u/DriftwoodMuncher

Not quite a full rewrite, but I got a lot of help from a fellow r/PubTips member focusing in on the important parts of my query. Basically, not being too afraid of proper nouns and ensuring what is unique about the story comes through as well as the general stakes and primary conflict.

Thank you all so much, I really appreciate all the help.

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Dear [Agent Name],

I am writing to seek representation for my 95,000-word Science-Fantasy novel, Beneath an Emerald Eye, s dual perspective narrative exploring a dilapidated world-spanning metropolis where technological expertise has been reduced to mysticism. It will appeal to fans of  M. L. Wang’s Blood over Bright Haven’s blending of technology & mysticism, Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire’s world spanning municipal ecosystem, and R. F. Kuang's Babel's tale of a young woman's struggle trapped in the political machinations of institutions she has little control over.

Elisav is trapped–trapped lying, trapped disguising as a man, trapped with no control over her own life. Bound by a mistake in computation since childhood, Elisav was plucked from the capital’s orphanages to train as a Bloodscion, one of the all-male technician mystics charged with maintaining the world-city’s machines. When a powerful military official arrives to help plan the mayoral emperor’s funeral, Elisav seizes the opportunity despite her guardian’s warnings. Supplying information on suspected rebels, she hopes to begin currying favor and one day change doctrine. 

This backfires, triggering a guerrilla attack. Injuries expose Elisav’s secret, forcing her to flee before she can be punished for violating blood sanctity. For when blood denotes control over machines, a woman’s ability to share blood between mother and child represents ever-present danger to those in power. 

On the run Elisav discovers Amaram, a traveling performer claiming to have once been an apprentice of the father Elisav never knew. Amaram begs her to accompany him to the capital, insisting her blood is vital to fulfill her father’s legacy–a legacy that would make Elisav the first female bloodscion. Desperate for control, despite misgiving, she accepts. However, with each passing day his story unravels, Amaram dodging questions of what killed her father at the last mayoral funeral and what lurks in the catacombs beneath the capital. 

As Elisav investigates one thing becomes clear–Amaram too intends to decide for her, believing her father’s legacy too dangerous for anyone but himself to inherit. Elisav must choose–comply and trust Amaram’s schemes will buy her real freedom or forge her own path, risking safety to uncover the secrets of her past.

[Bio stuff]

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A drawing repeated a dozen times, covering glass portholes in smeared ink. Stenciled faces, sunken and pained, gazed up from monochrome caskets. 

As her master and the Comptroller-General inspected the vandalism, Elisav locked eyes with her smudged reflection. Neophytes trailed the discussion, the gaggle unable to decide what constituted a respectable distance. Yellowed flesh workers, red archivists, pale mechanics, and a smattering of less common disciplines milled nervously. All avoided looking at her jet-black suit. Rank and nerves separated her from their mass, but that was not the sole distinguisher.

They were all boys. 

Cropped ebony hair, cut into a bowl, framed her narrow face. Thin lips sat below suspicious sunken eyes, ones mirroring the graffiti’s own. Once again Elisav was thankful for the bagginess of bloodscion ceremonial garb. Coupled with copious bindings, the two helped disguise her hips and bosom and had since puberty. 

Their landing sat in the crevice between two colossal tanks, each over a thousand feet high and full to the brim. Dividers separated various submerged fisheries. Men in heavy rubber suits pulled themselves along knotted leads, aided by bulbous golems with corkscrew motors. Their inspection of the facilities had been interrupted, casket portraits defacing each and every observation deck.

The stenciled murals had not been present the previous night, instead painted in the brief span of time after sunset before the graveyard shift. Lighting in the upper district assumed reflected moonlight would aid in illumination, but no upgrades had been made in decades to account for changing celestial circumstances. Dark storm clouds covering the moon’s emerald visage provided all the darkness the graffitiers required. When was the last time she’d seen it whole? Elisav couldn’t remember. 

