Today’s guest post is by author K.T. Carlisle.

Getting a literary agent wasn’t something I was interested in pursuing. Like many querying authors, I’d received enough form rejections (and even had a few agents ghost me on full manuscript requests) to convince me that I didn’t have what it took to break into the traditional publishing landscape. So, I gave up. I stopped querying altogether and focused my energy on putting out the best self-published books I could.

And you know what? I was happy to live in my little indie bubble. Rather than focusing on query stats and constantly comparing my journey to others, I fell back in love with the actual writing, the storytelling, the books. I had every intention of self-publishing my next book; sending it out to agents didn’t cross my mind for a single second.

Then something strange and miraculous happened.

A notable agent (what many authors might refer to as a “dream agent”) started liking my posts on social media about the book I was working on. Not just one post here and there. All of them. For months. It was the kind of calculated engagement that said plainly, “I like what you’re doing here, and I want to see more of it.” And even though I’d written off going down the querying rabbit hole, something deep inside me said, Take one more chance. Two months after doing just that and sending my completed manuscript to the agent in question, I had an offer of representation.

In so many ways, it was a dream come true. Finally, I felt like my work had been validated. Like I really did have what it took to be traditionally published after all. But more than that, I genuinely loved my agent. She was passionate and enthusiastic, and she made me believe in myself and my work again. Everything between us was absolutely perfect—the kind of stuff authors dream about when they send out that very first query letter.

So, imagine my surprise when it all went up in flames anyway.

The email that changed everything

Like many authors, writing books is not what pays my bills. I balance my creative writing between being a content marketer, a freelance editor, a wife, a stepmom, a dog wrangler, etc. So, those precious few hours at the end of each day when I can just sit down in my recliner and start banging away at my latest book are something I look forward to. That’s exactly what I had on my agenda before everything suddenly ground to a halt.

Just as I was getting ready to pull up my latest work in progress (the book I planned to take on submission this fall with my agent, no less), I received the following email:

Hi,

I wanted to let you know that [your agent]’s last day as an agent with [literary agency] was today. I’m sure she will be in touch if she hasn’t already.

In the meantime, if you have any questions about the status of your material, feel free to reach out. I can be contacted at this email or by phone below.

Thanks,

[Agency Owner]

My first, second, and third thoughts immediately after reading that were, What the actual f—? Honestly, I felt betrayed. I’d become rather close with my agent and had even spoken casually with her a few times in the days leading up to this announcement, and she’d made zero indication that she had plans to leave the agency. After speaking about it with my husband, we both decided it was best for me to shoot her a text and ask what was going on. What happened next shocked me even more than that initial email:

Me: Hey! I just got an email from the agency saying you’re no longer working there? Is everything okay??

Her: I am sending an email but I was not aware I’m leaving…

As it turned out, my agent was just as surprised as I was to learn that she was no longer employed at the agency. I didn’t have “Acting as the Agency HR Rep” on my Monday night Bingo card that day, but there I was, issuing a termination statement to an employee who wasn’t mine to begin with.

This is the part of the story that gets truly messy. I could fill a novel with the sordid details surrounding all that happened. I could talk about how the agency’s toxic workplace environment drove my agent to the edge. I could opine on the ethics of terminating an employee without notice or cause, and instead throwing that responsibility onto the shoulders of an unsuspecting author. I could call into question the optics of firing a BIPOC agent who represented primarily authors from marginalized communities, none of whom were provided adequate guidance on how this would ultimately impact their work or careers. But that is not the focus of this story.

Instead, I want to help authors understand what steps they should take and what resources exist for them should they ever find themselves in a similar situation. Because the reality is that even when things are going smoothly, even when your dreams finally seem well within reach, something can come along and snatch it all away in the blink of an eye. I didn’t want to believe it could happen to me, but it did—and it can happen to you, too. What you choose to do afterward can make all the difference in how soon you are able to get your work and your career back on track.

