Finding My People (and My Sanity) in Publishing

On friendship, competition, and the joy of rooting for other agents in a business that tries to make us rivals.

Note: I’m in a cast with a broken wrist. I have edited to the best of my abilities but if a typo slips through, well, I tried.

On with it—

When I started in agenting, I didn’t know a single soul. Not one. Np publishing friend, not even a mutual on X who might’ve waved from across the timeline. Just me, a laptop, and an inbox full of nerves. I got Bob Diforio, my mentor, who is amazing, and he was, for a hot minute, my only contact.

That first bit of time felt brutal. Everyone I saw online seemed to already have “their people.” Established agents liked each others LinkedIn posts and shared client wins in what felt like a secret language I didn’t speak yet. I admired them, but from far away.

A couple of senior agents were kind enough to chat once or twice, and they were perfectly nice to me. Kind in that polished, professional way. But there was no real connection there. They didn’t owe me that, of course, but it made me realize how isolating this job can be when you’re brand-new.

And then there’s the weirdly parasocial part of publishing. Or maybe it’s just social media in general. You follow other agents on X, watch them post about deals, conferences, workshops, and client milestones, and you start to feel like you know them. You start to think, oh, we’d totally be friends, even though you’ve never once exchanged a DM. It’s like standing in a crowded room where everyone’s talking but you can’t quite join in. I had some “agent crushes” as I lovingly called them in the beginning. I’ll name drop- I think Vicky Webber is so cool. She’s gonna see this, too. Hi, Vicky! And there are others too. Agents being badass on X that made me just sigh with “Someday I’ll be cool like them.”

I tried reaching out to a few agents at my agency just to connect. Everyone was kind, but only one person really connected. Her name’s also Rachel, and we clicked instantly. We had a phone call that went on for hours, talking about clients and submissions and all the random chaos that comes with this job. We’ve been each other’s sounding boards ever since. (People still email her when they mean to email me, and honestly, at this point it’s a shared personality trait. Sorry, Rach.)

But still, I wanted people. Plural. The kind of people who just get it without you having to explain. People who’d understand why you’re pacing your kitchen at 11 p.m. refreshing your inbox, or why a “lovely but not for me” from an editor can ruin your whole morning.

One day, my now-friend Ashley posted on X about a “baby agents” group chat she was part of. I replied without thinking. She was kind enough to invite me in, and for me, that one comment changed everything.

Suddenly, I wasn’t alone anymore.

For me, having agent friends to chat with is a mix of chaos and comfort. We vent about rejections, celebrate each others wins, and share thoughts that make no sense outside of publishing context. It’s where we drop our random idead, cheer on client announcements, and sometimes just post “screaming” when someone finally sells a project. It’s where I drop my “I HAD THIS 2 AM THOUGHT ABOUT SUBMISSIONS WILL THIS WORK OR AM I INSANE???” type of comments.

That little group has made me cry in relief with just the word, “same.” They’ve taught me tricks, helped me navigate and talked me down from more than one spiral. More importantly, they’ve been a backbone when the industry felt impossible.

When my first deal came through, I was honestly scared to share it. I didn’t want to seem cocky or like I was bragging. And when the second deal followed shockingly fast, that fear doubled. I remember thinking, what if they like me less because I’m having success? (Admittedly, there might be some personal trauma related to unhealthy friendships showing there.) But the opposite happened. They treated my wins like their own. They screamed with me in the chat, traded notes about audio rights and sales strategies, and made me feel like there was room for all of us to succeed together.

At a recent pitch event, I took a pitch that clearly wasn’t for me. It was wonderful—but wrong for my list. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling it was perfect for someone else. In my notes, I literally wrote “No, but Renee??” and messaged her right away. I think most of you know this- we talked about it openly on both of our pages. That’s the kind of friendship I want in this business. The kind where you root for your peers like they’re your teammates, not your competition.

Outside the group chat, I’ve had quiet one-on-one conversations with a few of them about editors, submission timelines, and the clients we’re excited to see each other sign (I’m lookin’ at you, T). We’ve traded MSWL updates, brainstormed tricky pitches, and celebrated every small win like it mattered (spoiler; it does matter).

Because here’s the truth no one really gets until you’re in it: this job is hard. Like, truly hard.

We work for 15%, and many of us don’t even see that full amount because part goes to our mentors or our agency split. The market right now is brutally tight. Editors are cautious, lists are shrinking, and a “close but not quite” feels like a win some weeks. We get ghosted constantly. We pour months into editing manuscripts that may never sell. We offer thoughtful feedback to authors who say they want honesty, only to have some lash out when it’s not what they hoped to hear.

It takes so much heart to keep showing up. And that’s exactly why having a support system is everything.

Having friends reminds us that we’re all out here fighting the same fight. That every no brings us closer to the right yes. That what we do matters, even when the industry makes it hard to believe it.

Creating friends in the industry has been a sanity saver. They’re the people I text when a deal closes, when a client signs, when an editor ghosts me, and when I’m sitting in bed convinced I’m terrible at this job. They remind me that I’m not.

And maybe that’s the best part of building a career in this wild industry. The work matters. The books matter. But is it cheesy to say that the people you meet along the way matter the most?

I might’ve started this journey completely alone, but now I’ve got a little family in my phone, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

I think this can be applied to all facets of the industry. Writers find community in each other, agents do, editors do. It becomes so important to our creative souls to have other creative souls who meet us where we are.

Cheers to the group chats that hold us up when the inboxes are empty, the peers who become friends, and the quiet reminder that even in the loneliest corners of publishing, we can still find each other. 💛