Comp titles—short for “competitive titles” or “comparable titles”—are the books you name in your query or proposal to show that readers are eager for books like yours. They’re a shorthand way to discuss your book’s themes, subject matter, cultural relevance, or the way readers will feel when they experience your story.

(Check out recent successful queries here.)

Finding the right comps means reading, doing market research, and understanding why people (including yourself!) buy books. Unfortunately, the process can be tricky and tedious when you first start looking, and two common feelings come up.

Ignorance Is Bliss (But Won’t Sell Your Book): “My book is totally unique! There’s nothing like it on the market!”

I have sad news: If your book is truly unlike anything ever published, it’s either revolutionary genius or (more likely) unpublishable. Fortunately, it’s more likely that your book is just fine, and you’re not looking in the right places, or with the right mindset.

Outdated & Overrated: “My book is Bestseller A (published 2002) meets Book No-One’s Heard Of (published 1998).”

These authors are trying! They’ve found a genuine connection between books that inspired them, that they want to be shelved with, and that share story elements. But markets change, and already-famous authors have a head start. Comps that are too old, or too famous, don’t tell agents and publishers how your debut novel or memoir will sell right now.

Books need context. They need friends. And just like humans, they need friends their own age, in a social class they’re ready to run with. Your book is making its way in the world as a freshman. The head cheerleader’s prom-date prospects aren’t a yardstick for your own social life—just like your mom’s dating advice from 20 years ago isn’t entirely useful now.

Good Comp Titles Serve 3 Essential Purposes

Comp titles are your book’s clique.

They tell agents where your manuscript belongs in the vast publishing world. Without comps, your book is standing with a lunch tray, wondering where to sit. Comps say, “I’ll be in the Home Ec room after school with the other cooking memoirs.”

Comps prove you’re not delusional.

Appropriate titles show you understand your place in the market. That other first-time writers were successful with books like yours. Comparing your debut thriller to Gone Girl or your literary fiction to Toni Morrison is aspirational; believe it with all your heart and keep it inside your head. Pick a cafeteria table with people who will actually talk to you (and maybe blurb your book!)

Comps are shorthand for your book’s vibe.

Your best comps telegraph tone, style, and reader experience faster than a three-paragraph plot summary ever could. “It’s HOW TO SAY BABYLON (2024) meets SOLITO (2022)” immediately conjures a specific type of memoir about personal transformation through challenging circumstances.

Find Your Book’s BFFs (Without Losing Your Mind)

Step 1: Stop Overthinking and Start Looking

The biggest mistake authors make is treating comp titles like a desperate search for the holy grail. Your comps won’t be perfect doppelgängers of your book—they just need to share meaningful DNA.

Head to a physical bookstore or library (yes, leave your house) and look for where you’ll be shelved. What else is there? Read back covers. Read opening pages. Take photos of promising titles. (And note these author’s agents as people to query yourself—check the Acknowledgements)

While you’re there, ask the bookseller or librarian: “If someone liked these books, what else would you recommend?” Booksellers are walking comp-title machines. Use them. (And buy a book.)

Step 2: Get Specific

Your ideal comps are:

• Published within the last 2-3 years (5 years absolute max)
• Moderately successful but not mega-bestsellers
• Similar to your book in at least one significant way (theme, tone, style, structure, audience)
• From traditional publishers (if you’re querying traditional agents)

Don’t get trapped trying to match your exact plot. Think laterally. If you wrote a memoir about rebuilding your life after losing your job, your comps might include books about divorce, health crises, or starting over in a new country—the emotional journey matters more than the specific circumstances.

Click to continue.

Step 3: Dive Into the Digital Treasure Hunt

Start with those books that are too old and too famous. Look them up on Amazon and scroll down to the category rankings:

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #8,742 in Books

• #42 in Travel Humor
• #156 in Adventure Travel
• #89 in Travelogues & Travel Essays

Click on those categories for lists of similar books. Look for titles ranking between #10,000 and #100,000 in overall Books—popular enough to show market viability but not so big they’re unicorns.

For those same books, scroll to the “Readers also enjoyed” section, and explore anything published in the last three years.

