Luck in Publishing?
Published March 29, 2011 | 
So a strange and wonderful thing happened to me today: my contracts arrived. Don’t adjust your screen. You read that right. No, I’m not screaming or having a fit. I didn’t run to the end of the drive and scream at passing cars to let them know my contracts were here. I haven’t approached random people at the grocery store to tell them my contracts had, indeed, arrived. Yes, I’m calm and relatively normal. Ok. You’re right. That last is pushing it a little far. But my contracts did, in fact, arrive today and I have, in fact, been relatively sane.
It’s been a very surreal day full of emotional steadiness and a readiness to dive in to edits and make Legacy the story I know it was always meant to be. I don’t believe this to be work. If you know me then you understand this is a project of my heart. That I’m embarking on this project with a publisher whom I adore, Samhain Publishing, is a total bonus. Life can hardly get much better for me as a writer.
Someone said something the other day about how lucky I’d been as a writer. I was shocked, hurt, angry…and, if I’m honest, a little prideful. I’d put an enormous amount of effort into writing Legacy, and I didn’t want anyone taking that away from me. But there were reasons for me writing, most of which are not going to interest you in the least. What is worth nothing is this: Legacy was a story of my heart. I didn’t have a choice but to tell it. And the characters became such strong personalities that the story carried itself forward. From Legacy was born Wrath, from Wrath was born Vengeance, and from Vengeance was born Fury.
Back to the question. Have I been lucky? That’s a matter of personal opinion. I don’t know that I’ve been lucky so much as I’ve put to use the talents I’ve had since I was a child. Talent and luck complement each other, but luck cannot trump talent or there will be nothing left to show when talent is left on its own. What I mean is this: if luck were to carry someone forward on a wave of good fortune, towing talent behind, what would happen to talent when luck crashes to the shore? Talent is left alone to fend for itself. Talent will either hold its own or suffer.
Instead, I propose that talent be nurtured, coaxed, encouraged, and educated. Take what you have in the talent department and make the most of it. Publishing is a business which means what you’re selling has to be viable in the current marketplace. Basically? It has to make them money. Present yourself in a manner that tells the publisher you have honed your craft, practiced writing to stretch your mind and your skills, researched the business to become efficient at promotion and marketing, know the genre you’re writing in and read in it extensively, and finally, you’ve given them a story that reflects what you’ve learned.
I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound like luck to me.
The Power of Seduction
Published March 28, 2011 | 
When did seduction start? I imagine this is another version of the chicken/egg debate. I’m of the opinion seduction started well before the Garden of Eden and would speculate that it goes back to the time when Lucifer was either cast from Heaven or chose to fall and take his rabble-rousers with him.
Every time I sit down to write, and I do mean every time, my goal is to seduce the reader. I belly up to the computer and begin to write with the specific intent of taking the scene and weaving emotion through it. The emotion doesn’t have to be wild and crazy and filled with excessive exclamation marks and heavy breathing. Uh uh. It’s more likely that it’s subtle–a touch backed with intent, a glance at the right moment, or even an argument that’s well phrased. Done correctly, any of these weave in an emotion that means the reader is more engaged, attracted to the story, even compelled to read more. And if they read more, they’ll be further wrapped in a seductive tale that leaves them wondering how it all happened at the end.
So how does a writer begin to seduce a reader? It’s both simple and complicated. The simple answer is this: the author weaves a tale that requires all five senses regularly. The difficult answer is the “how” of invoking the involvement of those senses. I heard someone say once, “Don’t tell me the sky is blue, show me how many shades of blue it is, show me how it’s the infinite universe glazed by the sun.” It was sound advice and I try to practice it every time I sit down at the computer.
The easiest way I’ve found to do this is to take a critical point I need to convey and make it twice as important, twice as potent, as it would have otherwise been. Then I read it aloud. Did I go too far? Did I not go far enough? Now I’ll make a checklist of the five senses: taste, touch, sight, sound, smell. Which senses apply? How do I convey to the reader the taste of a lover’s lips after a clove cigarette? How do I sell a red wine as bitter? How does fear smell when it has saturated someone’s clothes? How soft is the undercoat of a toddling puppy?
It gets easier, the more you use the five senses, to remember to include them. You find it becomes second nature. I did an exercise the other day where I went out to lunch with my husband and I made sure to truly experience the meal with all my senses. Let me tell you, a hard-shelled taco will never be the same for either of us, and I mean that in the best possible way.
