literary agents looking for new writers

Ever walked into a honky-tonk in Austin thinkin’ your six-string and soulful warble’ll wow the crowd—only to realize the bouncer ain’t lettin’ nobody in without a backstage pass? Yeah. That’s kinda how the Big Five publishing houses feel ‘bout unsolicited manuscripts. No pass, no pitch. Enter the literary agent: part gatekeeper, part hype-man, part therapist with a Rolodex thicker than a Texas steakhouse menu. These folks don’t just “represent” ya—they believe in ya, fight for ya, and—when the whiskey’s flowin’ and the advance check finally clears—celebrate *with* ya. For new writers, snaggin’ an agent who’s actively *literary agents looking for new writers*? That’s the golden ticket, sugar. Not a guarantee—but the closest thing to one in this biz.

Y’all—lemme bust a myth wide open: it ain’t just the big NYC sharks sniffin’ fresh blood. While the powerhouses like WME or ICM keep their submission portals tighter than a drum solo at SXSW, a whole slew o’ indie boutiques and rising stars are actively seekin’ fresh voices. Folks like Kortney Price at Ravenal Literary Agency or Sara Crowe at Sara Crowe Literary *literally* tweet things like “send me your weird, your wild, your YA with sentient cacti”—yes, that was real. And agencies like The Seymour Agency run mentorship programs *specifically* for debut authors. Bottom line? If you’re huntin’ for literary agents looking for new writers, you’re standin’ in a field full of open doors—just gotta knock on the right one, preferably not at 2 a.m. after three White Claws.

Google spittin’ out “best literary agent for new authors” like it’s a Yelp review for BBQ? Bless its heart. But here’s the tea: the *best* agent ain’t the one with the fanciest letterhead—it’s the one whose taste sings harmony with your voice. Think of it like a first date at a dive bar: chemistry matters more than résumé. Some agents—like Jessica Faust at BookEnds—built their rep on debut fiction; others, like DongWon Song (formerly of Orbit, now freelance), geek out over #OwnVoices SFF. The real litmus test? Do they *love* your work *and* got the hustle to sell it? That combo’s rarer than a sober cowboy at closing time—but it’s out there. Just don’t go chasin’ “famous” agents if their list reads like your grandma’s book club. Match energy, not ego.

Alright, boots on the ground: how *do* you get a literary agent as a new author—without cryin’ into your cold brew every Tuesday? First off—finish your dang manuscript. No, “it’s 80% there” don’t cut it. Agents ain’t fortune-tellers (though some claim they are after three espressos). Then? Query letter. One page. Hook like a bass drop. Bio that’s humble but *not* invisible. And for Pete’s sake, follow submission guidelines like they’re the Ten Commandments. Misspell their name? Automatic *nope.* Send a PDF when they asked for .docx? Bye, Felicia. Pro tip: use QueryTracker or Manuscript Wishlist (#MSWL) to find literary agents looking for new writers *right now*—not six months ago. Oh, and track your subs in a spreadsheet. ‘Cause trust me—you *will* forget who got what and when. (True story: I once queried the same agent *twice*. Under two pen names. She noticed.)

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room—rejection. Or, as we like to call it down South: “character-building.” How many times was JK Rowling rejected by literary agents? Twelve. Twelve agents said, “Nah, a boy wizard? Cute. But who’s gonna read that?” Then Bloomsbury said *yes*—and only after the CEO’s 8-year-old daughter begged him to publish it. Moral? Rejection ain’t failure—it’s filtration. You *want* the wrong agents to say no. Saves time. Keeps your soul intact. One writer I know got 87 rejections before signing. Her agent? Found her on #PitMad. Her book? Debut hit the *NYT* list. So yeah—keep those subs flowin’. Every “no” is one step closer to the right “hell yes.” And hey—if Rowling can take twelve “passes,” you can survive number thirteen. Probably with better hair, tbh.