Step 4: Test the Vibes

For each potential comp, ask yourself:

• Would my ideal reader also enjoy this book?
• Does this book have a similar emotional impact to mine?
• Does this comparison make my book sound intriguing rather than derivative?
• Would I be proud to have my book next to this one on a shelf?

If you answer yes to at least three, you’ve found a comp contender.

Mastering the Comp Statement

Now that you’ve found your comps, don’t just list them. Showcase your book’s unique position in context.

Instead of: “My book is like LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY and WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING.” (Too famous, too vague, becoming dated)

Try: “My memoir of Malay childhood combines deep-dive research like Stephanie Foo’s WHAT MY BONES KNOW (2024) with the wry familial observations of Michelle Zauner’s CRYING IN H MART (2022) as I navigate discovering my father’s secret second family at my mother’s funeral.” (Specific, current, shows tone and content)

For fiction, get creative: THE BOOK OF DOORS (2024) meets THE SICILIAN INHERITANCE (2024) in my dual-timeline novel blending traditional folklore and a generational mystery.” (Specific, current, shows the book’s place within the genre)

Exceptions Prove the Rule

Querying in the UK, or just very confident in your “inappropriate” comps? Embrace it, while knowing you’re an outsider. “My book is SCREAM meets THE SECRET HISTORY”—comping mass media and a huge bestseller, both outdated, might still be what sells your book. But break those rules purposefully, because you’ve already investigated more current debut books. Remember those quirky drama nerds? They didn’t put those capes on by accident. But they, too, could see who was Trying Too Hard.

The Power of Finding Your People

Comp titles aren’t just for querying—they’re your future clique as a published author. The writers whose audience you’ll share, whose events you might appear at, who may blurb your book. Follow them on social media. See how they promote their work. Notice which publications review their books. Map your future literary neighborhood.

Your best comps are like your best friends—it’s worth the work to find them, and maintaining those connections can be powerful. Best of all? Unlike high school, the clique doesn’t choose you. You get to pick, and your book’s best friends are out there waiting to be found.

Check out Allison K Williams’ Seven Drafts here:

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(How to Write a Great Overview for Your Book Proposal.)

The reason? Past sales are proof of future sales.

Book comps are bestselling titles in your genre that are similar to—but different from—yours. You need to be able to tell an agent or publisher, “This book sold, so mine will too.” And “My book is better than/different from this one for the following reasons, so there is a market for it, as well.”

You will likely put a line about book comps in your book proposal overview: “My book is this title meets that idea, but with this specific angle or differentiation.”

In the Book Comps section you really get to go into detail.

What to Look for With Book Comps

How hard can it be to find book comps? Very, especially in nonfiction. If something has been done well recently, your book may not be needed. If a title did well 10 or 15 years ago—but the subject has not been covered since—that’s a red flag. No one has bought the title in a decade, so clearly readers are not interested.

For your comp section, you need to find:

• 5 to 7 titles that are …
• Published traditionally (a large publishing house, imprint, or independent publisher) …
• Within the last five years
• That have good ratings and a substantial number of reviews

You do not want:

• Titles more than 5 years old
• Self-published books (that includes hybrid titles)
• And especially not old, self-published titles
• Low numbers of ratings and books that are poorly reviewed

The exceptions: If all of your other comp titles are good, and you strongly believe it to be a value add, at the end you may want to add:

• One older, but not ancient, highly-regarded, standard-for-the-industry-or-genre, known tile
• One recent, remarkable, well-sold and well-reviewed self-published title

One other hack: You can use the introduction to your comps section as a way to reference classic titles without going into detail. Eat Pray Love (self-actualization and memoir), 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (business), and The Artist’s Way (creativity) would fall into this category. For instance: “From TITLE to TITLE to TITLE, readers are really interested in THIS TOPIC.” Again, don’t overdo it, and include a favorite along with more relevant, recent titles.

How to Find Comps

In Person: To research comp titles, start old school. Go to a bookstore, find the section your book would be shelved in, and see what else is out there. Carefully checking the publisher—to make sure it’s a traditional one—and the pub date, make a list of books to research online.