What words would you use to describe this picture? The bark might be rougher than a miner’s hands. The snake my smell musty or as dry as a desert breeze. The sight of the snake could invoke fear that makes your stomach free-fall or your bowels loosen. He might sound like a finger drug slowly across a piece of 30 grit sandpaper, rough and controlled. The apple could be more tart than Aunt Elda’s attitude.
Use your senses to capture your readers and earn their surrender to your descriptions. Don’t go so far as to use this rule in every single sentence. It’s not necessary. You’ll learn to use it well for the critical scenes. In the next few days I’m going to discuss why it’s a good thing to be a tease. We’ll also be covering the need to actively manage your descriptions–the -ly adjectives in particular. I hope you’ll pop back in for these discussions.
Now come a little closer, sweets,
please don’t stay away.
Don’t mind my bitty snake;
he just wants to play.
Writer’s Block & the Eject Button
Published March 26, 2011 | 
(No, still no contracts, but I’m ever hopeful. In the meantime, I thought of something worth sharing, so I’m baAAAaaack.)
Now that the ninja has been defeated–see to posts past–I can submit this post without distraction.
I was rocking right along on this new story, cruising by 30,000 words with a wave as I kept on going until I hit the middle of a sentence on page 125 or, more accurately, word 38,566. I stopped, stared at the page and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I wasn’t even sure the best way to finish the sentence. I knew going into the scene it would be a tough one to write. I accepted it, tucked away the knowledge, and continued on my merry way. I’d worked through difficulties before, I reasoned, so this should be no different, right? Right? Anybody? **crickets chirping scare the blogger**
The cursor seemed to taunt me as I sat staring at the screen. With every blink I felt myself slip farther away from a solution and closer to the yawning chasm of panic. Every writer I know silently fears the day whens s/he will find there is nothing left to say, that the words have dried up, the worlds drifted away, and the characters departed to dance with another’s muse. I had a sudden burst of clarity as I broke into a mental job, heading for the aforementioned chasm of panic. I had writer’s block. **cue thunderous booms of bass drums**
It felt like I searched for the giant red button on my keyboard for hours, that key that would launch me out of the desk chair and into planetary orbit and get me away from myself. But without an eject option, facing my dilemma became the best quick solution from preventing a literary disaster (see aforementioned chasm of panic…again). “Ok,” I said, talking myself down to a brisk walk, “we,” (the Royal we vs. the multiple personality we), “know what it is. We’ve faced this before. We shall prevail!” **cue raucous shouts of imaginary foot soldiers** While the last was a little dramatic, I needed the bump of confidence the ridiculous shout provided.
Writer’s block is a vicious psychological opponent of writers everywhere. Opponent? Yes. Writer’s block has varying degrees of intensity and there is no known true, singular cause and no known universal cure. It can be caused by as minor a thing as a temporary stumbling block where the words don’t come until a plot problem is resolved or it may be so severe as to cost a writer his/her career when s/he suffers a total lack of will and/or inspiration to write again. It could be any one thing or a combination thereof. Knowing this, non-writers might be a bit more sympathetic when a writer friend or family member says they’re suffering with The Block.
So what can a writer do to overcome writer’s block? There are several things that have proven effective in different scenarios and, in no particular order, they are:
1. Relax. Take a twenty-four hours to step away from the work and begin again tomorrow. Don’t think about, struggle, or challenge it in any way. Rest assured your subconscious is continuing the battle on your behalf.
2. Find a good partner to brainstorm with and share your problem. Sometimes a second set of eyes can make all the difference in the world.
3. Make an effort to write every day. Yes, every day. Creativity is like a muscle. When it’s not used, it atrophies and getting it in shape again is very, very hard. Keep fit!
4. Start writing something else altogether. If after taking a break your creativity is still floundering with the problem at hand, try starting something new. This recently worked for me after a current project starting eating my brain.
5. Push through it. Write something, even if you know it’s crap, and get yourself to the next scene. Highlight the section you need to revisit and move on. Can’t manage to get anything down? That’s ok. Insert a key phrase like <kill giant cow shark here>. You’ll know where to pick up when the solution strikes you at 4 a.m.
Writer’s block is a very real, very scary phenomenon. I worry at the end of every project that I’ll never find something new to write about if I don’t have the next project automatically lined up. But so far, my list of potential stories to tell promises to keep me busy for quite some time.