Review your agency contract immediately

When you sign with an agent, the first thing you’ll do is execute a contractual agreement between yourself and the agency. This document outlines everything from commission percentages (industry standard is 15%) and record keeping to rights and termination. That last one is what most authors tend to gloss over. I mean, who wants to think about the possibility of terminating an agreement they fought so hard to obtain in the first place? But understanding how termination clauses work is essential, especially if you find yourself in a situation like what I was in.

Unfortunately for me, my termination clause was pretty alarming. I had misgivings about it prior to signing, but I was assured multiple times (in writing) that all of the concerns I had were protected under the contract as it was written. That was not the case. The termination clause read as follows:

Termination. Either party may terminate this Agreement upon thirty (30) days’ written notice. Provided however, no termination by Client of this Agreement will affect or alter Agency’s entitlement to its Fees or Client’s obligation to compensate Agency. While Client may elect to terminate this Agreement, Agency will remain irrevocably entitled to all future Fees from all sales, licenses, or other dispositions of Rights and/or any exploitation of the Work, whether occurring before or after such termination and whether procured by Agency, Client, or a third party. Agency will remain entitled to its Fees for all sold and unsold subsidiary rights, and will stand ready, willing, and able to handle or administer all such agreements if and as requested by Client. If at any time Client elects to “self publish” the Work, Agency will nevertheless be entitled to receive the Fees specified above in consideration for Agency’s services rendered (e.g., reading, editorial advice, feedback, etc.) unless otherwise mutually agreed upon.

That last part in bold was something I had added into the contract prior to signing since I had written confirmation from my agent that, should I choose to self-publish the book we brought on submission, the agency wouldn’t then claim 15% of the royalties for it down the road. The jury is out on whether or not that addendum was sufficient enough to protect me, but one thing is for sure: None of this is considered standard practice. In fact, the attorneys I spoke to called it the most one-sided and predatory contract they’d ever seen. Many of them questioned why I would sign such a thing in the first place.

Admittedly, I felt a bit foolish. But it’s not like I was alone. Over thirty other authors under my agent’s care had also signed the contract, and some of theirs were worded in far worse, more binding ways than mine. Thankfully, my agent fought tooth and nail on our behalf to get us all released with no lingering strings attached, paying out of her own pocket for a great attorney who really knew her stuff. But that won’t always be the case. Sometimes agents get fired or fall ill or choose to leave agenting altogether, and when that happens, it will be entirely your responsibility to negotiate your exit.

Make a report to the AALA and/or the Authors Guild

Depending on the details surrounding your situation, you might be able to skip this step altogether. But if your experience involves even a hint of wrongdoing on the part of the agent or agency, there are things you can do to (a) help expedite the dissolution of your contract, and/or (b) prevent other authors from getting involved with bad actors.

That’s exactly what I ended up doing.

After my agent’s sudden termination, the agency owner (aka, the person who now technically represented me, although I never did get clear confirmation on that) stopped answering my emails. Despite her invitation to have a phone call, I wanted to keep all communication in writing so I could protect myself down the road. Unfortunately, she either chose not to respond or would provide vague reassurances that ultimately amounted to nothing and did little to ease my worries or provide clear guidance on what would happen to the manuscript I had out on submission or the audiobook deal I’d recently signed. To say it was frustrating would be putting it lightly.

Thankfully, the Association of American Literary Agents (AALA) has an ethical code that agents and agencies are obligated to uphold. Violations of those Canons of Ethics are grounds for investigation (and possible revocation of AALA membership status) and can be a powerful negotiation tool should you need it.

For instance, the AALA asserts that members “pledge not to abuse (sexually, verbally, physically or otherwise) discriminate against, harass, mislead, deceive, dupe, defraud, or victimize their clients, other members of the Association, the general public, or any person in their workplace or with whom they work or do business.” In my grievance filing with the Ethics Committee, I argued that the emotional and psychological distress the agency owner caused me by failing to reply to the most basic of requests more than qualified as abusive behavior, especially since it triggered several panic attacks and depressive episodes.

