u/WorldlinessOk642

Hi all,

Thank you so much for your help last week. I took your advice and cut the manuscript from 128K to 115K words. I had thought there wasn't anything left to cut (I had already cut from 154K) but it wasn't too hard; it turns out I really love filter verbs, ha.

I also got rid of the prologue and am now starting the story at the wedding in 1308 rather than the invasion in 1326.

Finally, I revised the query pretty heavily.

Looking forward to your feedback -- thank you all again for your sage advice.

Dear [Agent Name],

[Personalization]

I’m thrilled to submit to you my standalone upmarket historical novel, SHE-WOLF, complete at 115,000 words.

Married at twelve to Edward II, Isabel of France arrives in England certain that if she is good, God and her husband will keep her safe. But Edward has little interest in his new bride, and would rather dig a ditch or thatch a roof than rule. Worse, his heart belongs to his dazzling favorite, Piers Gaveston, whose rapid rise at court has enraged England’s barons. Isabel quickly learns that being yoked to a weak king is not only humiliating — it is dangerous.

When Gaveston is murdered by the barons, Isabel sees her chance to stabilize the realm and win Edward’s affection. She learns to outmaneuver Edward’s opponents, bears England an heir, and forms an alliance with Roger Mortimer, the capable, ambitious Marcher lord who is everything her capricious husband is not.

But when Edward elevates a greedy new favorite, Hugh Despenser, war quickly breaks out. Isabel begs Edward to exile him, even while knowing it will make Despenser her eternal enemy. She is not wrong. When Despenser returns, he robs her of her freedom, her income, and finally, her faith.

Isabel faces an impossible choice: be the good wife she was raised to be and stay with a husband who let her be stripped of everything — or raise an army with Roger Mortimer and depose her husband, thereby losing her son’s trust forever.

SHE-WOLF combines the intimate medieval POV of Elizabeth DeLozier’s ELEANORE OF AVIGNON and the mounting dread of Maggie O’Farrell’s THE MARRIAGE PORTRAIT with the ruthless court politics of Annie Garthwaite’s CECILY. It will appeal to fans of Philippa Gregory and Elizabeth Chadwick.

[Short bio about me here]

Thank you for your time and consideration.

First 300 words:

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER, FRANCE, JANUARY 1308

The first time Isabel saw her bridegroom, she was reminded of one of her father’s hunting dogs.

From far away, he had looked handsome: tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy waves to his collarbone, richly dressed in a dark-blue surcoat and a cloak that shimmered with tiny jewels.

Up close, he had a long, mournful face with large, downturned eyes. She knew a little about him — that his name was Edward, of course, and that he was the king of England — but beyond that, he was a stranger. A stranger who, in a few moments, would be her husband.

The priest began reciting the vows in Latin. The nave blurred around her. She repeated the words carefully, voice trembling, the ring on her finger cold as Edward slid it into place. When he kissed her, his cropped beard bristling against her cheeks, she felt numb, like someone else had briefly inhabited her body. The congregation erupted in applause.

Edward proffered an arm. As they walked down the aisle, Isabel realized that it was done. She had been promised to King Edward since childhood, and now, at last, she was his.

At the threshold, he offered a wide smile. She drew back, daunted by his happiness when she felt none of her own. Before the wedding, she had worried that she would not measure up. That her husband would find her wanting, and send her back, and she would be humiliated before all Christendom. That even her own father would turn her away.

Now she worried that her husband would like her, and she would have to stay in England forever. She would never come home, and Paris would be lost to her.

She pressed her free hand to her temple. Her crown was far too small, but her father had given it to her that morning as a wedding gift. She would have to endure the discomfort. Just as she would have to endure everything else.

Dear [Agent Name],

[Personalization]

Married at twelve to Edward II, Isabel of France arrives in England certain that if she is good, God and her husband will keep her safe. But Edward has little interest in his new bride, and would rather thatch a roof or dig a ditch than rule. Worse, his heart belongs to his dazzling favorite, Piers Gaveston, whose rapid rise at court has enraged England’s barons. Isabel quickly learns that being yoked to a weak king is not only humiliating — it is dangerous.

When Gaveston is murdered by the barons, Isabel sees her chance to stabilize the realm and win Edward’s affection. She learns to outmaneuver Edward’s opponents, bears the kingdom a much-needed heir, and forms an alliance with Roger Mortimer, the capable, ambitious Marcher lord who is everything her mercurial husband is not.

For a time, it almost works. But Edward is broken in ways she cannot fix, and when he elevates a ruthless new favorite, Isabel is robbed of her income, her freedom, and her household. After a lifetime of devotion, she even stops praying.

Now, Isabel is faced with an impossible choice: remain a prisoner in all but name and wait for her son to assume the throne, or join Roger, the man she has loved for years but always denied herself, and take England by force.

SHE-WOLF, complete at 128,000 words, combines the intimate medieval POV of Karen Brooks’s THE GOOD WIFE OF BATH with the mounting dread of Maggie O’Farrell’s THE MARRIAGE PORTRAIT. It will appeal to fans of Philippa Gregory and Elizabeth Chadwick.

[Short bio about me here]

Thank you for your time and consideration.

First 300 words:

THE NORTH SEA, SEPTEMBER 24, 1326 

“Lady mother — do you promise not to hurt him?”

Isabel looked into her son’s pleading, dark-blue eyes.

“No harm will come to him,” she said sweetly. “I promise.”

“And will father still be king?”

She drew a sharp breath. She could not lie about this. Edward could no longer rule.

“No, my love. Soon, you will be King of England. As you were born to be.”

“But father is not dead,” he said, frowning.

She clicked her tongue. “Why don’t you put on your armor? We will make land soon.”

His mouth opened and closed as if he were about to protest, but he turned and left. She watched him walk away, observing how his gait was so like his father’s.

Edward. For eighteen years, she had loved him. Yearned for him. His calloused hands, his mischievous smile, his long, lithe body that she had once tended to with an almost worshipful devotion.

But Despenser had destroyed all of that. That beady-eyed servant of Satan was Edward’s true wife now. Worse, he was a second king, ruling England while Edward frittered away his time, digging ditches and thatching roofs and shoeing horses.

As much as she loathed Despenser, it was Edward who had allowed this to happen.

Edward, though he was chosen by God to rule over England, had let another man act as king. That was the problem. Edward was many things — handsome, strong, tender with his children — but he was weak. And she could no longer be yoked to a weak man; it was too dangerous. Edward had allowed things to be done to her that were so awful, so violating, she could not even think of them.

She clutched her chest and reminded herself that those days would soon be over. Once they landed in England, she would watch Despenser hang. She would watch him claw at his mean, scrawny little neck. And she would enjoy it.