The Quiet Leap: Submitting My Manuscript to Literary Agents
I hit “Send” on my manuscript and stared at the screen for a long time after. No fireworks. No applause. Just the soft hum of my computer and a vague, sinking feeling in my chest — like handing your child over to the world and hoping no one tells you their nose is funny.
After months (okay, years) of working on Love’s Second Chapter, I finally reached the point where the story felt strong enough to leave my hands. Strong enough to walk into an agent’s inbox and ask for a chance. It’s a strange place to be — this in-between — where the work is done, but the journey is only just beginning.
The Process
Submitting a manuscript is part admin, part emotional yoga. There are query letters to craft — polished and persuasive, but not try-hard. Synopses to distil — which feels like writing a postcard summary of your soul. And spreadsheets. God help me, the spreadsheets. Each agent with their own guidelines, preferences, quirks.
I’ve submitted to a handful of agents so far — some in the UK, some in Australia. I’m aiming for those who love character-driven, emotionally layered fiction with a strong sense of voice. People who might recognise the quiet ache of my story and see its place on a shelf.
One of the trickiest parts of this process is knowing that I only get to send a small sample of the manuscript. That tiny slice has to do a lot — showcase voice, story, tone, emotional pull — and somehow make an agent want more.
And that’s the unsettling bit: I’ve spent over a year crafting something meaningful, layered, full of subtle emotional turns… and yet the entire possibility of representation can hinge on the first ten pages. If they don’t feel it in that opening stretch, that’s it. It doesn’t matter how much deeper it goes later, or how it blooms into something bigger.
I just have to trust the work. Trust that what I’ve written is strong enough — and hope the right person reads it at the right moment, and asks to see more. Because the true heart of the story reveals itself across the full arc, not just in the opening beats.
Why Agents?
Because while self-publishing is noble and empowering, I want this story to travel. I want it to be stumbled upon — on a rainy afternoon, on a whim, on a day when someone needed it without knowing they did. I want it shelved in bookstores beside other voices I admire, waiting quietly for the right reader to reach for it.
An agent is a bridge to that world. A champion. A business partner who knows the dance floors of publishing — who can steady me when I start spinning in circles, and help this story find its place in the wider conversation.
The Fear (and the Faith)
Yes, I’m nervous. I’ve read the statistics. I know how rare it is to be picked up from the slush pile. But I also know what I’ve written. I believe in Franco, and Lenka, and the quiet, honest beauty of second chances. I believe in my own growth as a writer — not perfect, but getting closer. And if an agent doesn’t bite? I’ll keep going. This isn’t a hobby. It’s a calling.
The Waiting Game
Now comes the part I’m sure every writer dreads: the waiting. Refreshing the inbox. Pretending not to care. Wondering if silence means rejection or just busyness, or deliberation, or Mercury being in retrograde.
It’s like dating — or what I imagine dating apps must be like. You put your best self forward, try not to seem too desperate, and then… you wait. It’s more polite, certainly. But slower. So much slower. And with fewer emojis.
Still, every time I open my email, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe today is the day someone says yes — and everything shifts.
In the meantime, I’m writing again. Ideas are already tugging at me — new stories, new voices. Because that’s what we do. We tell stories. We send them out into the world. And we keep going, even when no one claps.
Thanks for being here with me — whether you’re a fellow writer, a curious friend, or someone who just happened to land on this page. I’ll keep you posted.
— R.S. Profilio