Taste Me

****

There once was an English major who developed a crippling case of performance anxiety, certain she couldn't meet people's expectations. For years, she wrote only checks, documentation and source code, content to read other peoples' stories. "Someday," she promised herself. "Someday, you'll write that novel."

"Someday' came twenty years later, when she-’okay, I-’was busy dodging elbows in the pit at a rock show. The drummer's behavior was positively debauched and-yeah, absolutely riveting. "The guy must be half incubus," I marveled.

**ping**

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed two hours before work, went to my hometown coffee shop, and started writing. After writing about two hours per day, six or seven days a week, for about two years-’some days with Deb Dixon's "Goal, Motivation and Conflict" open in one hand and clutching a pen in the other-’I finally had a manuscript. And I was scared sh*tless. What if the manuscript sucked? Hard? What if that scared young girl had been right all along?

I talked myself down, and entered a couple of smaller writing contests. To my surprise, some readers thought my opening chapter had promise, and I discovered that receiving strangers' feedback, even negative feedback, wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be. I polished the first three chapters of the manuscript, then called Underbelly, took a deep breath, and entered the Daphne du Maurier and Golden Heart contests. Completely under the radar, right? Nothing to lose.

Nothing but my anonymity as the phone rang twice, informing me that my manuscript had been named a finalist in both contests. The validation was wonderful, really-’but honestly? I was freaked to the gills. All those old feelings of inadequacy, of certain looming failure, came rushing back. I felt like a fraud, and so, so – exposed. I'd finished a solitary manuscript, sweating every step of the way. I didn't know how to write a query letter. My synopsis really did suck. I hadn't researched agents, editors or publishers. I didn't know how to pitch. The back half of my manuscript was still a hot mess, my Crohn's Disease was flaring, and I had a whopping case of day job burnout. The months between the phone calls and 2009 RWA National were frankly a blur. Some days I leaned so heavily on the other 2009 Golden Heart finalists, my Ruby Slippered Sisterhood, that I'm surprised they didn't topple over. Other days, despite their best efforts, I felt quite alone, my confidence in a death spiral, the most clueless Golden Heart finalist there ever was.

Thankfully, by the time 2009 RWA National rolled around, I'd snapped out of it. I vowed to enjoy the Golden Heart experience, and to not to drive myself crazy with self-imposed pressure. Having done some industry research also calmed my nerves, and I'd grown very intrigued by Sourcebooks and its managing editor Deb Werksman. By the end of 2009 RWA National, I'd won a paranormal Daphne (my Ruby Sister Darynda Jones won the Golden Heart) and I'd received several requests for partial and full manuscripts. After the conference, I queried Deb by email, attaching a full manuscript.

Several weeks later, I received a cheery return email from Deb, saying she was just about to read my manuscript. Luckily I wasn't leading the meeting I'd just dialed into, because my thoughts were firmly on the East Coast. In late August, I received another email from Deb saying she loved the book, and wanted a proposed series arc, some alternate title ideas, and insight about my desired career track to take into acquisition meetings. In the midst of this flurry of activity, I accepted representation from agent Cherry Weiner, and in late October, I got The Call (or rather, The Email) from Deb, extending an offer for the first three books of my proposed Underbelly Chronicles series.

Only one of which was actually written.

Was finishing that first book a fluke? Could I write another, only this time on deadline and under contract? Talk about feeling shoved out of the nest too soon! But one of the most talented editors in the biz was offering me a book contract and a chance to make a dream come true-’a dream that I'd been too afraid to pursue for too many years. I also realized that I wasn't that scared college kid anymore. I'd had life experiences that that young girl couldn't have predicted if she tried-’experiences which made any residual artistic performance anxiety seem pretty self-indulgent in comparison.

So I stepped to the edge of the nest, furiously flapped my wings, and jumped.

I recently typed THE END on my second manuscript, Taste Me's follow-up, Chase Me (proving to myself that I could do it again – yay me!), but I'd be lying if I said the fear was completely gone. Some days my butt's in the chair, my hands are on the keyboard, and the ground seems a looooong way down.

But I jumped. I'm flapping. And though some days my wings feel really, really tired, flying feels- freaking fabulous.

Two randomly selected readers will receive a free copy of TASTE ME courtesy of Sourcebooks Casablanca! (U.S. and Canada only, please.) Comment before 11:59 p.m. tonight to have a chance to win.

***

In the Spring of 2010, I was sprawled out on the jagged shores of rock bottom. My guts had been ripped out of me, my heart left bleeding. There wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't rubbed raw.

I'd realized what I'd been hearing was true. My writing was awkward, stiff, and plainly put, not good.

Even worse, I didn't have a clue on how to fix it. A critique partner ripped through a page for me, pointing things out and how to fix some issues. I sent a page into Dear Author for First Page Saturday. I reviewed feedback given to me from submissions. I took in and analyzed every comment, thankful for them, hard as it was.

One comment stood out very clear and I'll never forget it. "And this brings me to the thing that most feels like you're following rules blindly"-’Courtney Milan. This may not have been Courtney's intention when she wrote it, but I translated that as, I was so busy following those unwritten rules about writing, trying to be perfect to get published, I couldn't even tell a story through it.

