If you’re looking for tips on finding your own agent rather than just the story of how I found mine (which may or may not be useful, and will definitely be long), you should go read the following:

10 Basic Steps to Finding a Literary Agent

Miss Snark’s Archives

Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors, and Literary Agents, which provides loads of 101 stuff.

Reading all that will probably take you at least a couple weeks. It’s okay, I’ll wait for you to come back. Because that advice leads us to my number one tip for writers looking to get published: Take the time to learn about the fucking industry. And that leads us to the story of how I got an agent.

After I graduated from university in 1997, I got an internship at Random House of Canada. It was only three months long, and I spent most of my time there rejecting unsolicited manuscripts and drinking coffee in the Shopsy’s downstairs with a fellow intern I had a crush on — but even that gave me way more insight into the publishing industry than I’d ever gotten from reading books about it. (And I’d read every book I could find, ’cause that’s the kind of nerd I am.) Seriously, if you’re a writer and you’re ever in a position to do an internship at a publishing house, I highly recommend it. Ditto publishing classes — during that time, I took some at Ryerson University and got a whole whack of other insights, as well as the habit of using “a whack” to mean “a lot.” As all that was wrapping up, I met the publisher of Insomniac Press in a bar and ended up working there for the next two years. (And dating that guy for years, after I broke up with the intern, but that’s another story.)

What does this have to do with how I got an agent in 2008? Everything.

First, I’m not kidding when I say I took the time to learn the industry. At a small press, regardless of your job title, you learn something about editing, design, printing, publicity, marketing, sales, and — perhaps most importantly — authors. Specifically, the gulf between most authors’ expectations (the world) and what a publisher is actually equipped to do for them (very close to squat). You learn that people really want to work with authors who understand the following things:

• Publishing is a business.
• Businesses need to make money.
• Books don’t sell, as a general rule.
• People in publishing work their asses off for no money anyway because they really, really love books.

And you learn that people don’t want to work with authors who believe the following things:

• They are artistes who need not pollute their special artiste brains with businessy shit.
• Their experimental novel/poetry collection/biography of a 13th-century monk would totally sell a gazillion copies if you’d just spend the money to promote it right.
• They don’t need much editing.
• An editor’s job consists solely of marking up manuscripts, thus editors have loads of free time to chat.
• If a representative of the publishing company does not seem to be spending enough time/money/effort on their books, it is because that person is a twit who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about quality literature.

In short, you learn what makes an author an asshole. And you learn that people in publishing try their very best to avoid working with assholes. (Exception: Assholes who write books that make gobs of money.) This means that one of the most crucial skills you can develop if you aspire to be published — possibly the single most crucial skill — is not being an asshole. Seriously, I can’t emphasize that one enough. Don’t be an asshole. You’ll thank me, I promise.

Second, as the aside about dating suggests, I learned that publishing is a ridiculously social industry. I only worked full-time in the industry for about three years, but I met loads of people, who kept me abreast of all the gossip and new developments long after I left. If I’d decided to stick around and try to sell a manuscript in Canada, I would have been able to call up a few different agents and editors who already liked me and knew I could write, which is hands-down the fastest way to get in the door. Know someone. If you can’t quit your job and go work in publishing, go to writers’ conferences with authors, editors, and agents. And even if you can’t go to conferences, it is still not that hard to meet someone who knows someone in the industry. Readings, classes at the Y, corner bars, the blogosphere — published authors and publishing professionals can be found in all these places. Meet one, don’t be an asshole, and you’re on your way.

Fact is, meeting all those people in Canadian publishing turned out to be a waste for me, career-wise (friendship-wise, it was terrific) because I moved back to the States, where it’s a whole different industry with all different people. Friends in Toronto probably could have helped me out with some contacts in New York if I’d asked, but I didn’t end up needing them, because like I said, it’s not actually that hard to find someone who knows someone. Which brings me to how I found my agent.

But first, I’ve got to tell you about the New York Times.

In the fall of 2007, I got an e-mail from a reporter for the Times who was interested in doing an article on the Fatosphere in general and Shapely Prose in particular. Let me tell you, this was the single moment when my publishing experience — however out-of-date and geographically irrelevant — made the most difference to my writing career. Because my first thought after, “Holy shit, a reporter from the NYT wants to talk to me!” was, “Holy shit, I’ve got to get a book proposal done NOW!” If I’d learned anything from working in publishing, it was this: There will never, ever come a better time in your life to query literary agents than the day an article about you comes out in The New York Times.

So I immediately IM’ed Marianne, with whom I’d been half-assedly kicking around the idea of doing a book, and said, It’s go time. Then I called the reporter and said things like, “Hey, have you talked to Marianne Kirby, The Rotund, yet? Because you should really talk to Marianne Kirby, The Rotund. Her blog, The Rotund, is VERY important in the Fatosphere, and oh, by the way, we’re writing a book together. Marianne Kirby. The Rotund.”

She called Marianne. We were both mentioned in the article (though the book wasn’t). And before we could even get the book proposal formatted properly, I had e-mails from an agent and two editors in my inbox.

“Have you ever thought of writing a book?” they said.

“Why, yes — in fact, Marianne Kirby and I have been working on a practical guide to loving your body, and we can have a proposal to you by Friday,” I said.

“Capital!” they said. (Okay, not really, but it would be so cool if they had.)

Two weeks later, Marianne and I had an agent, and two months later, we had a book contract.

BUT. That’s still not the story of how I found an agent. The agent who signed us isn’t the one who contacted me. As I said in a previous post, the unsolicited attention just made me think, “Hmm, it’s an even better time to query agents than I expected. I should see who else might be interested.” So I e-mailed the following 3 friends:

• One of my besties from high school
• A friend of hers whom I’d met once in person and become friendly with online
• Another blogger and published author whom I’d also gotten to know online

All of these people knew agents. (See? Not that hard.) All of them said, “Of course!” when asked if I could drop their names. So I queried two out of three of those agents (never even got around to the other) with the delicious one-two punch: “We have a mutual friend, and my co-author and I were just featured in a New York Times article.”

I happened to be going to New York the following week for a conference anyway, and I ended up going there with appointments to meet three agents. Marianne and I got to choose which one we wanted to go with. It was ridiculous.

So.

Learn about the business of publishing. Make friends in the industry, or friends who have friends in the industry. Don’t be an asshole. And if a New York Times reporter calls, get your freakin’ book proposal finished.

That’s how I found an agent.