Writing the first draft of The Valkyries was easy.
I didn’t have a goal—I only wanted to see how my idea for a single scene would play out, where it would lead, and what led to it. I would be the only one reading it, so it didn’t matter if the story made sense, if the emotional beats landed, or if any of it was even remotely interesting.
Even still, when I finished patching together the collection of chapters forming an amalgamation of a story, I felt overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment—I wrote a book. Good or bad, the story now existed—and it could have ended there.
I could have saved the file somewhere on my computer to collect digital dust, only to be forgotten with time.
No one would know.
No one would judge me for stopping there.
No one…
Except for Kaelva, Astrid, and Freyna.
Sure, they may just be characters in a story, but after spending so long writing their story—savoring their joy, lamenting their suffering—I felt like I owed it to them to see how far this story could go.
That meant the story would need to exist outside of me.
And that’s when I heard the first whispers of doubt.
What if this isn’t Any good?
Before trying to get the story published.
Before trying to find an agent.
Before working with beta readers.
Before working through six drafts.
Before suffering the guilt of putting my own beloved characters through so much misery.
Before any of that, I would have to do the hardest thing yet: tell someone I was writing a book and see if they thought the story was any good.
I’m actually looking at the message right now.
“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?”
I stared at that simple question for a good five minutes before hitting send.
I asked them to keep it between us because at the time, I was kind of embarrassed. I thought it was weird.
On one hand, I thought Who am I to write a book? I’m an engineer with 15 years in the automotive industry—what do I know about writing a book!?
Then, on the other hand, I worried what my story would reveal about myself. I’d say I’m a fairly quiet, introverted person. I don’t usually share what I’m thinking or feeling, and when I do, it’s typically only with those in my close circle.
So the thought that this story would metaphorically open a window into my soul terrified me.
What if this isn’t Any good?
There’s a few moments in The Valkyries where a single choice or event could have altered everything that followed.
This was one of those moments.
I told my friend I wrote a book. I shared a brief synopsis of what made the story unique. I asked them if they’d be willing to read some of it and share what they thought.
If my friend had said something dismissive, showed no interest, or flat-out told me not to waste my time, that would have been the end of it.
Instead, the response to the synopsis and first chapter was more uplifting than I could have imagined.
"Oh my god, that sounds so neat! I actually like that idea for a story! I’ll for sure read it!"
"I’m literally on the first page and it’s so good—like, I want to live in their village!"
"I really like it a lot! I’m hooked so far! I’m excited to read the rest!"
Of course, this was a very close friend saying all this to me. Were they telling me what I wanted to hear? Maybe, maybe not—but that doesn’t matter, because their encouragement is what helped me build the foundation of The Valkyries.
But as we all know, doubt never stays gone.
You’re the only one Feels these emotional beats.
Your story’s worldbuilding doesn’t make any sense.
You’re the only one who cares about this story.
Honestly, I let myself believe these doubts—then I used them to strengthen my story.
Each “doubt” became a subconscious call-to-action to sharpen a part of my story, ensuring every emotional beat landed, every gap in my world’s mechanics were closed, and that Kaelva, Astrid, and Freyna would win our readers’ hearts—before tragedy would tear their hearts apart.
I weaponized the very thing seeking to snuff out my story’s future.
Six drafts later, I have a polished manuscript ready to query agents with.
And guess what?
Doubt has returned.
What if agents ignore you?
What if agents outright reject you?
What if agents show interest—then utterly ghost you?
I’ve seen other authors on social media, who refer to this phase of the traditional publishing process as wading into the “query trenches” because it can feel like a battle. And that’s how I am treating it.
Instead of blindly throwing my manuscript at any and every agent I can find, I did something I know I excel at: data analysis.
I gathered 213 agents from QueryTracker who marked themselves as interested in the Fantasy genre.
I reviewed each of their wish lists, either through their agency webpage, personal webpage, or through Manuscript Wishlist to determine how The Valkyries could fit into what they were looking for, narrowing my list to 143.
For the agents I deemed as potential matches, I reviewed each of their list of deals over the past 12 months on Publishers Marketplace, noting genres, deal sizes, and publishers they worked with. From this, I didn’t disqualify any agent—I merely leveraged the data to prioritize who to query when.
And after crunching all the numbers, here’s where I ended up:
I’ll be honest: I have no idea how other authors choose who to query. Maybe I went way overboard, bordering on Analysis Paralysis. Or maybe there’s something I missed, something I’ll only find out after a couple waves of queries.
All I’m doing here is the same thing I’ve done countless times in my previous Continuous Improvement roles: Plan-Do-Check-Act.
With all this data I’ve collected, I have a Plan on who to query and how to adjust my submission package—my query letter, synopsis, and sample chapters—to fit their tastes.
Next, I Do—I query the first five agents.
Then, I Check—I wait for their feedback, if I get any feedback at all, gauging how my submission package performed.
Finally, I Act—based on the agent feedback (or lack thereof), I tweak my submission materials accordingly, and develop a new Plan, starting the cycle all over again.
I have a process in place. It may be flawed, but as I continue to Plan-Do-Check-Act, those flaws will reveal themselves, and the process will grow stronger.
Am I still nervous about starting to query?
Do I still feel a shiver of doubt?
Absolutely—but so long as I focus on the process instead of the emotional reaction to each agent’s (non) response, I know I can find that needle in the haystack—eventually.
I owe it to Kaelva, Astrid, and Freyna to keep fighting for their story.
I owe it to everyone who has helped support me on this journey.
And, maybe selfishly, I owe it to myself, to achieve a goal long-forgotten—of seeing my book published and on the shelf of my local bookstore.
Over the next few days, I will send out my first round of queries to five agents, and the next battle begins.
There isn’t much to do in this phase except wait—but hey, that gives me time to start writing Book #2!
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