Finishing a manuscript feels like the end of the work. Sending it out is a separate job, and it usually gets done at eleven at night, in a hurry, with the file attached and the covering letter half-written.

That haste shows. Editors and agents read a great many submissions, and they notice the small things: a document that won't open cleanly, a word count that doesn't match the reality, a synopsis that describes themes instead of events. None of it is fatal on its own. All of it together suggests a writer who hasn't quite finished.

Here is the checklist to run through before you press send. It takes about half an hour, and it is the cheapest improvement you will ever make to your submission.

Word count: be honest, and check the rules twice

Submission guidelines vary widely, and many agents and publishers list a preferred range rather than a hard limit. Find the page for the specific person or imprint you're approaching and read it properly. Don't assume that what one agency asked for last year applies to the next one.

Count the manuscript itself: the story, from chapter one to the end. Title pages, contents, acknowledgements and the synopsis don't count. If you're sending a partial, make sure the number of chapters and the page count you quote match what's actually attached.

And if your novel is well outside the stated range, don't round it down in the covering letter. Saying "around 90,000 words" when the file is 118,000 is a small lie that an editor will discover within a minute of opening it. Either cut the manuscript or state the figure plainly and let the work speak. A precise number told honestly reads far better than a vague one that doesn't survive scrutiny.

Formatting: make the file boring and easy

The goal is a document that requires no thought to read. Anything eye-catching works against you here. Run through this list:

• One document, or separate files, exactly as the guidelines specify.
• Double-spaced, 12-point, a standard serif font, sensible margins.
• Left-aligned text. No justified alignment, no automatic hyphenation.
• Consistent paragraph style: either an indent on every first line, or a blank line between paragraphs. Not both.
• Page numbers and a running header with your surname and the title on every page.
• Chapter headings in a single consistent style, each starting on a new page.
• No colour, no images, no drop caps, no decorative section breaks.
• A file name a stranger can read: Surname_Title_Genre.docx, not final-version-3-use-this-one.

The test that catches most problems

Open the file on a phone or a different computer and read the first page. If the headers vanish, the spacing shifts or the font substitutes badly, fix it before you send. A manuscript that looks immaculate on your own screen can look like a mess on someone else's.

The opening pages: read them as a stranger

Most readers of submissions decide a great deal in the first page or two, so give that page a cold reading after a day away from it. Ask yourself whether a person is doing something in a place, or whether you've opened with weather, mood and background. Check where the story actually starts. Many manuscripts begin two or three pages before the interesting thing happens, and cutting those pages improves everything that follows.

While you're there, look for the errors that survive multiple drafts: dialogue punctuation, a tense that slips in chapter three, and a protagonist whose name is spelled two different ways. Catherine and Katherine in the same novel is a common one. So is a character who changes eye colour around page forty. Search for the name and check every instance.

The synopsis: plot, not pitch

A synopsis is not a blurb. It's a factual account of the whole story, in the third person and the present tense, usually over one or two pages unless the guidelines say otherwise. It names the main characters and says what happens to them. It gives away the ending, because the point is not suspense; the point is showing that your plot holds together.

The usual faults are worth listing, because most weak synopses share them:

• Describing themes ("a meditation on grief and belonging") instead of events.
• Hiding the resolution. Don't.
• Writing it in the voice of the novel, all atmosphere and no information.
• Rhetorical questions. "But will she ever find the truth?" Yes or no, please.
• So many names that the reader loses track of who matters.

Read it back and follow the causal chain. Because this happens, therefore that happens. If a stranger can't trace it, tighten it until they can. Keep the names in the synopsis identical to the names in the manuscript.

The covering letter: short, specific, sober

One page. Say what you're submitting, its genre, its word count and whether it's complete. Add a short paragraph about the book: what it is, who it's for, and one concrete thing that makes it yours — a setting, a structure, a voice — rather than a string of adjectives. Then a line of relevant biography: publications, relevant experience, or a plain statement that this is your first novel. If the guidelines ask about simultaneous or exclusive submissions, answer.

Then stop. Leave out the mass-mailing greeting, the comparisons to bestsellers, the predictions about sales, and the apologies. Don't apologise for your word count, your lack of credentials or the fact that you're submitting at all. And check the spelling of the name and the agency in front of you. A letter addressed to the wrong place is the quickest way to be remembered for the wrong reason.

The details people forget

Individually minor, collectively fatal:

1. The material they actually asked for. If the guidelines say first three chapters up to 5,000 words, that is not the same as your first five chapters.
2. Your contact details, in the document as well as in the email.
3. The subject line format, if one is specified.
4. Attachments that are genuinely attached, rather than a link to a cloud folder.
5. A short third-person biography that matches whatever is on your website.
6. Whether you've submitted this work to them before, and — if it's a resubmission after a rewrite — a brief, calm note saying so.
7. The date you sent it, logged somewhere you'll find it again in six months.

One last read, then send

Read the whole pack in one sitting, in the order the reader will meet it: the email, the covering letter, the synopsis, then the opening pages. Then put the guidelines beside it and check each requirement against what you're about to send. It's a dull five minutes and it's worth every second.

When everything checks out, send it, note the date and the destination in a simple log, and go back to writing. The file is out of your hands now, which is the whole purpose of a checklist: to make sure that when you let go, there was nothing left to fix.

Photo: andrewlloydgordon / Pixabay