Are you a writer? Ever thought about trying to get some of your work published? Well, seeing your name in print can be a tough battle. When I was trying to get Stones of Abraxas published, I was lucky to get lots of good advice from people who have been through it. 

Now that I know a (very) little about the wacky world of publishing, I wanted to share my (limited) expertise, so I wrote the following essay "A Picture's Worth 45,000 Words." I hope you get a laugh out of it. And if it helps your work get noticed, that's even better.

by K. Osborn Sullivan

A few years ago when I was trying to sell my first novel, I got used to form letter rejections. You know the ones I mean. They begin "Dear Author" and grow more impersonal from there. They all include the word "unfortunately" within the first couple of lines, so our hopes can be firmly dashed without having to tax ourselves with too much reading. My personal favorites have a spot for a photocopied signature, but it's blank because no one in the editor's or agent's office wanted to waste his time signing the original.

After I sold my first novel, though, I assumed that I had seen the end of form letter rejections forever. Go ahead and laugh at such a ridiculous notion. Yes, I'm new.

So when I started looking for an agent to represent my second book - a middle grade humor novel called Full to Bursting - I was optimistic about the reception it would receive. Surely agents would be clawing over each other to work with a published author, right? But as you probably expected, it was a debacle. Twelve queries resulted in ten form letter rejections. Two agents didn't bother to reply.

I was discouraged and confused. This wasn't the way things turned out in my fantasy about instant wealth and fame in the publishing world. And speaking of fantasies, where were the winged stallions delivering my Nobel Prize for literature?

Not to be defeated by one little setback (or, more accurately, a dozen setbacks) I squared my shoulders, polished up the manuscript, and tried the approach that had succeeded with my first book. I gave up on agents and appealed to publishers instead. But six submissions and six form letter rejections later, I was back at square one.

I had to figure out how to separate my submissions from the slush pile. Clearly a prior sale was not all that was needed to be ushered into the inner circle. As I pondered, I recalled a conference presentation from two years earlier.

Mystery author J.A. Konrath was one of the speakers at a literary festival I attended in 2004, and he regaled us with tales from his own publishing hell. It seems he had written a number of manuscripts, but none of them managed to find their way into print. Finally, after a decade, he had no agent, no contract, and a desk full of unpublished work. He decided a change was in order, so with his next manuscript, he broke the rules. He threw a slew of query letters into envelopes along with 8" X 10" gloss photos of himself and - drumroll, please - no SASE! (For those of you who are new to the publishing world, SASE stands for self-addressed, stamped envelope. Writers include them with submissions so agents and editors will reply to our mail.)

What was even more amazing was that his radical mass mailing to agents actually yielded phone calls! There were inquiries from people wanting to see his work, offers of representation, and creepy questions about what he was wearing. OK, that last one might have been unrelated to the queries, but you never know.

What I took from this story was that I don't have to follow every single publishing rule in order to be successful. In fact, sometimes an innovative approach gets the best results.

So when my submissions for Full to Bursting produced nothing more than a file full of "Dear Author" responses, I ripped a page from Konrath's book (not literally - but I'm guessing he wouldn't have minded too much as long as I paid for the book first) and attempted something different.

I decided to try a little experiment. My college background is in social science, and I had been subjected to excruciating courses in statistics and research methodology during my sojourn through the hallowed halls of higher education. I never considered using any of that nonsense in my daily life, but what if it could actually have some practical application? The implications were mind-boggling.

I got nowhere with both agents and publishers when I had sent out a standard cover letter, so what would happen if I spiced up my letter a bit? Lacking any 8 X 10" glossies of J.A. Konrath, I chose to print a photograph of myself on a new batch of cover letters and send them to some different agents. I included in my submissions whatever Writer's Market said the individual agents wanted, which often included writing credits, sample chapters, synopses, etc. And since I didn't have the intestinal fortitude to eschew the traditional SASE, I popped one of those into the envelopes, too.

There were slight variations among my cover letters, but my writing resume remained constant between the old non-picture version and new picture version (i.e. my resume was always meager, but it did list one upcoming young adult novel). The primary difference between the two versions was a 1" X 1" black and white photo of me in the upper left-hand corner of my letter.

The picture had been professionally taken for the back cover of my book. It was one of those rare photos that I am relatively pleased with. The ladies who took the portrait had even airbrushed out a few "imperfections" at my request. For example, you can barely tell that during an ill-advised Star Wars phase I had my entire face tattooed like Darth Maul.

