Editor’s note: hi, it’s me, I’m the editor. I’m adding this as a kind of introduction slash context for this new series, Tales of Thrift. The content of this series is adapted from the Memoir That Never Was, which I wrote last year. Its themes centered on identity-making and my relationship with secondhand stuff, but in writing it, I ended up synthesizing ideas that have been pivotal to my growth as a person since turning 40. Although I ultimately shelved my Memoir That Never Was indefinitely, I’ve decided that there are parts I would like to share here on the blog. It will get pretty personal/vulnerable at times, but I think the community we’ve created here is a wonderful (and safe) space, and I hope that these posts will inspire reflection and conversation. Cheers!

I considered a bunch of different titles for my book while I was writing it. The Thriftiad was a personal favourite, reluctantly put aside because I felt I might be overestimating the cleverness of my pun. On the other hand, Thrift Odyssey sounded like a low budget sci fi movie. Where am I going with this? Whether they know it or not, every thrifter-by-hobby embarks on a journey the first time they step foot in a thrift store. In that moment they are not a thrifter yet, of course; just a person walking into a store. Some journeys are micro-epics, lasting only as long as it takes the person to do a loop around the store and decide that thrifting isn’t their cup of tea. Some become generational sagas. It goes without saying that each journey is different, as unique as the hero(ine) at the center of it. Nevertheless, I find myself unable to resist looking patterns and making sweeping generalizations based on no scientific method at all. Let’s call it the stages of the hero’s thrifter’s journey. There might be no science in my method, but there is still method in my speculation. Let’s go!

The Kid In the Candy Store

In the beginning, thrifting feels like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet on an empty stomach. There is so much! And it’s all so cheap! Load up the cart! Wheeeeeee! You’re charmed by the quirkiness of random bric-a-brac. Do I need a porcelain hand with flowers painted on it? No, but it’s kitschy-cute and it’s only $4.99, YOLO! You’re amazed to find all the brands you’ve been coveting at the mall at prices the mall can’t beat even on Black Friday. Do I like the pattern on this polyester blouse? Who cares, it’s Anthropologie and it costs less than a Starbucks coffee, throw in cart! You’re suddenly discovering things you never knew you desperately wanted to collect. Pyrex? Vintage globes? Funny pictures of cats? Hmm, I think I have an empty shelf (or wall, or drawer, or table top) at home for that. There is So. Much. Stuff. And. You’re. There. For. All. Of. It.

I hope you don’t think that I’m denigrating this stage of thrifting. On the contrary, I think it’s a very important stage. If you look past the surface – past the giddy spree-buying and its sometimes-questionable results – big things are happening. Thrifting skills are being learned, applied, refined. People often say that such-and-such thrifter has “the eye” for it; that makes it sound like something you’re born with (or not) but it isn’t: it’s something you develop over time and with practice. You learn how to look at things and how to spot things that are worth looking at. You learn how to recognize quality and craftsmanship. You learn about history and tradition in how things are made and used. You make a lot of mistakes, and you learn even more from them. And all of it happens without your even noticing. You’re just having fun and filling up your closet and your house with fun things. This can go on for a while but, eventually, most thrifters come to a crossroad. The house is full. The closet is full. Thrift stores are still full, beckoning. You can stop, or keep going just as before – perhaps a storage unit can solve your problems? Or you can pick a new direction and see where that takes you.

The Treasure Hunter

Seasoned thrifters know what’s what. They know what’s good and they know what they like, and generally speaking, they like the best. Finding the best – the real treasures in the trash heap, so to speak – is a challenge and, once you’ve mastered the basics, who doesn’t love a challenge? Why get excited over Anthropologie when Ulla Johnson is on the table … or maybe under the table, or just around the corner, if you just look hard enough? And Ulla Johnson is not the end; there is always something better – more luxe, more niche, more desirable – to be found. You’re done filling your closet; it’s now time to elevate it. The same thing goes for your house. You have “the eye” and now you have a burgeoning aesthetic sensibility too. You’re no longer buying things simply because they’re cute and cheap; you want value. You’re on the hunt for holy Grails. We’ve all heard that story of the person who found a set of $10,000 Picasso plates at the thrift store. Not ten thousand dollars’ worth of plates: $10,000 per plate. The non-thrifter mind boggles. The thrifter recognizes a challenge.

