10 Things Writers Do in Queries—and What Agents Really Think
Writers often assume agents are these unflappable, all-knowing gatekeepers who glide through submissions like a Disney villain with perfect eyeliner and a lifetime supply of thin patience.
But here’s the truth:
While, yes, agents notice a lot, there’s a good bit we don’t mind. Because we’ve done it too.
So here’s a lovingly honest, behind-the-scenes look at the things writers do all the time—things we absolutely see—and what we actually think about them.
(Or at least, what I think of them. I cannot speak for all literary agents!)
Agent Antics is where literary agents Vicky & Cathie break down craft, querying, and publishing expectations—without sugarcoating. Free subscribers get every post. Paid subscribers unlock the full archive plus our Fiction Writing post series, a mini-crash-course covering the fundamentals agents expect novelists to understand.
1. The Follow-Up
It happens more often than you’d think: a query comes through and then a short while later…
“I’m so sorry—I sent the wrong file!” or “I can’t believe I spelled your name wrong!” or some variation. It’s easy to assume I’d find that irritating.
Here’s what I actually think: You’re human. Also, you care.
Every author I’ve ever represented has sent me a “WAIT, IGNORE THAT ONE, USE THIS ONE INSTEAD” message at least once.
Sometimes twice.
Sometimes… we don’t talk about how many times.
Try your best to avoid these mistakes (for the sake of your own anxiety), but if it happens, don’t sweat it.
2. The Bio That Turns Into a Personal Memoir
(“I wrote this during a dental surgery/identity crisis/solar eclipse.”)
Writers love context. Agents love context… in moderation.
When someone dives into a deeply personal bio, I don’t cringe. I ask myself: Why is this the detail they chose? What are they trying to tell me about their relationship to the story?
Sometimes the answer is resilience. Sometimes it’s passion. Sometimes it’s simply, “I am nervous and overexplaining because my entire soul is attached to this file.”
Either way, I see the human behind the query, and that matters more than the dental saga.
3. The Confidence Rollercoaster
Writers either say: “This will change the world,” or “This is probably trash; I’m trash; sorry for sending it.”
There is almost never a middle lane. Both extremes are understandable, because writing is vulnerable. And querying is even more vulnerable.
But here’s what I want to tell you: Your confidence level doesn’t impact my interest. Your book is not graded on how loudly you hype yourself or how aggressively you disclaim yourself. Just tell me the truth of what it is.
4. The Genre Vortex
(“It’s a romantic thriller dystopian fantasy with horror notes but also inspirational and for kids!”)
When someone stacks genres like they’re loading a buffet plate, I’m not annoyed, but I do have concerns. Because if you can’t confidently name your genre, I start wondering what else you’re unsure about.
Do you read widely enough in your category?
Do you know the conventions and expectations?
Do you understand the reader promise?
And—maybe the biggest question—how much structural editing is this manuscript going to need if the foundation feels blurry?
Genre blending is fine. Genre blur is a different story.
I’m not judging you, but I am trying to decode where this would sit on a shelf. A writer who can’t pinpoint genre usually has a story that hasn’t quite settled into its shape yet. And that’s fixable, but it also may mean you’re at an earlier stage of manuscript development than I’m able to take on.
5. The Comp Title Spiral
Your comps often tell me more about your writing insecurities than your book itself.
Using a megastar comp? You’re craving legitimacy.
Using obscure comps? You’re afraid of sounding derivative.
Using 10 comps? You’re trying to please everybody.
No eye-rolls here. Comps are hard and somehow controversial. Try your best to find the balance, but for the most part, as long as you haven’t put something weird (Like, “this will be the next Harry Potter” except its Adult Contemporary Romance…) then comps won’t be the reason an agent passes. It’s usually much more nuanced than that.
6. The “This Book Is For Everyone” Line
If your book is for everyone, then it’s for no one.
When I see this, I don’t think, “How generous.”
I think, “You’re not seeing your book clearly yet.”
Because in commercial fiction, clarity matters. A lot.
If you truly believe everyone will love this, I start to wonder:
Do you know who your target reader actually is?
Do you understand genre conventions—and which ones you’re fulfilling versus bending?
Can you distinguish between the core structure of your book and the elements layered on top?
Genre, audience, and positioning aren’t just marketing details. They’re part of craft. Loving your book isn’t the same as understanding it.
7. The Query Sent at 3:03 a.m.
I don’t notice. At all.
Queries go into QueryManager or QueryTracker or whatever platform we’re using, and I read them when I read them. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes much later.
Send it when you’re free.
Send it when your brain finally shuts up.
Send it when the house is quiet.
The timestamp means nothing.
8. The Missing Pages, Missing Bio…
I don’t know why people say this isn’t a big deal. Sometimes, it is.
If your bio is completely missing—or it’s a single line like “I’m a writer”—that raises concerns for me. Not because I need credentials, but because it can signal:
A lack of attention to detail
A lack of follow-through
Or a lack of investment in the process
This industry requires persistence, care, and a willingness to do unglamorous work. When key pieces are absent, I have to ask whether that energy is actually there.
Now, context matters.
If you realize you made a mistake and follow up with a quick, professional “I’m so sorry—I thought this attached,” that’s not a problem. Things happen.
But there is a noticeable difference between an honest slip and a query that feels rushed, incomplete, or emotionally disengaged.
You can often tell when heart went into a submission.
You can also tell when it didn’t.
9. When You’re Trying Too Hard to Sound Professional
Sometimes writers strip all personality out of their query in an attempt to sound “correct.”
Suddenly the language gets stiff. Overly formal. Weirdly antiquated.
That makes me pause—not because I need casual writing, but because I’m looking for voice. Especially in commercial fiction.
If the query feels like it’s performing professionalism instead of communicating clearly, I start wondering:
Is the manuscript going to read the same way?
Is this project leaning more literary than what I’m looking for?
Is there a mismatch here?
Voice matters. Alignment matters.
And your query is often the first signal of both.
10. The “I Just Finished This” Line
I see this all the time:
“I just finished my first draft.”
“I just finished writing this.”
And honestly? That’s a major red flag.
Unless you have an established publishing track record, this usually tells me the manuscript isn’t ready—not at the level I need it to be craft-wise.
Books don’t become submission-ready the moment a draft ends. They require distance. Revision. Often multiple passes of deep structural work.
When someone announces how freshly finished the manuscript is, what I hear is:
This hasn’t been fully shaped yet.
And that puts it miles outside the range of what I can take on.
Fictionary is a novel-writing course focused on structure, genre clarity, and commercial craft. If you keep getting stuck on why this isn’t working yet, this is the problem it’s built to solve.
Launching in 2026. The waitlist is open now.
Agents do notice things. Patterns. Gaps. Signals you didn’t realize you were sending.
But we’re not tallying your worth based on a typo, a late-night send, or one imperfect sentence. What we’re actually reading for is readiness. Clarity. Intentionality. Evidence that you understand not just this story, but the business and craft it’s entering.
Most passes aren’t about a single mistake. They’re about misalignment, readiness, or a manuscript that hasn’t finished becoming itself yet.
So if something here stung, that’s not a failure—it’s information.
Take it. Use it. Fix what’s fixable.
And send the query when the work actually reflects the writer you’re trying to be.
Fantastic article, one of the clearest and most actionable query-letter overviews I've seen yet.
Great advice thank you 😊