I received a ton of good advice last time and I just have to say thank you to everyone who gave me feedback. Ultimately, I came away from the last round of feedback with three main points for improvement:

• Ensure you give only the minimum amount of information needed to convey the character arc.
• Ensure the main character is properly conveyed as the active participant in the query (rather than using passive voice).
• Avoid proper nouns, but ensure clarity.
• Do not bury the lede.

To get these points across I have both rearranging some items in the query and removing some characters to focus on the primary two, as well as switch out the lead thrust of the first chapter of my book to start off strong.

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Dear [Agent],

I am writing to seek representation for my 95,000-word Science-Fantasy novel, BENEATH AN EMERALD EYE. A dual perspective narrative exploring a crumbling ecumenopolis where technology has been reduced to esoterica and abandoned neighborhoods replace wilderness. It will appeal to fans of  M. L. Wang’s Blood over Bright Haven’s blending of technology & mysticism and Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire’s world spanning metropolis ecosystem.

Elisav is guilty of one crime–her sex. 

Secretly raised as a Bloodscion, Elisav disguises as a man to practice her arts. When blood denotes control, a woman’s ability to share blood, share power, between mother and child creates ever-present paranoia. Despite this she dreams of one day no longer needing to hide. When a military delegation arrives from the capital to plan the mayor’s funeral, Elisav seizes the opportunity. Curry favor by providing information on suspected rebel activity, and in return receive help changing doctrine. 

This backfires–her words unknowingly condemning a friend to death. Decades of hiding crumble as hails of rebel gunfire interrupt the execution. Elisav is caught in the crossfire while attempting to save her friend, injuries exposing her secret. 

All that remains is to flee, Elisav escaping across the world spanning metropolis before she too is executed for violating blood sanctity. 

On the run Elisav encounters Amaram, a traveling performer claiming to have once been her father’s apprentice. A father Elisav has never met. Despite misgivings she accepts his sanctuary, choosing to believe his insistence her father laid out a plan for her to become the first female bloodscion. However, with each passing day his story unravels, Amaram dodging questions of how her father died and what lurks within the capital’s catacombs.

As Elisav pries into Amaram’s affairs one thing becomes clear–he believes himself the sole inheritor of her father’s legacy. A legacy her blood and the mayor’s funeral are at the center of. Elisav must choose–trust Amaram’s and her late father’s schemes or escape and forge a path to the mayoral tomb and the secrets of her past.

[Bio]

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Faces, sunken and pained, gazed up from caskets. The drawing repeated a dozen times, covering glass portholes in smeared ink. 

As her master and the Comptroller-General inspected the vandalism, Elisav locked eyes with her smudged reflection. Cropped ebony hair, cut into a bowl, framed a narrow face. Thin lips sat above a pointed chin and below suspicious sunken eyes, ones mirroring the graffiti’s own.

Neophytes trailed the discussion, the gaggle unable to decide what constituted a respectable distance. Yellowed flesh workers, red archivists, pale mechanics, and a smattering of less common disciplines milled nervously. All avoided looking at her jet-black suit. Rank and nerves separated her from their mass, but that was not the sole distinguisher.  

They were all boys. 

Life had become harder after reaching puberty, but thankfully the bagginess of bloodscion ceremonial garb, coupled with copious bindings, helped disguise her hips and bosom. 

The landing on which they stood sat in the crevice between two colossal tanks, each over a thousand feet high and full to the brim. Dividers within separated various submerged fisheries. Men in heavy rubber suits pulled themselves along knotted leads, aided by bulbous golems with corkscrew motors. Their inspection of the facilities had been interrupted, casket portraits defacing each and every observation deck.

The stenciled murals had not been present the previous night, instead painted in the brief span of time after sunset before the graveyard shift. Lighting in the upper district had been constructed assuming reflected moonlight would aid in illumination, and in subsequent decades no upgrades had been made to account for changing celestial circumstances. Dark storm clouds covering the moon’s emerald visage provided all the darkness the graffitiers required.

