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Take a close look at these women, Audrey Heath (standing) and Alice May Spinks. For several years, while the men have been away fighting in the trenches, in France, these two have been running the office in London.

Both women started work as secretaries. The war gave them a precious opportunity to do more, but with the war’s end their position became precarious: the economy was unstable, and the men came back.

They could have reverted to being secretaries, if the company generated sufficient turnover to justify their salaries. Or they could have found different jobs elsewhere. Or they could have given up work altogether.

Instead, they did something bold. In a male-dominated industry, Audrey and Alice set up on their own, as literary agents helping authors to navigate the complex world of publishing.

In those early days, every client would have been precious, every contract a lifeline. Imagine the late nights poring over manuscripts, the anxious wait for responses from publishers, the thrill of securing a deal for a new author.

For Audrey and Alice, each success would have been hard-won, a testament to their determination and skill.

Their story reminds us that literary agents are not faceless gatekeepers, but individuals who have often taken significant risks to pursue their passion for literature. Many agents start their careers driven by a love of books and a desire to champion new voices.

Their agency, A.M. Heath, grew and flourished over the decades, becoming one of the most respected in London. Its clients have included George Orwell, Hilary Mantel and Maggie O’Farrell.

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But hang on.

That’s not really a picture of Audrey Heath and Alice May Spinks. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t find one. So I looked online for “women working in office, London, 1919” (or something like that).

This picture, splattered with the logo of the copyright holder (the photo agency Alamy) is the best I could find.

Why show the wrong people? Because I wanted to ask you to look carefully at a picture of agents and see them as – well, people like us, struggling to do good stuff in the world.

It can be hard to think of agents that way, especially when you are preparing to send out a book proposal.

At times like that, an agent can easily come to seem a fearful monster, perhaps even The Enemy.

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I’ve had five literary agents. I’m not boasting, I’m actually embarrassed – it makes me feel like I’ve done something (yet another thing!) wrong.

Today, I’m happy to have an agent who is a friend first, agent second. That makes a big difference.

To a significant degree, I write my book proposals for him, Jaime. I want him to be amused / entertained / informed / moved or whatever.

As well as writing for Jaime, I’m also writing for some other ideal reader - not least a potential publisher. Jaime knows that. I know that Jaime knows that, and Jaime knows that I know that he knows that – if you see what I mean.

The point I want to drive home is that when you write a book proposal you’re writing something to persuade an agent that the agent will be able to persuade a publisher that the publisher will be able to persuade bookshops that the bookshops will be able to persuade readers to buy your book.

Simple as that.

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Having said that.

It’s not as if the process stops being nerve-wracking. Currently, Jaime has a book proposal from me, which he’s already sent out.

Two days ago I exchanged text messages with him. He’d been encouraging me to keep sending stuff that might help the book’s cause – things he could use to nudge the publishers gently.

Here’s part of the text exchange:

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Thanks for reading.

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Write A Book Proposal LAST DAY

I’ve been running free 45-minute Zooms throughout July. Thursday lunchtimes and early evening.
They’re open to all, thanks to the support of my patrons.

The Zoom links are here:
​Thursday 12.30pm UK​
​Thursday 6pm UK​

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Patrons, I apologise for this hideous blunder yesterday:

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