A query letter is a one-page business letter to a literary agent that pitches your finished manuscript in three parts: a hook that states the book's premise, a pitch paragraph that expands the premise into the story's central conflict and stakes, and a short bio with the book's title, genre, word count, and comparable titles. Its only job is to get the agent to request pages; it does not have to sell the whole book, just the next click.
Agents read queries fast and in volume, which makes the letter a test of one skill above all others: can you state your own story clearly? The good news is that this is a learnable format with a stable shape. Here is what goes in each paragraph, how to pick comps that help you, and where queries most often lose the reader.
Paragraph one is the hook: two or three sentences that introduce your protagonist, what they want, and the problem that is about to get in the way. It is your logline stretched slightly, with the same rules: describe the character rather than just naming them, make the goal concrete, and make the collision between who they are and what they face visible. Many writers open with the metadata line instead (title, genre, word count); either order works, but the hook has to arrive within the first four lines.
Paragraph two is the pitch: the setup escalates, the stakes get specific, and you stop at the point where the protagonist faces the central choice. Think of it as the back-cover copy, not a synopsis; do not give away the ending, do not introduce more than two or three named characters, and keep it under about 150 words. Paragraph three is the housekeeping: title, genre and age category, rounded word count, two or three comps, and a bio limited to what is relevant, meaning publications, relevant expertise, or nothing at all. Close with a thank-you and your name. The whole letter should fit on one page, generally somewhere between 250 and 350 words.
Comparable titles tell an agent where your book sits on a shelf and that you know the shelf. The convention is two, occasionally three, published within the last few years, in your genre and category, successful but not phenomena; naming a global bestseller as your comp signals ambition rather than positioning. The most useful comps are compound: the voice of one title with the premise of another, or a book crossed with a film or series the agent will know. A short clause explaining why each comp fits is worth more than the titles alone.
State the genre and category the way the market does (adult upmarket, YA contemporary fantasy, cozy mystery) rather than inventing a hybrid, and make sure the word count is inside the range readers expect for that category; an outlier count is one of the fastest ways to a form rejection because it suggests the writer has not read the shelf. If the book is a series, say it stands alone with series potential. Never query an unfinished novel; the request for pages may arrive the same day.
Behind the format, an agent is asking three questions. Is the premise one I can pitch to an editor in a sentence? Does the voice of the letter suggest the voice of the book? And is this a writer who understands the market they are entering? The hook answers the first, the prose of the pitch answers the second, and the comps and metadata answer the third. Everything that does not serve one of those questions is a candidate for cutting.
Voice is the part most queries underinvest in. A pitch paragraph written in flat summary language tells the agent nothing about how the book reads; a pitch in the book's register, wry for a wry book, taut for a thriller, does. Borrow specific images and phrasing from your manuscript. The letter is a sample of you as a writer as much as a description of the book, and it is judged that way.
Personalize when you have a real reason: a book of theirs you admired, an interview where they asked for exactly this, a conference meeting. One sentence at the top, specific, then get to the hook. Generic flattery or a paragraph about how you found their name adds nothing and delays the pitch. Follow each agent's submission guidelines exactly, including which pages they want and how they want them; guidelines are the first filter, and getting them wrong is read as a preview of how you will be to work with.
The failures are consistent. Rhetorical questions as a hook. Pitches that describe the theme instead of the story ('a novel about grief and identity' says nothing; what happens?). Every subplot crammed in. Comparing the book to nothing or to everything. Apologizing, over-explaining, or telling the agent how much readers will love it. Typos in a letter whose entire point is that you can write. Draft it, put it away for a week, then read it aloud as if you were a stranger, and cut whatever a stranger would skim.
The query's hook is a logline with room to breathe. Nail the one-sentence version first - protagonist, goal, obstacle, stakes - and the first paragraph of the letter writes itself.
Start with the loglineWritten and edited by the One More Draft team - working writers and editors building the workshop we wanted. About us