This is the stage at which a lot of thrifters decide to try their hand at reselling. Think about it: they’ve already bought everything they personally need or want – minus a Holy Grail or three – but there’s a thrift-shaped hole in their lives that still needs to be filled. Thrifting is a hard habit to give up cold turkey. The thrill of a successful hunt doesn’t depend on what happens once the hunt is over. Ergo, thrifting for other people can be just as exciting as thrifting for oneself, with the added bonus of making one a little bit of profit on the side. In our side hustle-mad culture, it’s more surprising when thrifters don’t become resellers than when they do. After all, how often are we told to turn hobbies into secondary sources of income so we can power sprint towards capitalist Nirvana? I’d guess at least 72 times before lunchtime, assuming one spends even a modest amount of time on social media.

A discussion of the ethics of reselling could fill a whole chapter and since reselling has never played a major role in my life, that’s not a chapter I feel like writing. But having dabbled in it once or twice, I can tell you this: it involves a lot more work than people think. To be a successful reseller, it’s not enough to be good at thrifting. You have to be good at selling, which is an entirely different skillset. You need to know what people want to buy, and how to make them buy it from you. You need to understand pricing strategy, overhead, and profit margins. You need to know how to account for the time and skilled labour that goes into every sale, from sourcing desirable product, to cleaning, mending and photographing that product, to prepping it for shipping or delivery, and every customer support issue in between. And you need to have capital. Selling requires inventory, and inventory costs money – money you have to spend before you’ve made a single dime in sales. Make any wrong move, and your inventory will sit for a long time or, worse yet, never sell; suddenly, you’re not making money, you’re losing it. I know very successful resellers, and I know resellers who’ve barely ever made a profit, and they are all really good thrifters. Personally, I am wary of turning hobbies into jobs as a matter of general principle, but I have the privilege of a good income to say that. 

The Connoisseur

Your closet has been elevated all the way to the rafters. It is a veritable who’s who of fashion. And that burgeoning aesthetic sensibility? It has reached its final stage of maturity; no longer a chrysalis, it is now a resplendent butterfly. That butterfly has a vision, or maybe it is a vision, I don’t know, where am I going with this? Ahem. There is a vision. Neither brand nor value drives your hunt now; they are both subservient to your vision, and your vision’s in the driver seat. In a way, this stage is a mirror image of the first one; you are, once again, buying things solely for the pleasure they bring you, but that pleasure is now informed by all the things you have learned in the meantime. It is not a child’s pleasure in a shiny toy; it’s the connoisseur’s pleasure in the item that epitomizes their erudition and taste. You buy less, but you buy it for keeps.

Well, at least until the vision changes. We are forever learning, growing, and evolving; our visions evolve with us. That does mean there are other stages of the thrifter’s journey yet to come. I don’t know. If they exist, I haven’t reached them yet, nor have I met anyone else who has either. Is there a point at which you just … stop thrifting? Inconceivable! But then again, there was a time I couldn’t have imagined leaving a piece of Anthropologie clothing behind at the thrift store – I am willing to contemplate the possibility of things beyond the reach of my current imagination. Discovering things you didn’t know existed is part of the fun of thrifting. It’s that element of surprise – and wonder – that keeps even grizzled thrift veterans like me going back. We’ve seen it all … but there is always more.

This week was a bit of a blur. I think I’ve mentioned before that I work part-time. This week, I had to tweak my schedule, resulting in a different workday/off-day sequence; that always ends up throwing me off my pace because I am nothing if not a creature of ironclad routine. I stumbled through the week in a bit of a daze and almost forgot to write this post until I realized that today was, in fact, Friday.

[Sidebar, but I think one of the main reasons why I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until my 40s is because it’s actually AuDHD, and the autism component ‘masked’ a lot of the more obvious/common ADHD symptoms. I am fanatical about routine, order, and to-do lists – which I have to follow to the letter. An uncompleted to-do list makes me unwell. Meanwhile, executive function overwhelm was one of my most debilitating ADHD symptoms, pre-medication, so you can imagine how fun it was to be inside my brain, trying to juggle life, family, career in perfectionist mode with my shoelaces permanently tied together, so to speak.]

