is enough of a description to tell you that the wearer is confident and ready for battle–even if it’s only a battle of wits. A grey tweed suit that doesn’t fit right is all a reader needs to hear to know that someone is uncomfortable in the spotlight.

In short, when we get dressed we are, consciously or not, deciding how we want the world to see us and giving the same decision to your characters can flesh them out as well as the world around them.

I’ve heard of the sophomore slump–when authors have trouble writing their second book–but I was sure I’d be immune to it. Why? Ash Princess isn’t my first book. If there was a sophomore slump, I was sure it happened sometime in 2009, though I don’t remember it. I’ve always been a fast drafter and, in the case of Ash Princess at least, my first draft was pretty great.

Yes, I can feel you glaring daggers at me through the computer. I’m not saying it was perfect. It wasn’t. But it was clean and my main character’s arc was solid and the world was interesting. And the writing–the writing!–I don’t know where it came from, but it was not my usual first draft writing. I loved Theo’s voice and it was easy to tap into. Writing it felt so natural and I finished my first draft in a little over a month.

Fast forward to now, when I’m a quarter of the way through the sequel and slumping. Hard.

It isn’t that I don’t know what’s happening in this book. When my agent went on submission with Ash Princess, she asked me to write summaries of books two and three so she could sell it as a series. I know what happens in this book and even though I’m aware that bits and pieces might change, I know where it’s going and I know how it ends. And I love it.

But writing it has been tortuous. Everything that was so easy about writing Ash Princess is suddenly not easy anymore. The voice that once came so naturally is harder to find and the writing that somehow came out lovely and lyrical a year and a half ago is…not so lovely and lyrical. It’s rough. It’s a first draft. I know this, but I can’t help but feel disappointed in myself, especially as I’m periodically dipping back into Ash Princess to work on minor/line edits.

And a big part of that is that I’m writing this book under contract, which is more than just writing on deadline. When I wrote Ash Princess, I’d recently left my first agent so I was just writing it for myself. I wasn’t thinking about how other people would react to it or what parts they would or wouldn’t like. I was telling the story that I wanted to tell. If you were to ask my agent or editor, they would probably tell you that they want me to still be writing like that, but it isn’t as easy as it sounds. No matter how much I try, I can’t shake the knowledge that there are now other people depending on this book to be amazing, and that’s a lot of pressure.

There is a light, though. My agent sent me a much-needed pep talk today that helped more than I can put into words. I don’t think I ever understood when people likened their agents to therapists before, but that’s the only comparison that comes to mind now. She told me exactly what I needed to hear and reminded me that even though the first quarter I sent to her needed work, I just needed to focus on getting the whole draft done before I worried about that. Again, easier said than done, but I tried.

I opened a new scene in Scrivener today and I wrote 1,200 words that I actually really like. Plus, it’s leading to a scene that I’m going to enjoy writing even more tomorrow. Is this draft perfect? No. Is it great? Not really. Does it have the potential to get there? Yes, it definitely does, and that’s enough for now.

When I was eighteen, I met my first authors and it was life changing. I had always loved books and loved writing, but I’d seen it as a hobby. It wasn’t until Libba Bray and Shannon Hale sat down at their Barnes and Noble event in Miami, pastry stickers wrapped around their heads like tiaras, that I realized it was an actual career. By the time they launched into a joint rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, I was sold on being an author.

When the time came for the audience to ask questions, awkward eighteen year old me timidly raised her hand and asked the question she’d been rehearsing in her mind for days: “How do you beat writer’s block?”

Now, this was almost ten years ago, so unfortunately I can’t remember their advice verbatim (though I’m sure it was equal parts brilliant and hilarious) but I do remember the bit that stuck with me: Writer’s block is the fear that you’re going to write badly and the only way to beat it is to write anyway.

I have to remind myself of this a lot when I’m working on first drafts (or–as they’re more aptly known now–zero drafts). All too often, I find myself staring at a blank Scrivener document, terrified to start typing because I’m sure that whatever I write will be awful. And the truth is, if just might be, and that’s okay because it’s a first draft.

I like to think of the drafting process like sketching (though not literally because the best sketching I can do is a stick figure).

First, you just need to get down the shapes. There will be way too many lines guiding your way. It will be flat. You probably won’t even be able to tell what you’re really looking at unless you squint REALLY hard. But that’s the ground work, it doesn’t need to be pretty.

In the next draft, you can erase some of those guides–you don’t need them once you get your bearings in the world and the story. You smooth out the shapes so that they start looking like Things. Your characters go from faceless lumps to real people who stand out from a crowd–who love and hate and want and fear. You can look at your story as a whole and know what you’re seeing. Maybe there are recurring themes you hadn’t realized were there. Maybe that character you wrote as a one off is actually way more important than you realized.

Now that you’ve got a solid structure, the fun starts. It’s time to add color and bring it to life. Shade some parts, highlight others. Chiaroscuro. (I went to art school just so I could use that word. Worth it, I guess?) You can make your characters so real, so flawed and human, that they could almost walk right out of the pages. Choices that were black and white in that first draft take on more nuance and complications. Motivations shift and sharpen. The world unfurls and grows until it feels as real to you as this one.

So yes, your first draft sucks, but that’s okay. Let it suck. Get the words down, tell yourself the story however you can. Later, you’ll turn it into art.

Congrats on making it through all that! Your reward is a rare, embarrassing photo of awkward eighteen year old me, meeting my idols.

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