Looks like I can slow down, turn around, and walk away from that chasm of panic afterall. Phew. That was a close one. Now we’re off to tackle the killing of one cow shark!
What I’ve Learned
Published March 24, 2011 | 
Time is running out as my contracts are finalized and the signature copy arrives for me to sign and I begin the world of edits and line edits, re-reads and more on my first novel. I’m incredibly excited about it and can’t wait to begin that project with my editor.
As I wait for the last few things to be clarified, there are a few thing I learned while writing my first novel that I’d like to share. All but one point are non-traditional points you may not be familiar with. I hope these points will stick with me for as long as I’m able to write and that you, too, find some value in them. In no particular order, they are:
1. Your words are not golden and Stephen King is right. King said at times you have to kill your darlings. I didn’t really understand what he meant until, during edits, I hit a scene I loved. It had incredible dialogue and wonderful humor and it just didn’t fit the scene. I fretted for several days before taking it out of the manuscript. The work was better for the death of those few words.
2. Have a Cut Outs file. Write the following down: Never, ever throw words away. This is a gospel you must live with. The scene I cut in point #1 (above)? It went into a “Cut Outs” file. This is the file where I jot down lines that come to me and where I also put anything that I cut out of the manuscript as I work. Just because the piece didn’t work where you put it doesn’t mean it won’t find a home later in the work. Never throw words away.
3. Read, read, read. If you want to learn how to write, the best examples you can find are in books. I know, I know. It seems obvious. But look at it this way: these books, your favorites, have been read, re-read, edited, line-edited, etc. until they were made ready for your reading experience. The voice of the author survives because the editors are professionals, but the editing is still there. Look to books for your best example of how it’s done.
4. Find a good critique partner. I’m not talking about your mom. (No offense, Mom.) I’m talking about someone who isn’t obligated to love what you write. I’m talking about someone who will tell you the truth even if it upsets you. I’m talking about that one person you know who will give you what your story needs in order to be better. Is this a professional editor? No. This is the step you take to get to the editor. Take your heart off your sleeve and get ready to get rough. Here’s my caveat: a critique partner should be honest but always respectful. No one has the right to be nasty with you.
5. Don’t stop writing. Your creativity is like a muscle. If you don’t exercise it, give it room to run, make it push its boundaries now and again, well, you’re doing it a disservice. You must keep writing, even if it’s only one line a day. You must find a way to make daily writing a priority. It can’t linger; it can’t fall to the wayside. And I know if I can do it, so can you.
I hope you’ll find something useful in this section. If you haven’t read Stephen King’s novel, On Writing, please add it to you TBR list. It’s worth every penny.
It Was the Ninja, Honest
Published March 19, 2011 | 
So there I sat, typing away, making huge, unbelievable, rapid progress on my new manuscript, Raising Cain. The words came to me faster than I could type, some phrases funny while others were life-changing in their profundity. Character development was engaging and emotional, conflicts were well aligned, dialogue tags were under control and “to be” verbs all but non-existent. I was high on impending success, sure I’d crack at least ten thousand words for the day when I heard a strange sound behind me.
With my husband having watched enough Steven Segal movies for me to have learned superior ass-kicking skills by pillow osmosis, I knew better than to turn around empty handed. Instead, I saved my document with my left hand while with my right I slammed the lid down on my laptop. Instinct told me to duck and roll, scissor kicking my legs to send the desk chair spinning through the air toward the stealth-clad man who wielded his sword with hostile precision. He was caught off guard by my wicked moves and the chair leg whapped his wrist violently, knocking the katana from his hands. Nary a word had been uttered.
My laptop slid across the wood floor and under the library sofa, stopping directly under the thickest cushion. Retrieval would be nearly impossible if one didn’t know the combination to release the sofa from its bolted and locked position on the floor. This wasn’t my first ninja attack after all. The sun shifted through my pristine window glass and blinded my attacker. Using the advantage nature had thrown my way, I snapped up the excess McDonald’s coffee stir sticks and, sticking one between each finger, formed the Coffee Stirrer Fan of Death.
The ninja recovered and cowered in fear when he saw the move I was prepared to bust. He spoke, pleading for me to spare his like. Another case of subtitle snafus causing a man’s unscripted depth…I mean death.
“Tell me why you’ve come.” My voice slid over him like silk and cashmere because I’m just that kind of woman.
His voice shook as much as his knees. “Publisher X wanted to steal the awesomeness that is your next manuscript.”