Let me see, what do I remember about this week?

My daughter got her ears pierced, which was very exciting for her. We went to a tattoo parlour for that, and I almost ended up getting my nose pierced at the same time. My SIL got hers done, and I think she looks awesome, but I decided it just wasn’t me. My current aesthetic vibe is in a different zip code, if that makes sense. I’m not ruling it out forever … although, that being said, maybe I’m too chicken for it because my SIL did admit that it hurt more than she’d expected.

I went to the office on Wednesday, which is something that happens infrequently. [I am 100% WFH, which I love.] I got to catch up with my work bestie / boss and it was great. [Seriously, guys, I have a unicorn job.] We ended up going to Starbucks for an afternoon pick-me-up, and I tried a caffeine-free iced Americano concoction that ended up being too bougie for my palate. I think I’ll stick to my McDonalds iced coffee, which is basically ice, milk (?) and creamer (which I add at home, instead of syrup) with a little whiff of some undoubtedly pedestrian coffee. Anyway, this Starbucks excursion got me thinking about my coffee journey and I realized that since switching from Diet Coke to coffee a few months ago, my chocolate consumption has gone down significantly. I wouldn’t say that I’ve lost my sweet tooth entirely, but it’s definitely become less … prominent? Has that happened to anyone else? Way back, I think I read somewhere – or maybe I just hallucinated this – that our taste buds start to enjoy more bitter foods as we get older. So maybe we are talking about correlation here (not causation). Or just random coincidence. [I can already hear Mike and Aubrey from Maintenance Phase yelling at me for my (non)scientific methods.]

It’s been all quiet on the query front this week. Which was good and bad. The bad part is obvious, but good? Here’s the thing: I had a big crisis of confidence over the weekend. This is not unusual. I’m already up in the double-digits for such crises this month, and it’s not even over yet. But getting an outside rejection this week would have pushed me closer to the edge of no return, aka ‘giving up for good’ territory. I’m slowly building my confidence back up again – hopefully just in time to have it crushed again.

The crisis this time was over both the merits and the marketability of A Party to Murder. We’re talking full-on “who is ever going to want to read this garbage?”. Lest you think I’m just being dramatic, there are a couple of beta readers who’ve ghosted me on my manuscript, which I’m taking as a sign that the book was a DNF for them. For whatever reason, this week my brain decided to really focus on that and make some ‘fun’ extrapolations. The reality is that my book isn’t for everyone, and I’m (usually) ok with that. I wrote it in the first place for my own amusement, and my taste is pretty specific. People who share that taste will love the book (I think), but that doesn’t mean it has universal appeal. Which is fine … until I start to spiral into wondering if my book will ever find that audience who might appreciate it.

Anyway, this is all just by way of context for what I actually wanted to share, which was this: instead of going to town with the negative spiral (which has been my wont), I did something different this week. I put aside A Party to Murder and its interconnected non-sequels – the work into which I’ve poured ALL of my energy for the last 6 months – and started working on something new, unrelated, and entirely different.

And let me tell you: it’s bloody hard. In writerly circles, they say it’s hard to kill your darlings. It’s also hard to simply move on from them, creatively speaking. That being said, this week’s experience has been very useful for me. It was a reminder that, as much as I love A Party to Murder, it doesn’t define me as a writer. I have other stories to tell – in different voices, genres, etc. I am not giving up on my first ‘baby’ (and if I ever do, it will be devastating AF) but I also don’t need to bet my entire journey as a writer on it.

Funny (sort of) sidebar on that (and the last one, I promise): up to now, in querying I’ve been consistently referring to A Party to Murder as my “first” book. This week, it dawned on me that I’ve been gaslighting myself – not to mention, probably hurting my chances with agents, by making it sound like I’ve got next to no writing experience. The truth is that, while I think of A Party to Murder as my first real, proper book – something I consider worthy of public consumption – it’s actually my FOURTH novel-length work. Now, were the first 3 any good? No, they were absolutely dogsh*t. But the point is: I’m not a novice writer.

