Taming Wild Cats & Querying Agents

Two goals I have for 2010 are (1) to tame the Twiglets, the wild barn kitties that I had neutered en masse a while back and (2) to get a literary agent for my middle grade novel, Stuck.

I'm making pretty good headway in goal #1. For the last couple of weeks, I've been able to pet all three of Twiggy's kittens, but Twiggy herself remains just outside my grasp. As for goal #2, I queried a handful of agents in early 2009 (the last three requested the full manuscript before rejecting it) and then stopped querying to enter Stuck in two contests. My manuscript was a finalist in the Smith Mountain Arts Council  Novel Contest and ultimately took second place, thus winning me $400. The other contest, Delacorte, was supposed to announce a winner in October but held onto my manuscript until late November  and finally announced in December that there would be no 2009 winner. Consequently, I lost six months of querying time. But, while I waited to hear contest results, I rewrote several sections of Stuck and made it better. Way better.

But back to the Twiglets. How did I tame those wild kitties? With a whip.

No, I didn't hit them. I attracted their attention with the fuzzed-out end of an old dressage whip I had in the tack room. (Loyal readers of this blog will remember that the tack room is where I fed the Twiglets and eventually caged them) The first time, I wiggled the whip back and forth, they stared. Then they focused intently on the little wiggly end. Finally, they chased it. Eventually, they looked forward to playing with me after I had fed them. Now they demand I play the "chase the whip" game with them.

As I played, I'd move the whip closer to my feet. Sometimes I'd run my hand down it. Sherman, the fluffy male, was the first one to come close enough for me to stroke him with the end of the whip. After a while, he learned to enjoy this long distance stroking. Eventually, I could stroke him with my fingertips. The first time I touched him, though—in November—he bolted. But he really wanted that little fuzzy thing that only appeared near me. Gradually, I could touch him more and more. Finally, I could pick him up.

But the other Twiglets wouldn't come close enough to touch. Even if I touched them with the whip, they'd shy away. In December, when I caged the four Twiglets and took the to the vet, I figured they'd never forgive me.

For a while, they didn't. Eventually, Sherman let me pet him again. Spotsy, seeing how much Sherman seemed to enjoy the scritching sessions, ventured closer when I wiggled my fingers and said, "Scritch, scritch, scritch." I learned not to reach out to the Twiglets; they had to come to me. And they did.

Spotsy moved to climbing on the bench beside me and sniffing my face. Soon I could pick her up. By early January, little Spookie ventured close enough to sniff my gloved fingers. Soon I could pet her. Then she'd approach my wiggling fingers when I issued the "Scritch, scritch, scritch" invitation.

Only Mama Twiggy remains elusive, but recently she's gotten interested.

In fact, she's started playing with the whip and has even endured some whip-stroking.

Now, back to querying. Querying agents is as frustrating as taming wild cats and takes a certain technique. It took me a while to learn to wiggle the whip correctly pare down my query letter to a tight concise page. I think now I am correctly wiggling the whip to entice them closer have a good hook to attract agents' attention so they'll venture closer to see if the stokes I offer my manuscript might be worth their while.

Maybe, before long, agents will even line up to play chase the whip see what I have to offer.

"Skritch, skritch, skritch?"

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