And/Or

Go Online: Do a search for “Best of” lists in your book’s category. Then, write down which of those books are most akin to yours. Note: Save the links of your favorite “Best of” lists to put in the conclusion of your comps section. More on that below.

Research the Details: Do a search on Amazon for each book you think could be a good comp. For each title, scroll down to get to the product details. There you will find the:

• Publisher
• Publication date:

And then toward the bottom of that section:

• Bestsellers Rank
• Categories
• Customer Reviews
• Ratings

If you need more comp titles to explore, click on the categories that are a fit. That will take you to the top titles in that category. If you think you are going down a rabbit hole, you’re right. Sometimes that’s what it takes to identify the right comps.

Once you find 10 or so titles you think are best for your book, go back over them and choose the best comps.

Click to continue.

How to Format Your Comps

For each title in the comp section, include the following information. Hyperlink each book title to the Amazon listing. Note: Typically the link will go to the trade paperback version.

This is the format:

Title by Author(s) (Publisher, Date). Plus, a one or two-line description of the book.
Next, a couple of lines about what makes your book different/better.
List of the rankings in each category
Number of Ratings and Reviews

After you detail your five to seven comps, finish the section with your version of the following conclusion line:

“BOOK TITLE could be shelved in CATEGORY, CATEGORY, or CATEGORY. It would seamlessly fit into a list of best books on any of these topics, such as LINKS TO LISTS.”

Final Thoughts

For your comp section you want to find five to seven traditionally published titles in your genre that are similar to yours—to show your concept will sell—but different enough that there is a place for your book in the marketplace.

Remember, the entire book proposal is a marketing document. The easier you make it for your book to sell—“My book is this + that, but with a twist”—the more likely an agent or publisher will want to run with it!

The post The Why, What, How of Comp Titles for Your Nonfiction Book Proposal appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(60 Examples of Hooks for Books.)

I think part of the problem with comps (or even just telling a potential reader what your book is about) is that although we might go in with a clear idea of the book we want to write (a retelling of Wicked but at Hogwarts), sometimes we write a book that is not comparable to other books but is a response to them. These books, neither comps (nor craft books), point us to the story we want to tell as writers.

If I felt like I’d been writing my forthcoming novel, All This Can Be True, my entire life, well it’s because I was. I’d been writing it in response to two other novels that had burrowed so deeply within my psyche, my subconscious, that much of my own output over the years (several novels, numerous short stories) has responded continuously to their themes, their questions, until I was finally satisfied with my own response to them.

The two books that have made such an indelible mark on me? Ann Packer’s The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier and Kristin McCloy’s Some Girls. Not because of their prose, although they are certainly beautifully written, but because their plot and themes eerily mirror each other, and because they mirror what I’ve been exploring, consciously and subconsciously, in my own writing all of my life.

In Packer’s bestseller The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier, 20-something Carrie Bell is about to break up with her fiancé, Mike, when he is paralyzed from the neck down after jumping into shallow water off Clausen’s Pier. Carrie wrestles with staying with Mike before deciding to head, on a whim, to New York to pursue a career in fashion. But, like all well-plotted novels, the story doesn’t end there, and the reader is left to wrestle with what we owe to the people we love. Similarly, in McCloy’s second novel Some Girls, 20-something Claire moves to Manhattan in the 1980s, away from her boyfriend and her small hometown in New Mexico, in search of herself. Who she finds is her enigmatic, world-traveling next-door neighbor Jade, and in the end, the reader is left to wrestle with who and how we love the people we love.

Some Girls was published in 1994, a time when queerness was far from mainstream, so far that there’s no mention of it in the book’s synopsis. Therefore, I was shocked that Claire and Jade’s friendship was much more than that—in fact, intimate and erotic. I had begun to explore my own sexuality at the time in my writing—mostly in my high school and college notebooks, which were carefully tucked away in a box in the top shelf of my closet. In my stories, two friends, Claire and Amanda, consoled each other after breakups, hangovers, absent parents. At some point, however, Amanda fell in love with Claire⎯of course, Claire rejected her (I was not out yet myself), and then Amanda’s deeply internalized homophobia led her to act out in more self-destructive ways: promiscuity, more alcohol, drugs, a mirroring of my own identity at the time. In contrast, Claire and Jade’s coupling in Some Girls felt unburdened by this deep loathing, even if it lived in the floaty amorphousness of women who sleep with men but sometimes sleep with women. In fact, in 1994, before gay marriage, before the first lesbian kiss on television, even, their relationship felt quite revelatory.