“But the funny part, Adina? What’s the funny part??”

Well, you know that new book I started working on this week? One of the plot elements comes straight from a (bad) novella I wrote 8-9 years ago. It might not end up going anywhere this time either … but you never know.

Have a great weekend!

I promised you a post about querying and, whether you want it or not, you’re about to get it. If you want to follow along with my traditional publishing journey, you’ll want to read this; it will provide useful context for those of you who are not familiar with the process of trying to become a traditionally published author, as well as give you a glimpse into where I currently am in that process. Let’s dive in!

[Mandatory disclaimer: I am not a publishing industry expert, so what I share here is only what I’ve gleaned from the internet, as an outsider trying to navigate said industry. If you’re an aspiring writer yourself, don’t take anything I say as gospel, ok? There are lots of good resources out there to consult, but please be careful — there are also many terrible ones. Protect yourself and don’t get burned/taken for a ride by unscrupulous bad actors.]

OK, so you’ve written a book. Congrats! Now what?

This was me, back in April. I’d written the book, edited it, sought out and received beta reader feedback, edited some more, and felt ready to take the first step towards getting my book out into the world. Doing that via trad publishing (as opposed to self-publishing) has 3 main steps: 1) get a literary agent to represent your book, 2) sell your book to a publisher, and 3) have your book published.

There are five major publishing houses (conveniently called The Big 5), each with many imprints. Think of an imprint as a sub-brand. Imprints often specialize in specific genres, like fantasy, mystery, etc. Outside of the Big 5, there are a number of mid-size and indie publishers as well. They all publish “traditionally”, which is to say that they buy books from authors, polish them up, and sell them to the public. In this process, the publisher takes on all of the financial burden and risk; the author, once they get a contract, doesn’t have to pay for anything — not editing, not cover design, not marketing, nada. In exchange, they get (a) an advance, and (b) a (small) percentage of the sales proceeds from their books. That’s the main difference between trad publishing and self-publishing; in the latter case, the author pays for everything required to get the book ready for publication, but retains a greater portion of the sales proceeds. [Not all, because platforms that sell self-published books will always keep a percentage.]

The Big 5 publishers do not accept book submissions directly from authors. To have a chance of being published by a Big 5, you need a literary agent. The agent’s job is to sell your book to the publisher, and help you negotiate your contracts. Agents will also often help edit/polish up your book before it’s submitted to publishers. They take a cut of your earnings from the publisher, including any advance, but they only get paid if you end up selling your book. Getting agent representation does not automatically guarantee that you’ll sell your book; but you (generally) can’t sell your book without representation. Makes sense? Now, some smaller publishing companies do accept direct author submissions. Submitting to a publisher is not entirely dissimilar to submitting to an agent. Both require a query.

A query is basically a resume and cover letter for your book. Not for you as an author — that was a distinction I was fascinated to learn about. An agent is looking for a product to sell to publishers, not for a client (author). Over time, a relationship may develop where the agent will represent an author across many books, perhaps for their entire career, but this isn’t a given. [Authors can have several agents, even at the same time, for different books.] But, in the first instance, the agent is not “signing up an author” per se; they are signing up a product. This is important to understand. Agents offer to represent books they think they can sell, not authors whose talent they appreciate. As a writer, this is both discouraging (quality and marketability are two different things, and the publishing industry cares more about the latter, because it’s a business and capitalism sucks) and liberating (an agent rejecting your book isn’t rejecting you as an author).

Ok, back to the query. It’s a one-page letter whose purpose is to pitch your book to the agent and to convince them to agree to take it on. There’s a WHOLE science/art to query letters, which I won’t bore you with here. They’re surprisingly difficult to write (effective ones, anyway) and have to do a LOT of heavy lifting — basically, convincing an agent that your book is worth even looking at. In some cases, agents will only accept the query letter, and nothing else. Some agents will also ask for a short writing sample — anywhere from the first 10 pages to the first 2-3 chapters of your book. If the agent is hooked/intrigued by your query letter and/or the writing sample, they will ask for either a partial or full manuscript for review. If they like the manuscript, you’ll get an offer of agent representation.