The storm looked particularly bad that day.

Dear [Agent]

I am writing to seek representation for my 95,000-word Science-Fantasy novel, BENEATH AN EMERALD EYE. A dual perspective narrative exploring a crumbling ecumenopolis where technology has been reduced to mysticism and abandoned neighborhoods replace wilderness. It will appeal to readers of M. L. Wang’s Blood over Bright Haven, Adrian Tchaikovsky’s The Final Architecture Trilogy, and Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire.

Elisav was guilty of one crime–her sex. 

Blood denotes control, and amongst the order’s technician sages a woman’s ability to share blood with her child creates ever-present paranoia. Despite this, Elisav dreams of one day walking undisguised hand in hand with Tavi, her love. When the capital’s representative arrives to help plan the mayor’s funeral she seizes the opportunity. Provide information to curry favor, and in return receive help changing doctrine. 

This backfires–her words implicating a friend of rebel activity and condemning him to death. The representative’s cruel second-in-command, Enoch, forces Elisav to watch the execution until the spectacle is interrupted. Hails of rebel gunfire cut down the capital’s representative. Decades of hiding crumble as Elisav’s own injuries expose her secret.

Desperate, all that remains is to flee.

While seeking passage across abandoned districts of the world spanning metropolis, Elisav discovers Amaram, a city agent turned traveling performer. He claims to have once been her father’s apprentice, but with each passing day his story unravels. Questions of how her father died and what lurks within the mayoral tomb go unanswered even as he hides her from the capital’s mechanical sentries and lurking rebel congress. All the while Enoch maintains a dogged pursuit, dangling a captured Tavi as bait.

As the two circle each other one thing becomes clear–the men are fighting an old battle, a battle the mayor’s funeral and her blood are at the center of. It always returns to blood. Elisav must choose–trust Amaram and her deceased father’s plan, defect to Enoch in hopes of getting Tavi back, or escape and pursue answers from the very rebels she’d been taught to fear.

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“And this was not here last night?” Thin fingers brushed against concrete, coming away smeared with dusty residue. 

A tight knot of people crowded in a half-circle before a window, standing on a platform surrounded by scaffolding. The landing sat in the crevice between two towering tanks, each over a thousand feet tall and full to the brim. Inside glass dividers separated various submerged fisheries worked by men in heavy rubber suits with the aid of bulbous golems pushing themselves along with corkscrew motors. 

An image repeated several times across the glass viewing port and the walls beside it. To the left they disappeared down stairs towards habitation levels far below, and on the right climbed ramps onto the rim of the tank above. Each depicted a face, sunken and pained, gazing out from a casket. 

The stencils had not been present the night before, instead painted in the brief span of time after sunset before the graveyard shift. Lighting in the upper district had been constructed assuming moonlight reflecting off the water would aid in illumination, but in decades no upgrades had been made to account for changing celestial circumstances. Glancing up, Elisav saw the lunar surface. Dark storm clouds covering the moon’s emerald visage provided all the darkness the graffitiers required.

The storm looked particularly bad that day. Heliotypes and recordings provided only a simulacrum of how beautiful it’d looked before the great hurricane. Elisav often dreamed about seeing it green and unobscured, but the last time it’d been so she would have been at most three.

“Restricted use of the forges require approval for all pigment produced, and we have received no orders that were not deemed legitimate, you have my word Comptroller-General Azraile,” wheezed the old man.

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After advice I received last time that I had written more of a Summary/Synopsis than a pitch I basically redid my query from the ground up with an entirely different flow.

Dear [Agent]

I am writing to seek representation for my 95,000-word Dying Earth Science-Fiction novel, BENEATH AN EMERALD EYE, told in dual perspective with a non-linear timeline. It explores a blend of Science-Fiction and Fantasy where technology has been reduced by time to mysticism and stringent hierarchical tradition. It will appeal to readers of M. L. Wang’s Blood over Bright Haven, Adrian Tchaikovsky’s The Final Architecture Trilogy, and Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire.