And more than that, I wanted to be Claire. I had moved to the city after college (okay, Baltimore, not Manhattan, but way bigger than my high school town of 1,000), and I was ready to find my own Jade. Although I did not quite find her, I began my first long-term same-sex relationship, with a woman who was very smart but very emotionally unavailable. Who was also emotionally (and sometimes) physically abusive. A woman who I spent many years trying to leave. I wasn’t bound by tragedy to this woman, and it’s not as if there weren’t perfectly good reasons for me to leave, such as her affair with a coworker. However, I was bound by trauma. Like most victims, at the time, I had no idea what trauma bonding was. I only knew that I had lost my sense of self in this deeply dysfunctional relationship, to the point that I thought my job was to read my partner’s mind and keep her happy at all times. If I did, then my sense of self would be fulfilled in all the ways it hadn’t been growing up, when I’d tried (and repeatedly failed) to be the mediator of my own parents’ alcoholic, dysfunctional marriage.

Click to continue.

While I was navigating this relationship with my now-ex, Ann Packer published her debut novel, The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier, in 2002. As I read, I marveled that Carrie could leave behind Mike, the now-quadriplegic fiancé she once loved, move a thousand miles away (before social media, even!), and try to find her own happiness, independent of a partner. As a reader, we are not spared the immediate enormity of Carrie’s situation. It’s right in the second paragraph: “Mike’s accident happened to Mike, not me, but for a long time afterward I felt some of that glow.” What does Carrie owe Mike? Although she hadn’t been strong enough to break up with him before a holiday weekend (before he took that fateful dive into shallow water), it’s not as if she pushed him off the pier in or suggested he do it. Her only crime was waiting too long to spring the news which, if anything, drives home the lesson of taking chances before it’s too late. Still, by the end of the novel, Carrie, after another difficult choice, finds an answer with which she’s able to live, one that gives her peace. One that’s right for her.

By my 30s, after 11 years together, I finally summoned the courage to leave my own partner. My writing at the time had begun to tackle similar themes: imprisonment—in one’s sexuality, in one’s relationships—and escape. Not just escape, but liberation. Escape has always felt to me more of an action, a reflex without reflection: to escape pain, we take our palm off the stove burner. Liberation is also an action, but also a conscious choice. I am not mindlessly avoiding pain; rather, I am gathering the courage to leave the pain of a codependent relationship so that I can heal, a paint that feels like conquering an addiction.

After two years of being single, I was able to enter another long-term (healthier) relationship, but I still wasn’t finished exploring the ties that bind in my own writing. In my forthcoming novel, All This Can Be True (Turner/Keylight), the novel opens with the protagonist, Lacie, on a plane with her husband, contemplating divorce, when he slumps over from a stroke. Unlike Dive’s Carrie, Lacie is a little older, 46, with two grown children—but she’s still caught wondering what she owes a loved one whose life has irrevocably changed. To complicate matters, Lacie becomes close to a woman, Quinn, she meets at the hospital, a woman who, unbeknownst to Lacie, harbors a secret that connects her to Derek.

I won’t tell you how it ends, but I hope the writing of this novel ends a chapter in my life that seems to have many sequels. Lacie, much like Claire in Some Girls and Carrie in The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier, is able to embrace her agency and create the terms of her own life. But what makes a relationship and what one owes that relationship are never easy questions. Perhaps we never solve them, or only solve them in novels, in real life merely finding temporary workarounds for whatever relationship we are in at the time. Characters experience seismic changes over the course of 85,000 or 90,000 words; it takes lifetimes, sometimes, for real people to experience change and, for generations, sometimes even longer.