And that’s step #1 in the trad publishing process.

This step can take months and sometimes years. Some authors are never able to get agent representation; some only get it on the 2nd or 3rd book they query — or the 5th or the 10th. Yes, some authors write half a dozen or more books before they write the one that ends up getting picked up by an agent. (And, remember, that’s only step 1.) It’s a hard slog and it can be intensely demoralizing. I’ve only been querying for about 7 weeks, and I can tell you: it’s not fun, not even a little bit. And it’s a TON of work. Thanks to platforms like QueryTracker, it’s relatively easy these days to find lists of agents who accept unsolicited queries, and to send them yours. But to have a decent shot at finding representation, you have to research agents and find the ones who specialize in your type of book. Remember, their job is to sell your book, which means being knowledgeable and enthusiastic about that genre/type of book; every agent will have his or her own niche, based on their personal interests as well as their connections within the publishing industry. Agents publish their manuscript “wishlists” (aka the types of books they’re looking to represent), and it takes time to trawl through those. Then you also have to tailor your query to each agent’s interests. Well, you get the idea … it takes time and effort.

Seven weeks in, I’ve sent 50 queries. It might sound like a lot, but it’s not. Querying is a numbers game as much as anything. You only need one person to say “yes” but it’s like finding a needle in a haystack; to increase your chances, you have to ask a lot of people. I’ve heard of people sending hundreds of queries. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. Based on my specific genre, there just aren’t that many agents who would be a good fit. My goal is to try to get as close to 100 as I can before the end of the year. If nothing comes out of that, I’ll start considering other options. Out of those 50 queries, I’ve received 8 rejections — all of them form rejections. I also received two full submission requests and one partial submission request.

A submission request is a major win at this stage of the game. It means the agent is intrigued enough to want to devote time to reading your entire manuscript (or a portion of it). It’s not a guarantee that they will love it, of course. But it’s a necessary preliminary step. From the stats I’ve seen, most agents have a submission request rate of less than 10%. That is to say, for every 10 queries they receive, they will ask to see 1 manuscript — at most. I think that gives you a good sense of how difficult it is to “break into” trad publishing.

As I mentioned last week, my first full submission request eventually resulted in a rejection, as did the partial. I’m now waiting to hear back on the second full submission request, along with the rest of my queries. Many agents never send a written rejection for queries, so sometimes you’re waiting for … nothing. Like I said, it gets pretty demoralizing. Rejection isn’t fun for most people, but it’s especially not fun for people with ADHD, who experience something called rejection sensitive dysphoria.

[What ADHD giveth to a writer — aka, the hyperfixation that makes it possible to write 80,000 in a month — ADHD taketh away — aka, the complete emotional meltdown triggered by RSD that makes it feel impossible to follow through getting a book into the world.]

To keep myself occupied, I’ve been writing. In fact, I finished the first drafts of my next 2 books. Before you think “wow, that’s impressive”, please note that both of these are very much WIPs and still require months of work. They also represent a gamble on my part; while each book is a standalone, all 3 are part of the same “universe” and are interconnected via several (secondary) characters. The gamble is the fact that, if I can’t get my first book picked up, it will be bad news for the other two. One, because they’re in the same genre, style, and vibe; if the first book isn’t deemed marketable enough, my chances of successfully pitching the others will be slim. Two, because I will have to rewrite chunks of the subsequent books to eliminate certain references to the first book and add bits of extra backstory for a couple of recurring characters. Time will tell. Now, I could be spending my time writing different books to increase my chances of selling those down the line, but I don’t want to do that. Yet. At the end of the day, I started writing because I wanted to amuse and entertain myself, and that means writing Golden Era-style romance mystery books … for now, anyway. One or two other ideas may or may not be percolating, but I’m deliberately keeping them on the backburner for now.

Well, that’s the query process in a nutshell.

Next week’s post is going to be a little surprise, but in my next writing update, I’ll talk a little bit more about my actual book — and, of course, bring you up to speed on my publishing journey 🙂