I sent off this new stack of submissions to eight agents, then I sat back and waited. By the way, the best part of being a writer is definitely the waiting. I know lots of people will say it's the worst, but you can avoid doing any real work for days, weeks, or months if you're busy "waiting." When your family or friends ask, "What are you working on?" you can reply, "I'm waiting to hear back from a publisher about my new manuscript." If you say it in the right agonized, tension-filled tone, it will make the busybodies believe that you're actually doing something difficult and feel sorry for you. You're waiting and that's hard work, if you make it sound like it is. If you watch closely, my version of waiting can look an awful lot like I'm enjoying a Desperate Housewives marathon.

Meanwhile, the responses from agents who received my photo letters began trickling in. Some of them were form letter rejections, but there were exceptions. Three agents asked to see the manuscript, and one agent sent a personalized rejection. In it, he offered constructive criticism about the sample chapters. Ironically, he also mentioned the photo I had put on his the cover letter. He said that I should leave it off because submissions should be about the writing.

I pondered his comment, trying to decide if I agreed with him. Then I realized that when he saw the photo - even if he disapproved of it - my letter was separated from the crowd. It had gotten his attention. And not in such an offensive way that he simply wadded up my submission and tossed it in the trash. Instead, it caused him to take action that benefited me. I decided to continue the experiment.

After I received rejections from the three agents who had requested my manuscript, I used their comments to revise Full to Bursting. Then, armed with a superior product, I sent off to twelve publishers with my photo query. Again, I waited. This time, my waiting looked suspiciously like watching the first season DVD collection of Lost.

Eventually, I began receiving rejections from the publishers. All of them were form letters, sadly, but one publisher did request the full manuscript, which, after more waiting (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season Three), resulted in a form letter rejection.

What can we learn from this experiment? Well, true to my social science training, I constructed a table:

	NO PHOTO Cover Letter	PHOTO Cover Letter
	Number (percentage) of submissions	Number (percentage) of submissions
Total Agents Contacted	12	8
Requests for manuscript	0	3 (38%)
Personalized rejections	0	3 (38%)
Form letter rejections	10 (83%)	4 (50%)
No response	2 (17%)	1 (13%)
Promises of a six-figure advance	0	0
Total Publishers Contacted	6	12
requests for manuscript	0	1 (8%)
personalized rejections	0	1 (8%)
form letter rejections	6 (100%)	8 (67%)
No response	0	3 (25%)
Offers of a six-figure advance	0	0

Based on this data, there appears to be a definite advantage to putting the photo on my cover letters, particularly when submitting to agents. Thirty-eight percent of the agent letters with a picture resulted in manuscript requests, while 0% of the non-picture letters did. I wish I could tell you whether that's statistically significant, but I sold my used textbooks for beer money back in the 80's. Furthermore, another 38% of the agent letters resulted in personalized rejections, which provided me with professional opinions about how I could improve my work. Zero percent of the non-picture letters did that.

As a result of this experiment, I'm going to continue using the photo on my cover letters. Maybe it tells the editors and agents that I'm a writer who's professional enough to already have a publicity photo. Maybe it says I'm media savvy. Maybe it just says I'm clever enough to stumble into a photography studio and write a check. But whatever it says, it seems to be making a positive statement.

While I was compiling my data, I began wondering how this experiment could be expanded. I was tempted to test whether I would get the same results if I put a different picture on my cover letter. Perhaps this lovely photo of me and my family at a Jimmy Buffet-themed party might make a good choice?

The failed social scientist in me yearned to try the revised experiment, but the aspiring writer in me said "No!" It was possible that the lucky recipients of the hat picture might think I wasn't taking them seriously. I really don't want to start making enemies in the publishing world so early in my career. If someone is going to scream, "I'll make sure you never work in this business again!" I should understand enough about the business to know whether he or she can make good on the threat.

Again lacking intestinal fortitude - which a real scientist would have - I stopped at the professional photo. Would Marie Curie have stopped her research when she only had a little radiation sickness? No, she was a real scientist, but she's also dead. I'm not about to make the same mistake.

Are the results of this experiment conclusive? I don't think so, but then I never was much good at statistics. Are they food for thought? OK. Are they an excuse to spend every dime of my next royalty check on plastic surgery so I can someday pose for the world's best publicity photo? Definitely.

One last comment I'd like to make about this experiment is that there's a fine line between getting the attention of publishing professionals and annoying them. A small photo seemed to attract some attention, and only one agent was irritated enough by it to comment. On the other hand, I've heard horror stories from editors and agents about submissions filled with confetti and homemade fudge. Yes, those things will probably attract attention, but it's the kind of attention that will more likely result in a restraining order than a publishing contract.

I still believe my middle grade manuscript is the most brilliant thing that ever flowed from the end of a pen, and I'll continue to seek the elusive editor who recognizes true genius. In the meantime, I plan to keep sending out my photo cover letters. And some day if the radical social scientist in me overcomes the conservative writer, maybe I'll try another little experiment, after all. How's this for starters?

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