[QCrit] Adult Literary Fiction - HOW MANY CALORIES IN A FINGERNAIL (85K/First attempt)

Update: If anyone's curious to see how this story actually reads, I've posted the first chapter for feedback here! The names have changed (Clara was Anna, Sophie was Rachel - I'm indecisive like that!) but the story's heart is the same.

Hey everyone! 👋 My brain is currently 59% self-hatred from attempting this first query draft and 40% query-writing knowledge I've inhaled over the last month. The last 1% is just a faint scream while I write this.

As someone who chronically over-explains and overshares, condensing my story into a query feels like running an Ironman. While my manuscript isn't completely finished, I’m starting to draft the query early because this is a character-driven story that I suspect will need several query iterations to get right. 😮‍💨

My main priorities are:

  1. Capturing Clara's voice and dark humor,
  2. Showing how this story differs from typical ED narratives (it focuses on someone who exists in that "invisible middle space"),
  3. Balancing the multiple threads (grief, ED, isolation) without making the query feel overcrowded.
  4. Avoiding clichés and usual tropes, I am worried that it now sounds like the typical healing narrative.

I’m particularly interested in feedback on:

  1. Whether Clara's voice comes through clearly,
  2. If the balance between plot and character development works,
  3. Whether the stakes feel clear enough for a character-driven story.

Another weak area are my comps. They’re not there yet, but I'm reading as much as I can between writing/editing breaks! So far, I have a couple in mind, like HAPPY FOR YOU by Claire Stanford, VERA WONG'S UNSOLICITED ADVICE FOR MURDERERS by Jesse Q. Sutanto, and Jennette McCurdy's I'M GLAD MY MOM DIED (perhaps MILK FED by Melissa Broder as well...)

Thanks, PubTips, for any advice you can share!

QUERY DRAFT:

Dear agent,

Clara has perfected the art of disappearing in plain sight. She buys self-improvement books for a future self who's definitely coming (any day now), declines invitations with excuses so relatable no one notices she never says yes, and only speaks to Sophie when she's absolutely sure no one can hear her – because Sophie’s been dead for a decade.

By day, Clara counts calories in black coffee and makes her coworkers laugh with spot-on impressions of their CEO. By night, she orders enough takeout from different apps that no delivery driver sees her twice, then hides the evidence at the bottom of her trash bin like murder weapons. Her eating disorder doesn't fit the stereotype – not thin enough to look “ill”, not big enough to seem “unhealthy”, just invisible enough to keep everyone from asking questions.

When Clara discovers a tiny, rage-filled dog in her building's trash, she sees herself in those hungry, mistrustful eyes. As she struggles with this furious little dog who treats kindness like a trap, Clara finds herself doing the impossible: living a life that isn't measured in calories consumed, calls dodged, and hours until she can crawl back into bed. Not because she wants to, not because she's finally ready to "get better," but because this dog needs her to.

But every morning walk, every awkward conversation with other dog owners, every small moment of actual living chips away at the walls Clara built after Sophie died. And as she gets her first real taste of the life she's denied herself for a decade, Clara realizes she can’t have both - the safety of her self-imposed exile and the chance to actually live again. Because facing why Sophie’s voice is all she has left means confronting the truth she buried along with her best friend all those years ago.

Complete at 85,000 words, HOW MANY CALORIES IN A FINGERNAIL is a literary fiction novel that will appeal to readers who loved the darkly humorous exploration of grief in X and Y (in the works!). While this novel walks through the dark corners of grief and disordered eating, it stumbles (sometimes literally, thanks to one very determined dog) into something unexpected: the possibility that recovery isn’t about fixing yourself to fit the world, but finding the courage to create your own place in it.

First 300 words:

The waiter sets down our food at Giuseppe's, our office's go-to place where the lights are always dimmed so low you'd think they're trying to hide something. Probably the fact that their "imported Italian olive oil" bears a suspicious resemblance to the generic stuff from the supermarket next door. Sarah's margherita pizza arrives in a cloud of steam, while Jen's fettuccine swims happily in a rich cream sauce. And then there's my dinner, The Artisanal Garden Salad, looking like the contents of someone’s compost pile.

I push a piece of lettuce around my plate, dodging the croutons I told the waiter to leave off. "How's the pizza?" I ask, watching Sarah's first bite while trying very hard not to think about melted cheese and perfect crust and everything else I'm not supposed to want. Instead, I do what I always do – count. Fifteen calories per crouton (why are they even here?), and that dressing... It's definitely creamy, probably hiding at least three hundred calories in there. Nice try, you delicious little liar. The wine in my glass catches the warm light – another two hundred calories I shouldn't have ordered, but saying no when Jen from HR suggests drinks? Please. She's got that effortlessly cool thing going on, with her vintage band tees and intricate sleeve tattoos, and I'd really like her to like me.

Besides, after spending two hours trying to explain to a client that no, their car insurance doesn't cover damage from their teenager "accidentally" reverse-parking into their ex's front door, I think I've earned it.

I'd really love to tell you about my thrilling career in insurance, but honestly, if I think about it for one more second, I might spontaneously combust. Though knowing our HR department, they'd probably just make everyone attend a mandatory webinar on proper combustion protocol. With PowerPoint animations.