“You tell Publisher X that I’m not interested.” I squinted my eyes to convey the sincerity of my words. “I not only know thirty-seven forms of kung jitsu but I have a publisher, an agent, and a direct line to Sweet Sensations Bakery, and I’ll use whichever one is most likely to garner me satisfaction. Leave now and never speak of this moment again.”
The ninja reached for his katana.
“Uh uh uh,” I chastised, raising my stir-stick hands to remind him I’d swizzle his eye and brand him with miniature golden arches if he didn’t go immediately.
His felt-clad feet made no noise as he ran for the library window and threw himself through the screen. He disappeared into the woods and I knew I’d thwarted Publisher X once again.
And that, my dear readers, is why I failed to make my word count for the day on Raising Cain.
(No ninjas were harmed in the writing of this story.)
Just Wait…No, I’m Serious
Published March 13, 2011 | 
On average, it takes a chicken egg 21 days to hatch.
A duck? 28 days
A goose? 30 days
A pigeon? 17 days
A quail? 23 days
I’ve been sitting on the proverbial “contract egg” for a while now. How long? I was ready to sign the second negotiations were done. Literally. That makes it feel longer than it actually has been. I will tell you that I’ve been in the incubation stage, waiting at the window, hoping for some sign of activity. Wait? Was that an twitch? No. False alarm. So what is the process for getting a literary contract hatched? It’s a relatively simple list of complex actions.
The Offer: You’ve done everything an author is supposed to do in getting the manuscript out the door. You’ve suffered through submissions and then comes The Call, and it’s the one you wanted. Your agent has received an offer of publication from THE publisher. The editor comes back to the author or, in my case, the agent, with the offer of a publication contract. The offer is not open ended. It has a finite beginning date and end date in which the author may accept or decline. The agent discusses the offer with the author and the author (in this case) squees at an inhuman decibel before accepting graciously and with incredible poise to enter into negotiations. Then come
The Negotiations: This is the point where you either accept the fact you’ll pull all your hair out or you shave your head bald. Seriously. Negotiations aren’t bad, really, they’re just time consuming, because guess what? Your offer isn’t the only one the editor or publisher has to negotiate. I know. I was shocked too. But it’s true. You’re not the literary world’s sole focus, even if they are yours. So you go back and forth–you want this, they’re willing to give that. It’s all very civilized. No boxing gloves or first aid is necessary. Next is
The Acceptance: All the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed and everyone is happy. So you give your agent the go-ahead and you accept the terms as outlined in the final negotiation round. But wait, you’ve still got
The Wait: Oh yeah. You’re not done. Now that the terms have been accepted and the appropriate confirmations exchanged, all the points you negotiated have to go back to the Contracts Department to get entered into the system and be reviewed a final time before the machine spits out the shining copy that has become the focus of your existence. But guess what? Those other contracts that the publisher issued that confirmed you’re not the center of the world? Yep. They fell in line in front of yours. So you wait some more. Because you know your turn is coming. You’re in for the official
Tick-tock: Yep. More waiting. “But why?” the author whines. Well, because things happen. Software updates, database changes, personnel shifts, server crashes, fluctuation in oil reserves, poor cocoa bean harvest yields, tumbling Verizon stock values, and the price of tea in China all seem to influence your contract’s progress through the system. Your job as a professional is to wait. Your publisher has a business to run, your contract is part of that business, but it’s not the end-all-be-all for their financial success. You have to give them time to get all of their own ducks in a row. Finally, you’ll get
The Contract: It will come, in my case, electronically. I don’t know if hard copies are exchanged or not. But you know what? I don’t care one way or another. Once that contract is signed, I’m on my way. I’m once step closer to publication, to seeing my name on the cover of the story that I told. What comes next? I hear there are edits, line edits, cover art discussions, branding, promotion, release dates, signings, blog tours and more. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’m a victim of all of it.
Wait! Was that a twitch? A vibration? A crack? No. Sorry. I just had something in my contact.
Chess as a Literary Gambit? Absolutely.
Published March 9, 2011 | 
I hate to play chess with my husband. He’s really good; I suck. Bad. I consider it a successful game if I manage to keep my queen through moves numbering in the very low double digits. But he’s always incredibly patient and encourages me to think through moves, allows me do-overs, and even tries to explain to me where my logic is faulty. While I admire his fortitude, I realize I’ll never be competitive and that’s ok. But what if I wanted to win? What if the thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to school him so badly he couldn’t wipe the stunned expression off his face for a week? I guarantee it would take more than a handful of private lessons for me to learn the skills necessary.