Elisav was raised to be a Blood Scion, a technician sage tasked with keeping the machines of the crumbling world spanning city functional. However, something sets her apart from the other acolytes. She is a woman. When blood denotes control, a woman’s ability to share blood with their child creates an ever-present paranoia for the order. Despite this Elisav dreams of one day changing doctrine to practice her arts openly. 

When the Comptroller-General arrives from the capital Elisav sees an opportunity to curry favor. The information she supplies backfires, her friend accused of rebel activity. She is forced to bear witness to his brutal arrest by the Comptroller-General’s second in command, Sheriff Enoch. 

This ends with the Comptroller-General’s assassination. Injured in the attack, Elisav’s sex is exposed. Fleeing, she discovers Amaram, an agent of the city disguised as a traveling performer. He claims to have once been her father’s apprentice, a father she never knew, and that if she only follows him her dreams of being a scion openly will be fulfilled. In the moment she has little choice, for in her wake is a vengeful Enoch who has captured her lover in an attempt to lure her out. 

Being by Amaram’s side proves an even more restrictive cage than the order. With each passing day his story unravels as he refuses to reveal how her father died or why her blood is important for his plan. Elisav breaks away, seeking answers from the very rebels she was taught to fear in hopes of finding a way to rescue her lover from Enoch’s clutches.

I am [Biographic stuff]. 

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“And this was not here last night?” Thin fingers brushed against concrete, coming away smeared with dusty residue. 

A tight knot of people crowded in a half-circle before a window, standing on a platform surrounded by scaffolding. The landing sat in the crevice between two towering tanks, each over a thousand feet tall and full to the brim. Inside glass dividers separated various submerged fisheries worked by men in heavy rubber suits with the aid of bulbous golems pushing themselves along with corkscrew motors. 

An image repeated several times across the glass viewing port and the walls beside it. To the left they disappeared down stairs towards habitation levels far below, and on the right climbed ramps onto the rim of the tank above. Each depicted a face, sunken and pained, gazing out from a casket. 

The stencils had not been present the night before, instead painted in the brief span of time after sunset before the graveyard shift. Lighting in the upper district had been constructed assuming moonlight reflecting off the water would aid in illumination, but in decades no upgrades had been made to account for changing celestial circumstances. Glancing up, Elisav saw the lunar surface. Dark storm clouds covering the moon’s emerald visage provided all the darkness the graffitiers required.

The storm looked particularly bad that day. Heliotypes and recordings provided only a simulacrum of how beautiful it’d looked before the great hurricane. Elisav often dreamed about seeing it green and unobscured, but the last time it’d been so she would have been at most three.

“Restricted use of the forges require approval for all pigment produced, and we have received no orders that were not deemed legitimate, you have my word Comptroller-General Azraile,” wheezed the old man.

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I struggled a great deal with this query, as my book is dual perspective but describing both stories felt nearly impossible to do in only ~250 words. I tried to hit all the main points describes in the 'good query' of:

• Who is the character - A female in a religious order of all men who has to pretend
• What does she want - To be able to practice openly & get her lover back
• Inciting incident - Her trying to get favor triggering the assassination
• What stands in her way - Sheriff Enoch capturing her lover & the exposure of her sex
• The stakes - Losing her lover, being exposed & punished
• Leave the rest open - She breaks away to go talk to rebels and formulate a wider plan
• Keep the number of characters low (Amaram, Elisav, and Enoch)

Even then it ended up 265 instead of 250 words. I think I got bogged down because there were a lot of ideas I thought important to convey (like how this is sorta centered around a funeral for the leader of the world-city) but didn't know how to fit it without bloating word count. Because I could mention the internment but then explaining what that means and its significance bloats word count.