Maybe these books are not just “personal comps” but seeds; their ideas helped forge a path in me that I was able to explore in my own writing and, as they say, visibility is everything. When I was growing up, the only reference to gay people was the one I found in the large health encyclopedia my mom kept under the coffee table when I was a kid. Although it didn’t outright demonize us, it wasn’t particularly encouraging of us, either. And even though there were a few pro-LGBTQ+ YA novels in the 1980s, like Nancy Garden’s Annie on My Mind, my childhood library did not carry it, and I didn’t learn of its existence until well into my 30s. Suffice to say, it blew my mind that not only Kristin McCloy was writing about queer girls in 1994, but that she was getting a starred review from Publishers Weekly.

Likewise, growing up, although there were a lot of books about women coming of age and finding true love, there weren’t a lot of books about the difficulties women faced in getting out of abusive relationships or even just relationships in which they weren’t particularly happy, even if they were home runs on paper. Ann Packer’s The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier was the first novel in which I felt the call of trusting one’ s gut. Even if it took me many years to trust my own, if I hadn’t seen these choices in the public sphere when I had, perhaps it would have taken me longer.

Still, I think this is the last novel I’ll write about these particular relationship dynamics. I still love Some Girls and The Dive From Clausen’ s Pier, and although writing has been a form of therapy, a way to see my own problems laid bare on the page to solve before the denouement, I find myself thinking about other people than myself, situations unlike my own. Maybe, like Claire, Carrie, Linney, and Lacie, I’ve finally turned the page.

Check out Jen Michalski’s All This Can Be True here:

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(40 Best Elevator Pitches for Books in 2023.)

Your book could be the accumulation of 20 years’ experience in your field, the bravest thing you’ve ever done, your life’s story, your magnum opus. But here’s the thing: If you love your book, you’re going to have to let it go—for the moment. Leave your writer hat at the door and, as Ariel Lawhon says, put on your “author hat.” The one that gets you a deal. You can be a writer no matter how your book enters the world, but traditional publishing is a business first. And you have to know the rules of that business to succeed.

First, here are some rules that you definitely don’t want to follow. These are just a few myths circulating online.

Agents don’t care who you are, so you shouldn’t include any information about yourself in your letter.

This is entirely untrue! Whether it’s your bylines, your e-mail list, the author friends who will endorse your work, or an immediate grasp of your voice, we want a sense of why readers will trust you as their guide through whatever territory they’re exploring.

A long and detailed synopsis should be the focus of your letter.

While other agencies may wish for this, I much prefer an Amazon description to capture your book’s greatest intrigue, not the traditional, formal synopses you learned in school. A query letter is far more like writing sales copy.

Don’t take a guess at genre or “comps” if you’re at all unsure.

No writer, even the most seasoned, is certain about how your book will be categorized, or what comparative titles an agent or publisher will envision for it. Lower your risk of getting it wrong by tailoring your comps and genre to meet the agency’s interests. This tactic demonstrates that you’ve done your research!

Never contact an agent directly unless their submissions page says so.

In a moment, I’ll reveal that whatever you’re told, finding a direct e-mail to an agent is a more effective route to ensure your query actually gets a look.

Don’t follow up. An agent will always reach out to you if interested.

One can hope! But hope isn’t a strategy. Agents may only see your query the second time. Experiment with new subject lines, or an update if your proposal or manuscript is under review with other agents, or you have recently published an article in a notable publication, amassed a larger social media following, obtained the endorsement of a fellow author. There are so many ways to be creative. Don’t have any of this to share? For an agent you admire, write a simple love letter. Confirm your query landed in the first place.

Reach out to every agent possible at once.

There are several risks to this, and one is that a slush approach is unlikely to appear as anything but slush. Agents are flattered—and can tell—when they’re part of a small and curated list and are receiving a more personal letter.

You only get one shot.

Is a door really ever closed? Maybe you’re asking the wrong person! Whether submitting a revision of your material or something new all together, plenty of writers—including several I’ve signed—find success the second time around. 

Want more advice? Check out Lucinda Halpern’s Get Signed: Find an Agent, Land a Book Deal, and Become a Published Author here:

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The post The Secret Rules and Most Common Myths Writers Should Know About Querying Literary Agents appeared first on Writer's Digest.

This one-week intensive will walk you through the process of finding comparable titles and authors. The class covers what the industry uses comps for and why they are so important. Then it shows how to find the titles with the best sales numbers by using readily accessible online tools. This seven-step process to find the best comps does not need to be frustrating or difficult.

