Guest Essay by Amy L. Bernstein

“The Literary Agent Will See You Now”

Psst. Hey, you. Yes, you, thirsty author. C’mere. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. A literary agent I know, let’s call her L, wants to work with “collaborative and passionate clients with thought-provoking and exciting projects.” Her exact words!

That’s you, right? Of course it is! Maybe it’s fate! Maybe you and L are a match made in heaven because you’re passionate, yes? Your book is thought-provoking and exciting, yes? I mean, what are the odds? And—icing on the cake—you are willing to collaborate (at least to a point, details tbd).

Wow, this could work out for you. But hey, this is a tough business, finding an agent. Do you own a cat or a dog? Because it’s pretty clear that pet owners have an edge. Don’t take my word for it. A ton of agents are besotted by their domesticated animals. For example:

Agent A is “living in a spacious motorhome with two dogs and a husband…”

She is not to be confused with Agent B who “is perpetually over-caffeinated in an attempt to keep up with her son and two energetic dogs.” (Presumably in a boring old house.)

Whereas Agent C is enthralled by her “endlessly entertaining cat” (alas, no video) and Agent D, not to be outdone, “lives in Indiana with her husband and fluffy black cat.” (Note how the cat merits an adjective; the husband does not.)

If pets aren’t your thing, don’t despair. You and your agent can still meet cute in the great outdoors, as Agent E assures us that when she’s not selling books (is that really what’s going on, though?), she enjoys “tennis, pickle ball, and golf [and] Bridge.”

And Agent F, well, I’m just gonna bow down, as she “enjoys venturing into the world outside, exploring green spaces and sampling new foods.” I mean, I can’t even. Exploring green spaces? Sounds risky. Especially if you sample new foods at the same time. Mind blown.

Oh, I’m cherry-picking, of course. Not all agents want to over-share. Some actually focus on what they’re looking for in their day jobs. For example, there’s the agent who lets you know that she’s “especially interested in stories that teach her something new.” Well, that’s incredibly helpful, since I have a clear bead on what this complete stranger knows and doesn’t know. And the agent who “adores stories that make her feel in a big way, whether it’s elation, grief, fear, and everything in between.” I really appreciate the way she narrows down her emotional book vibe.

They’re such a helpful lot, these agents. Some of them take time from their busy days to make videos that let us know what they’re looking for in 2025. I watched one recently, eager to get a clear handle on the latest trends and deconstruct the agent zeitgeist.

And boy, was that ever helpful. A senior agent explained in her video that she wants books now that are “light and fun” but she still loves “dark books.” She wants more romance but also suspense, mystery, thrillers, anything speculative, women’s fiction, book club fiction, anything “super-driven by a hook or a high concept.”

So, yeah, she wants pretty much any type of adult fiction that doesn’t read like Henry James except…wait…I must have missed that bit. But then she totally redeemed herself when she admitted, “I need good writing, but I don’t need great writing.”

Okay, great. Nailed it that time.

***

An aspiring author today has about as much chance of landing a literary agent as making a profit at a slot machine in Vegas under the best circumstances. (Really. I looked it up.) Agents receive upwards of 20,000 submissions annually and accept 1 to 3 new clients during the year. Top agents go on to sell roughly 2 books for every 3 they auction.

It’s not a pretty picture: Agents are inundated with material, spend countless hours wading through it mining for gold dust, and only earn their 15% commission when they actually sell a book to a publisher.

No wonder they go home and cuddle the cat. Or play a rubber of Bridge.

But aren’t they also making this so much worse for themselves—and long-suffering authors—than is absolutely necessary?

If I’m surrounded by dry desert, why would I put up a giant billboard advertising a gleaming lake right smack in the middle?

I’m not saying that agents lie, but they advertise their services in ways that are, frankly, misleading.

Consider the query package. Agents beseech authors—on websites, in workshops, at writers’ conferences, in public toilets—to perfect their query packages before submitting. The implied promise is that if you can write a great query letter, you can find an agent.

This is patently absurd. I refer you back to the statistics: Most authors never sign with an agent. Not for lack of trying, but because hardly any camels fit through the eye of a needle.

And why oh why won’t more agents lean into greater precision on their wish lists so that authors can tell one apart from another? Is it because of FOMO? If they actually narrow their lists they’ll miss out on the Next Big Thing? Is that the real reason they cuddle the cat?

And why do they allow hundreds of subs to pile up, which then take them six months or more to dig through, forcing authors to (a) give up, (b) submit to a billion more agents (causing more pile-ups), and/or (c) avoid agents altogether by self-publishing or finding a publisher who wants them, thus depriving the agent of, maybe, the Next Big Thing?

The literary agent marketplace has a lot to answer for, ranging from their increasing inability to respond meaningfully (if at all) to queries to their bewildering obsessions with pets, wine, and long walks in the park.

I don’t have answers, only questions. I’m going to give the last word to an agent:

“It will take an enormous amount of faith for you to believe that I am the person who will work tirelessly getting your name out in the universe to as many publishers as possible.”

Damn right it will.

Bio:

Amy Bernstein is an author, creative consultant, and book coach living in Baltimore.