Why Being a Literary Agent Made Me a Better Writer

People ask me all the time if being a literary agent helps me as a writer. And the answer is… yes.

And also no.

And also it’s complicated.

When I started agenting, I thought it would give me superpowers. I figured, If I spend my days editing and analyzing manuscripts, surely that’ll make me unstoppable when I sit down to write my own.

And to some extent, that’s true.

Being a literary agent has made me better at my craft.

I read so many manuscripts now that I can spot craft issues almost instinctively. I know why something works and why it doesn’t. I’ve seen enough submissions to recognize pacing problems, exposition dumps, and arcs that fizzle out instead of soaring.

That level of immersion in story after story makes you sharper. It’s like living in a constant writing masterclass.

But—and this is a big but—knowing something isn’t the same as being able to execute it. Because in writing, awareness doesn’t necessarily make the work easier. It often makes it harder.

When I’m editing my own drafts, the voice in my head sounds like an entire critique group.

“That’s too much backstory.”

“That character motivation isn’t clear.”

“This chapter has the energy of a wet sock.”

Being a literary agent means I can diagnose problems quickly—but it also means I can’t turn off the internal editor. Sometimes I miss the blissful ignorance of my early days, when I just wrote without dissecting every paragraph in real time.

That’s the tradeoff: better skills, less peace.

Identifying issues doesn't mean I always know how to fix them.

There’s also a huge difference between identifying an issue and fixing it. Many brilliant agents aren’t writers. They can look at a manuscript and say, “This part drags,” or “This voice isn’t connecting,” but that doesn’t mean they want—or know how—to rewrite it.

That’s because being a good editor and being a good writer are two separate muscles.

And working as an agent has made me painfully aware of just how separate they are.

I can tell an author why something isn’t landing, but when I sit down to tackle my own scenes, I’m wrestling with the same gremlins.

It’s humbling, really.

Being a literary agent leaves less time for my own writing.

And then there’s time.

I love agenting. I love helping my authors succeed, fighting for their books, and celebrating their wins. But the reality is, I’m one person with two full-time careers—and both demand a lot.

When a client has a submission deadline, that comes first. When an offer comes in and I need to negotiate terms, that’s where my attention goes.

Which means sometimes my own writing takes the backseat. My characters sit in limbo while I’m knee-deep in someone else’s plot.

I’ve had to learn to carve out time for my stories—not the leftover minutes, but intentional, protected hours. And even then, guilt sneaks in. How can I prioritize my own creative work when my clients are waiting on notes?

The answer: I can’t always. And that’s okay.

Being a literary agent doesn't open doors.

By the time I learned how to juggle both agenting and writing, I thought maybe—just maybe—the trade-off would be worth it. Sure, I didn’t have much time. But at least I’d have connections, right?

That’s another myth.

People often assume that being a literary agent means I have a golden ticket for my own books. That editors I’ve worked with will automatically want to see my projects. That doors swing open a little easier.

In reality, it’s the opposite.

If I pitch myself to an editor who also works with one of my clients, it creates a conflict of interest. It blurs the line between advocate and competitor. And in this business, trust is everything.

So I don’t get to use my industry connections to push my own work forward—nor would I want to. Every submission I make goes through the same process as anyone else’s. The only difference is that I know how slow and subjective the process can be.

Sometimes, knowledge isn’t power. It’s just awareness. And that awareness keeps me grounded. But here’s where being an agent has changed me for the better: perspective.

Every day, I see how subjective this business is. How editors can love something deeply and still have to pass. How one “no” doesn’t mean a project isn’t good enough—it just means it isn’t right there.

And that’s made me a more patient, more empathetic writer.

When rejections land in my inbox, they still sting—but I understand them differently now. I know what’s happening on the other side. I know it’s not personal.

So, does being a literary agent make me a better writer?

In the end, writing and agenting aren’t opposites—they’re complementary. Both require vision, persistence, and a thick skin. Both are about storytelling and connection.

And both remind me why I love this industry so much.

When I’m agenting, I get to champion other people’s dreams.

When I’m writing, I get to chase my own.

And on the best days—when one feeds into the other—it feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.