The Emperor Has No Clothes, or Why Query Letters Are Not Art.

I keep imagining a different life for myself.  A week or so back I went to an art auction for the very first time.  I wasn't bidding myself, but, boy, did I want to.  I love how laid back and unpretentious Calgary is.  All the big time bidders who spent thousands and thousands of dollars on art were there in their Kirkland jeans.  I can't speak for the people who had proxies handling their bids over the phone--I imagine they were at home lounging on a divan; sipping Veuve Clicquot.  (Although, if they were Calgarians, probably not. ) While I sat there, immersed in the action, I imagined that working for an art auction house would be a brilliant job.  First off, it's Calgary, so it isn't convinced of its self-importance.  Secondly, it was a blast.  I was astonished.  I took one art history class in university (History of Post Modern Art) and it was a terrible mistake.  The paramount lesson I learned was that if it is labeled "post-modern", I won't like it.  It was a long semester full of (alleged) dreams of buttered toast and urinals as 'art'.  I wish I had a running ticker count of how many times I rolled my eyes before breaking out my notebook to work on a story.  I learned my fairytales well as a child.  The post-modern emperor has no clothes.  Stop being tedious, artists.

I really don't know what would be involved in working for an auction house, or an art gallery.  My only exposure comes from reading "44 Scotland Street", by Alexander McCall Smith, and one night of bidding in a small warehouse full of paintings. What struck me the most was the variety of preference. Paintings inspire an almost knee jerk response.  We like what we like, and sometimes it is hard to articulate why.  It turns out that query letters inspire a similar kind of response from literary agents.  They had better find your writing 'engaging' in the first couple of sentences or all the time you put into crafting that submission is down the tubes in under a minute flat.  

The fun thing about the auction was, that you really hoped that no one else found the painting you liked, 'engaging'.  You didn't want them driving up the price.  There would be nothing worse than being a trendsetter or a tastemaker at an auction.  (Maybe that is why some people bid through proxies... I'm catching on.)  You want everyone else in the room to find your favourite work forgettable and unremarkable.  Too bad there aren't more* auctions for novels or comic book miniseries on submission-- that would be ideal.

(*Thank you Authoress of Miss Snark's First Victim blog for your annual Baker's Dozen Auction.)