How to write a query letter

The shape of a query

A working query letter has five visible parts, in this order:

1. A greeting with the agent's name spelled correctly.
2. One or two sentences of personalization — why this agent.
3. A metadata line: title, word count, genre, comps.
4. The pitch — one short hook paragraph and one or two paragraphs of substance.
5. A short bio and a polite sign-off.

Some writers reorder the first three so the pitch comes first and the metadata sits just above the bio. Either arrangement is fine; the content matters more than the order. What does not vary: the whole thing should fit on a single screen, under 400 words if possible. Agents read queries in a mailbox on a phone at a coffee shop. Respect that reality.

The hook sentence

Some queries open with a personalization line first; some open with the hook. The hook is the single sentence that captures the book's specific, strange, small-but-fertile idea. It is not a theme statement. It is not a logline in the movie-poster sense. It is the thing you would say at a dinner party if someone asked what your novel is about and you had fifteen seconds to make them interested.

A useful test: the hook should contain a protagonist, a predicament, and a stake you can point to. "A grief counselor takes on a client who claims her dead husband is still calling, and the counselor starts getting calls too." Predicament, stake, particular. Compare that to a non-hook: "A story about loss, belief, and the spaces between." Themes, but no narrative traction.

The pitch paragraphs

Two paragraphs is a reasonable target. Three is the upper limit. The job of the pitch is to introduce the protagonist, set the situation that forces the story into motion, raise a conflict that has real weight for the protagonist, and end on a decision or dilemma. It is not a plot summary. If your pitch describes what happens in acts one, two, and three, it is too long — and it has leaked the job of the synopsis into the query.

Focus on motivation. A pitch that says "Anna finds a letter" is less useful than "Anna finds a letter addressed to her mother, who has been dead for eleven years, postmarked last Thursday." The second version forces a reader to want the next sentence. That is literally the only thing the pitch is for.

Avoid rhetorical questions ("What would you do if...?"). Avoid loglines that describe the reading experience ("A gripping journey of loss and love"). Both read as back-cover marketing, and agents already know what back-cover marketing sounds like. Be specific. Be concrete. Trust the material.

Title, word count, genre, comps

One sentence carries four pieces of information: the book's title (in caps or italics), the word count (rounded), the genre and audience, and two recent comparable titles. For example: "THE LAST LIGHT is an 85,000-word adult literary horror novel that will appeal to readers of RECENT COMP by Author A and RECENT COMP by Author B." Brevity is the feature.

Word counts should be in a reasonable range for the category — see the word counter for common norms. Genre and audience together: "adult" or "young adult" or "middle grade," plus the subgenre. "Historical women's fiction with a magical-realism thread" is fine; "a genre-bending, unclassifiable epic" is a tell.

Comps are discussed in depth in the comp titles guide. For now: pick two. Both should be published in the last three to five years. Neither should be a mega-hit, because comparing yourself to a mega-hit says you don't read the market.

The bio

Two to four sentences. Relevant publications first (short fiction in named magazines, essays in named outlets, anthology appearances). Then relevant credentials if they fit the book — an MFA if you have one, a profession that informs the manuscript ("I am a nurse, which shaped the hospital scenes in this novel"), active membership in writers' organizations.

If you don't have publication credits, that's fine. Write a short, honest sentence about who you are in a way that connects to the book, and stop. A made-up bio or padded credits are much worse than a spare, truthful one. Agents sign unpublished writers every week.

Personalization

One or two sentences at the top of the letter. The point is to show you chose this agent deliberately. Useful versions: you saw a specific item on their Manuscript Wish List that matches your book; you were struck by something in an interview they gave; you love one of their clients' recent books and believe your work shares sensibilities. Specific is the key word. "I enjoy your blog" or "I admire your work" are not personalizations; they are anti-personalizations, because any writer could have written them.

What not to do: never claim a relationship you don't have ("we met at a conference" — agents remember), never claim to have been referred by someone who hasn't actually said you can use their name, and never lead with a compliment that implies flattery is a substitute for fit. Agents want to work with professionals. Personalization is a one-sentence demonstration that you are one.

Email mechanics

Paste the full query into the body of the email. Do not attach the query. Use a clear subject line that matches the agent's submission guidelines — typically something like Query: THE LAST LIGHT / [GENRE]. Use plain text or minimal HTML. If the guidelines ask for sample pages or a synopsis, paste them below the query in the same email, in the order requested, with a line or two of whitespace between sections. Never send attachments unless the agent's page explicitly requests them.

Use each agent's submission portal if one exists. QueryTracker tracks many agents' open and closed status. If an agent uses a form, fill out the form exactly as it is presented, even when the form's fields don't match the letter you wrote.

A working example

Dear Jordan Lee,

Your recent interview in Poets & Writers mentioned that you're looking for literary horror rooted in the domestic, which is exactly where my novel lives.

THE LAST LIGHT is an 85,000-word adult literary horror novel. It will appeal to readers of RECENT COMP by Author A and RECENT COMP by Author B.

A grief counselor takes on a client who claims her dead husband is still calling. At first, Anna assumes it's auditory hallucination — unprocessed loss taking the shape of a voice. Then her own phone rings, and the voice on the other end is her mother's, eleven years gone.

[Two paragraphs of pitch, laying out Anna's history, the structural conflict, and the decision she ends the first act on — about 220 words.]

My short fiction has appeared in [named magazine] and [named magazine], and I hold an MFA from [institution]. I work as a hospice chaplain, and that experience shaped the book's treatment of grief.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Best,
Alex Morgan