There were other ethical violations as well, such as the failure to “protect the security and integrity of clients’ funds” and the complete disregard for “keeping clients apprised of activities and services performed on behalf of clients.” But those were things that applied to my specific circumstance, and yours may be different. The important thing is to familiarize yourself with the Canon of Ethics so you can hold your agent/agency accountable should anything go wrong.

Another avenue you can take is to make a similar report to the Authors Guild. Just like the AALA exists to ensure agents and agencies are operating in good faith, the Authors Guild was established to protect authors’ rights and ensure their best interests are upheld. When making your report, be sure to include screenshots of all communications and any contractual agreements you may have to support your case. The more information you’re able to provide, the better, and if you’re a part of a larger group of affected authors like I was, be sure to band together. There is real power in numbers. While these organizations may chalk a singular complaint up to a petty disagreement, they’re less likely to overlook several grievances lodged against the same individual.

In short, don’t let one bad actor rob you of your power. You have options. Leverage them.

What I wish I knew sooner

At the end of this nightmare, I at least can say that I got a (mostly) happy ending. Because of my agent’s attorney, I and the rest of my agent siblings were able to follow her into greener pastures to an agency that is highly reputable (and comes free of any predatory clauses in their author agreements). But the thought still nags at me that it could have worked out much differently, and if it had, I would have only had myself to blame.

Too often, authors get worn out by rejection fatigue. They become so disillusioned by the querying process that any hope of getting out of the so-called “trenches” is one they refuse to let go, even if all the alarms are screaming that something isn’t right. And even as someone who had no intention of querying, I still allowed myself to turn a blind eye to the warning signs so I could live the ultimate author dream of getting my book published.

Here’s what I wish I’d done differently:

1. Had an attorney review my agency contract from the start. While I did read over the contract several times and had a few author friends do the same, I didn’t have my contract reviewed by a legal professional. That was my first mistake. However, being broke as a joke, having an attorney review my contract probably would have been out of the question anyway. Thankfully, joining the Authors Guild is a much cheaper option, and by doing so, you have access to their contract review services so you can avoid entering an untoward agreement.
2. Pushed back harder on my requested amendments. Despite having the addition of “unless otherwise mutually agreed upon” added to the termination clause in my contract, this still wasn’t sufficient enough to protect me. I was vaguely aware of this at the time, but I’d heard horror stories before of authors getting an offer of representation, pushing back on the terms of the contract, and then having said offer of representation rescinded. Instead of sticking to the mantra of “having no agent is better than having a bad agent/agency,” I let fear guide my decision to move forward without having adequate protection. It was silly of me, but I’ve learned from my mistake and won’t allow that to happen again.
3. Joined the Authors Guild. I’m still not a member of the Authors Guild, but as soon as funds allow, I’ll be correcting that. This organization is one of the best resources for authors out there. From contract reviews and copyright advice to website building services and educational programming, the help they offer their membership is extensive—and it just might make the difference between your ability to walk away clean or remain married to a bad agency or publisher.

Don’t let the promise of a dream come true blind you to red flags

Like I’ve said a few times already, I never wanted this. Going the traditional route was something I’d happily given up on, but even I allowed the excitement of calling myself an “agented author” cloud my better judgment.

And I’m not the only one to do so.

Plenty of authors find themselves in far worse situations than mine for the simple reason that they are tired of being told no, so when that one “yes” finally comes, they’ll do anything to keep it—even if it means giving up their creative protections. My advice? Don’t let this industry convince you that your work isn’t worth defending. Get that contract reviewed, negotiate its terms, push back when things don’t seem right, and have the sense to walk away when the red flags appear. Because one day, when everything seems like it’s going just right, it all could change in the blink of an eye. And if that day comes, you’ll wish you’d done more to preserve the thing you spent weeks, months, maybe even years creating.

Further resources

Jane recommends consulting the following resources to learn how to negotiate an agent-author contract.

• The Authors Guild Guide to Agency Agreements
• SFWA Model Agent-Author Agreement
• Victoria Strauss on author-agent contracts (older now, still solid guidance)
• Victoria Strauss on the interminable agency clause
• Victoria Strauss on the need to discuss with your agent what happens if you self-publish