Click to continue.

If you want more online education, see the full list of WDU courses here.

Connect Your Characters with Your Audience or Your Script Dies

From our friends at Script magazine, learn the difference between an authentic character versus a series of traits and how important it is for you to connect emotionally with the people in your story!

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With a growing catalog of instructional writing videos available instantly, we have writing instruction on everything from improving your craft to getting published and finding an audience. New videos are added every month!

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Her partner said, “…by subjects?”

(The Importance of Grief and Loss in Fiction)

“No,” she said, “We already do that. I’m talking about our fiction.” As she spoke, she was staring at their science shelf and the spine of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species. “We could arrange them by different genuses?”

It was a short journey from there to the birth of genres.

Creative experiments by writers, ever-greater literacy, the creation of the paperback, and the explosion in the number of published books gave birth to publishers—or at least imprints—specializing in mysteries or literary fiction or science fiction or YA or romance, and so forth.

The publishing world said, “It is good,” and it was, until marketing departments decided much more could be squeezed from the stone.

Saying a book was a mystery, for example, was no longer sufficient. The sub-genre was born.

And with the rise of algorithm-driven, online sales, the deal was done. If we can’t pigeonhole a book, publishers seemed to say to authors, readers, and bookstore managers alike, it won’t exist. If an author can’t rhyme off several comps—that is the comparative titles you see on book jackets, online stores, and book pitches—they aren’t going to get far in this town.

Those last few words would be from a noir detective story. Not a British-style police procedural. Not a cozy. Not a psychological thriller. Not a … you get my drift, right?

That’s what has confronted me with my Jen Lu near-future mystery series with strong social themes set in the charged political environment of Washington, D.C. You’re starting to guess where this is heading, right? Although it’s set in 2034 and the climate crisis is exploding, it isn’t another grim dystopian novel. You know, one of those that might as well come packaged with a cyanide capsule glued onto the last page. There’s a strong sense of realistic hope, born out of the human capacity to change.

Moreover, it’s clearly a feminist, anti-racist, LGBTQ+ work—although it’s an entertaining story and certainly not a textbook. And it’s science fiction-y in that half of The Last Resort is narrated by Chandler, the bio-computer implanted into D.C. cop Jen Lu’s brain. But still, it’s more often found in the mystery section of bookstores.

IndieBound | Bookshop | Amazon
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This series crosses a lot of genres.

But here’s the thing I know: Readers aren’t computer-driven algorithms. Readers are on the lookout for something new. The books we cherish most are not the 10th rewrite by the 10th different author of the same story. It’s the mint story. The first off the press. The one that sees both the world and the word in a slightly different way.

Here’s the other thing I know: The world is an awfully complex place. Our tendency to slice it up into neat parcels of experience has a hard time capturing either reality or our dreams. Crossing genres can be a way to do that. Why shouldn’t a mystery, for example, speak to the consuming issues of the day? Can’t it still be page-turning fun (if that is your goal) while dealing with serious questions?

And yet another thing I know: Cross-genre writing has the inbuilt ability to baffle and delight. Because it doesn’t fit neatly into a genre formula, the story can be like a dazzling reflection off water. Things you expect are there, but never quite the way you’ve seen it before.

You might notice a couple of provisos in the above paragraphs. Crossing genres can be … such books have the ability to. In other words, we’re talking about a possibility and not an iron-law of writing success.

Crossing genres for the sake of crossing genres is a recipe for gimmickry and, ultimately, a lousy book.

Here’s the thing my agent said to me when we first discussed my Jen Lu series. “You’re a good writer,” she said, “and can tell a good story. I can’t wait to read it.”

And that is the thought I share with my fellow writers who are fretting about how their book might fit into the computer-driven world of book sales. You might have to work twice as hard to get it just right. You might get rejections from editors who say they loved it, but when they pitched it to their marketing kingmakers, they were told it didn’t quite fit into their list.

But if you know how to write, if you can tell a good story, and if you don’t mind persevering, then go for it.

Click to continue.

The post Writing Cross-Genre Fiction and Battling the Book Marketing Comp Title appeared first on Writer's Digest.