So why do we, as writers, expect writing to be any different? Is a well-written story no less complex or difficult to accomplish as a masterfully played game of chess? I’d assert it’s not and, quite realistically, may be more difficult because you write against not only yourself but against the infinite number of writers out there on any given day. But we tend to treat writing as more an instant gratification endeavor. Sure, we may publicly acknowledge its complexities and the fact that literary prodigies are less common than pain-free dental surgery, but in private we hold different beliefs. We want to be the exception to the rules of literature. We hope that our ideas are unique enough and our execution exemplary enough that we will be exempt from the heartaches and heartbreaks that befall other writers we know or hear of each day. We want to be heralded the next prodigy of the Big 6 in New York, and have agents clamoring for our next manuscript before its outline has been successfully saved to our desktop.
We may wish for these things, but they aren’t representative of reality and that’s alright so long as we don’t forget it. When our wishes merge aggressively with our conscious, disappointment can result. “I’ve queried 20 agents and had 16 rejections and 4 didn’t respond.” To this I say, “Get your spreadsheet out and query 20 more.” When I hear, “My story sucks,” I respond, “Prior to agent rejection, you believed it was ready. Keep the faith. If you don’t defend your manuscript, who will?” And when dejection takes hold and results in, “That’s it, I quit,” my heart hurts but I say, “To persevere is a personal decision; to keep writing is even more personal.” My advice is to continue to write and hone your skills, but it takes commitment in the face of adversity. It’s not easy, but it’s not easy for a reason.
Every day is a day for opportunity, a chance to write for your own personal joy. Not everything has to be about publication, but it should be about achieving your own inner bliss. Remember who or what put you on the path to writing and give a little thanks, don’t fall victim to what could have been but instead look at what is and what is yet to be, and, above all, do what brings you joy.
The Power of Thank You
Published March 8, 2011 | 
I had one of those “aha” moments today. Local Girl Scouts were selling cookies outside a big box store and they were, like most girls their age who have formed a sugar-fueled gang, very…uh…chattery. Bouncy. Loud enough to be a secret weapon against hostile countries seeking military secrets–plug them into these girls’ nattering and watch eardrums rupture all over the globe. The girls were thrilled that my husband I stopped to buy cookies and they were all over the place, struggling to listen long enough to take our order, chattering on and on about a teacher who was, like, so rude. The longer we stood there, the more I wanted to run away. Sweet kids, but seriously overwhelming. We were putting our cookies in our cart when I heard one of the mothers remind the group to say thank you. She wasn’t harsh, but she was firm–firm enough that the little girl who gave me my cookies tugged on my sleeve and said, “Thank you, ma’am.” I told her she was welcome before I made my way through traffic to my car.
The mother’s words of wisdom nagged at me all the way home: say thank you. Do I say thank you enough? Do the people around me? What about the people who have approached me with very specific or time intensive favors? I wasn’t at all pleased when I realized that we, as adults, often treat “thank you” as a phrase reserved for children. We don’t express our sincere gratitude when someone goes out of their way to help us. Too often we take it as our due. The realization made me feel a little slimy and a lot ungrateful. But how does one go about rectifying something like this? The first step is always to take the first step, so I did.
I started by making a list. I went through my family and my in-laws, trying to remember when the last time I said “thank you” was and, in some cases, the last time certain members gave me a reason to thank them. Next came my inner circle, those people who aren’t tied to me by blood but might as well be because I love them like family. The list spiraled out to friends further out, a handful of acquaintances, professional, and other service providers. I won’t tell you how many people were on my list, but I will tell you I was thrilled to find I’d exercised my obligation to express my gratitude more often than I’d initially thought. Even better? The sheer number of people who ended up on my list. The exercise I’d played with as I sought to make sure my “thank you’s” were in balance had a whole different effect in the end. What I ended up learning was that, above all, I have so many people to be thankful for and I often forget to offer my thanks for the immense blessings afforded me by those closest to me.
I would encourage you to find a few minutes to remember to say thank you, to make your own lists, and to express your own thanks. (Honey, if you’re reading this, I like shiny, sparkly things…and I don’t mean aluminum foil or spark plugs.) It can be done without the chatty little girls selling the addictive cookies, but the cookies made this outcome that much sweeter. I’m just sayin’…
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Coming 04/03/12
