Why’s it called the query trenches?
Writers: we’re a dramatic lot. We often talk about the craft and process of writing in euphemism and metaphor—even diagnostically, on occasion (I’m looking at you, “writer’s block”). It’s a side-effect of our wordiness, I suppose. We invent phrases that capture the struggle of writing. They aren’t meant to be taken literally, but are used as a kind of shared shorthand for a very specific kind of suffering. But, sometimes, you can also find comfort in tearing those idioms apart.
If you have followed my editing journey for The Fortune-Teller’s Son, you might have recently heard me talk about entering the “query trenches”. If you don’t know: this is a pretty standard term for when a writer submits their unpublished book to an agent in the hope of gaining representation. So, why do we call it the trenches, is it actually the most laughable metaphor in the writer’s lexicon, and can we still embrace the concept though it’s utterly absurd?
What are the query trenches?
Here’s the short version: querying is how most authors try to land a literary agent, which is usually the first gate between “finished manuscript” and “published book.” I’m talking about traditional publishing here, not self-publishing—which is a different beast entirely.
If you want to land an old-school book deal with an established publishing house, you first need to land an agent. That starts with a query letter: a one-page pitch that has to summarise your entire novel, prove you can write, and hook a stranger’s attention, all in a few hundred words. Then you send it to agents, one at a time or in small batches, often personalised to each one’s specific tastes and submission guidelines.
Then you wait.
Response times range from a few days to several months. Many agencies don’t respond at all if it’s a pass. No response means no.
The numbers are brutal by any normal standard. Most agents report acceptance rates well under 1%, sometimes closer to 1 in 1,000 queries. Writers commonly send anywhere from 50 to 150 queries before finding representation, if they find it at all. Multiple rounds of rejection, revision, and resubmission are the norm, not the exception. It’s a slow, statistically unforgiving process, which is exactly why we reach for war metaphors to describe it. So, we call it the trenches.
The trenches: A laughable metaphor
I have been in-and-out of the trenches over the years without ever really questioning the terminology. It’s only this latest rotation that I really thought about it. The trenches—really? We’re likening email traffic and bracing for rejection to the gruelling reality of trench warfare. Nobody’s bleeding out in a query trench because an agent said “not quite right for my list”. Form rejections sting, but they don’t kill.
But that’s what makes it work on two levels.
When you’re really in it, it can be hard to separate yourself from the process. You might spend years crafting a novel. Small wonder sending it off to your dream agent feels like it’s all or nothing. Life or death. Calling it the query trenches gives that feeling a certain justification. It validates the extreme lows of querying by framing it against the attritional horrors of the actual trenches.
Quick caveat: I couldn’t find a reference for when the term “query trenches” was first used, so I have made some assumptions. Namely: trench warfare is ubiquitous through history and geography, but I think it’s logical to assume it relates to the Western Front in World War One.
However, there is a certain tongue-in-cheek quality to the metaphor that helps, too. I recently caught myself feeling that querying was some kind of existential siege. Honestly, I was refreshing my inbox every five minutes with a mounting sense of dread, like I was waiting to hear the whistle that sent me over the top into No Man’s Land.
Isn’t that daft?
When I took a step back to think about the reality of the metaphor, I had to laugh. Honestly, I laughed out loud, and the anxiety vanished—for a while, at least. History is a great teacher. In this instance, it taught me to snap my perspective back into proportion and to be grateful. Also, not to take the struggle too seriously. In the words of one of my favourite secondary characters in The Fortune-Teller’s Son: “You have to laugh.”
What the real trenches can teach us
Having said it’s a laughable comparison, the best lessons in stress management are taught by those who have survived the most stressful situations. I always practice box breathing (breathe in for four seconds, hold for four, breathe out for four) before any presentation or reading, and this is widely considered a Navy Seals trick. It is probably the main thing that kept me calm through my Jericho Friday Night Live reading—and that wasn’t exactly a firefight.
So, what can writers learn from the actual trenches?
Camaraderie: Shared misery is lighter than solo misery, which is why writer communities and query-support group chats matter more than people expect.
Structure: Distraction and routine keep despair at arm’s length; structure gives the mind something to do besides spiral.
Levity: I heard an anecdote about terrified German soldiers who feared the British were unflappable because they were always laughing. But this was undoubtedly gallows humour. They weren’t laughing at anyone, but with each other. Like I said before, you have to laugh.
Communication: Letters from home kept people tethered to a life outside the immediate crisis, the same way a walk, a hobby, or a call from a friend can remind querying writer that we exist beyond our inboxes.
The single most important lesson for me, though, is this: many soldiers in the trenches came to see that the person across the line wasn’t really their enemy. There are many, many examples of profound humanity during World War One. This is what I would urge other writers to take away more than anything. There are no enemies. Not the agent who passed your manuscript, nor that writer posting about their enormous success.
My time in the trenches
I have officially been in the trenches with The Fortune-Teller’s Son for just over a week. Posting regular updates about how it’s going, submission stats, rejection counts, etc. isn’t really something I am comfortable with—mainly because I am trying to put the whole process out of my mind. Instead, I am trying to focus on those points listed above.
I am getting back into the gym with some mates, commiserating with my writing groups, and getting stuck into a new project.
Originally, I wanted to write one of the projects listed on my homepage. I have a decent outline for two of those (one being the murder mystery). But, a brand-new shiny idea popped up out of nowhere and, now, I can think of nothing else. So, I have decided to focus on outlining and worldbuilding for that through August, before reassessing my submissions in early September.
I can’t wait to share more about the new project, but I am keeping it under wraps for now.