Hold up—before you dust off that screenplay and fire it off to your favorite novel agent: slow your roll, partner. Most literary agents—especially those focusin’ on *books*—don’t handle scripts. Why? Different unions (WGA vs. AAR), different contracts, different lawyers who bill more per hour than your car’s worth. That said? A *growing* number of hybrid agents *do* straddle both worlds—particularly if they’ve got roots in Hollywood or work at full-service agencies (think: UTA, CAA’s literary division, or boutique shops like The Gernert Company). But here’s the kicker: **if you’re pitching a script, you *must* query agents who *explicitly* list “screenplays,” “TV,” or “theatre” in their wishlist.** Otherwise? You’re just wastin’ stamps—and dignity. Pro move: check their #MSWL or agency bio for phrases like “open to narrative nonfiction *and* pilot scripts.” That’s your golden signal.

Let’s cut the fluff: literary agents looking for new writers ain’t just huntin’ for pretty sentences. (Though, yeah, grammar matters—don’t send ‘em a query that reads like it was typed mid-tornado.) In 2025? They want voice, marketability, and *stamina. Voice = “I’d know this writer blindfolded in a room full of debut novels.” Marketability = “I can pitch this in one sentence *and* the editor’s eyes light up.” Stamina = “This human won’t ghost me after revision round three.” Bonus points for: comp titles that *aren’t* *Harry Potter* or *The Hunger Games*, a social presence that’s *authentic* (not forced), and—wildcard—platform *if* you’re doin’ memoir or niche nonfiction. (No, Instagram followers alone won’t cut it… unless you got a million *and* they’re all obsessed with taxidermy cats. Then maybe.)

So. You got the manuscript. Now comes the *query letter*. Sounds simple—“just summarize your book!”—but lordy, the sins committed here could fill a confessional booth in New Orleans. Here’s the sacred trinity:

• The Hook: 1–2 lines. Punchy. Intriguing. *Not* “This is a novel about…” Try: “When a disgraced crypto-bro inherits a sentient AI that only speaks in country song lyrics, he’s forced to tour Nashville’s dive bars to reboot its moral compass—or risk triggering a global meme apocalypse.”
• The Pitch: 1–2 tight paragraphs. Protag’s goal, stakes, twist. No subplots. Save the cat *after* we care if it lives.
• The Boilerplate: Word count. Genre. *Relevant* bio (e.g., “former rodeo clown” > “I like walks and coffee”).

And for the love of Dolly Parton—personalize every single one. “Dear Agent” = trash. “Dear Ms. Lee, I loved your #MSWL call for queer Appalachian horror” = *chef’s kiss.* That tiny effort screams: “I’m not spamming 500 agents at once.” (Even if… well. Shh.)

Scrollin’ agency sites, feelin’ dizzy? Let’s decode the tea leaves. Red flags: “We charge a reading fee”—run. Legit agents *only* get paid when *you* do (15% commission). Also sketch: “We guarantee publication” or bios with zero recent sales. Green lights? Look for: recent debut sales (check Publishers Marketplace), #MSWL activity, client love on Twitter (but *not* culty vibes), and—big one—“we’re actively seeking new clients” in their submission guidelines. Some even post *exactly* what they want: “YA fantasy with Southeast Asian mythology” or “upmarket women’s fiction with a dark comedic edge.” That’s code for: *literary agents looking for new writers*—*your* kind of writer. Bookmark those pages. Screenshot ‘em. Set a reminder. This ain’t treasure huntin’—it’s *target* huntin’.

So—the call. The email. The “I’d love to offer representation.” Cue the confetti, the tequila, the panicked Googling: “do agents expect me to *reply*?” First: breathe. Second: ask questions. “What’s your vision for this book?” “How do you handle editorial feedback?” “Who on your list writes in a similar lane?” “What’s your communication style—text, email, carrier pigeon?” This ain’t a job interview—it’s a *partnership.* And yes—you* get to vet *them.* Once signed? Revision time. Not “fix the commas”—*structural*, soul-searching edits. Then submission. Then—maybe—the auction. Maybe the quiet two-house nibble. Maybe—*shudder*—the revise-and-resubmit. But here’s the truth nobody tells ya: the agent call? It ain’t the finish line. It’s the *starting gate.* And darlin’, that’s where the real ride begins.

For more on craftin’ the long game, swing by Slow Studies for the full lay of the land, dive into the Writing section for gritty how-tos, or grab our no-BS walkthrough: Outline for Writing a Novel: A Step-by-Step Guide.