I put all my current works in progress away. I didn't know if all my stories were awful, if it was just a couple or what. I knew I wasn't going to stick my finger in anything I had been working on and further ruin their possibility.

After nearly five years of faithful writing I wasn't about to give up. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out an old story I had bedded. One I'd written before I learned how to write.

Five minutes into that reading I made a startling realization-’when I didn't have a clue about writing mechanics or publishing or marketing, or anything, writing was fun. I kept reading that story. My heart was fluttering again. My stomach kicking up with anticipation. It was a complete rush that swept over me. I read that whole story remembering how giddy I'd been while writing it. I wanted writing to be like that again. Wanted my breath to catch when something surprising happened. Laugh by some unexpected comment. Sigh over something sweet.

Still not confident enough to return to my ongoing manuscripts, I decided to write something brand-spanking new for an experiment. And something short.

Something sexy. What's funner than having sex?

Blank document in front of me, I decided I needed a heroine looking for sex. I leaned her against a fence at a barbeque and let her survey the crowd of opportunities. Mr. Blond Hair, Blue Eyes came prowling out of the masses.

I didn't think about sentence structure, usage of "that' or "was', GMC, shallow POV or deep-’nothing. I had two goals with writing this story. One-’get my heroine laid. Two-’have fun while doing it. That was the kit and caboodle of my plotting.

The words just poured out. The characters flew off the page. For the first time in a long time, I felt good putting the words down. Two days later, heroine was satisfied, so was the hero, and all in about 15,000-words. I had my rush back.

All those unwritten rules? The bits of them that I needed had seeped into my writing unconsciously. That phrase, "learn the rules and then you can break them"-’I got that now.

I cleaned that story up and sent it to an editor who'd asked to see something contemporary from me. Within twenty-fours, the editor at Turquoise Morning Press responded back and I signed my first contract. And that's how I made my first sale, which turned into my first series.

Through The Wall is the first of six sexy contemporary novellas in the Uninhibited in Apple Trail, Arkansas series. It releases *today* (((giddy happy-go-lucky feelings)))

Straight up stubbornness and thick skin got me here. It's what's going to keep me here.

Thanks so much Jane for letting me on here today!

****

Thanks for letting me play! I promise not to say (too many) bad words. At the risk of sounding like a goof (which I am, and proudly, too), I began writing not at the tender age of two with crayons held in my chubby fist, but at the substantially less youthful age of thirty. By then, my hand was no longer adoringly chubby but rather well-worn from a career in the military and a brand new baby (they're hard on the hands, the little critters!). After taking stock of the dents in my wall from various encounters of the bookish kind, I foolishly decided that I could do this shit, I could write stories, better stories even, where heroines kicked Le Butt, and crushed the villain. Almost on a dare with myself, I began to write. Ten pages, fifty, six-hundred. I began to send these ridiculous and pitiable attempts to agents and publishers. Some of them must have taken pity, because I began to receive not only form letters, but personal rejections. I received *personal* rejections! Only writers enjoy those.

In June of 2005, five years after writing my first page, I sent my latest babbling to a publisher. Two weeks later, I received an email from a lovely editor whom I have since then dubbed Madame M., and could I please send the full manuscript.

Could I?!

I'm sure my neighbours remember that day as clearly as I do. So does my dog, no doubt. Unless you live in a strange neighbourhood indeed, it's not every day a gangly woman bursts out of the house, jeans rolled up from cleaning a flood in the basement and spiky hair a mess, waving a piece of paper quickly becoming limp and sad-looking as she dashes through hedges four houses down to her BFF so they can partake in squeeage and OMGitude.

Since then, I have sold books to Ellora's Cave (Hi EC, my very first publisher!), Red Sage, Samhain, Constable & Robinson, and Running Press. If my latest manuscript is accepted for publication, it will become my 40th title sold.

The Cinderella Bride

***

In March, 2009, I got "The Call" from Harlequin Romance.   It was my first sale.   Except it wasn't my first sale.   Except that it was.

Confused?   Welcome to the roller coaster that was my journey to publication.

Let me back up.     I'd always wanted to be a writer, and after falling in love with Silhouette Desire and Bantam Loveswept, I realized those were the kind of books I wanted to write.   In 1994, I signed with an agent — a wonderful woman who, while no longer my agent, is still in the business and doing great things for authors.   Publication, I was certain, was imminent.

Two weeks later, my son was born.   For the next five years, I balanced motherhood and writing, still certain publication lurked right around the corner.   I can't tell you the number of times I came thisclose to selling.   But alas, thanks to lines folding and marketing changes, "the Call" didn't come.

In 2000, my son was entering school, and two new concepts – Print On Demand and E-Publishing had just emerged.   Several of my local colleagues had manuscripts accepted by a small POD publisher and following their leads, I submit too.   Wonder of wonders – they bought my book.   I was published!

But I wasn't.   At least not according to RWA.   Shortly after my sale, RWA created its publisher-recognition policy.   My publisher didn't make the cut.   With good reason.   Shortly after, after battling distribution and financial issues, the publisher folded.   I sold – if I'm lucky – around a dozen books.

Thus began a ten year stay in the Hinterland of Publishing where I was simultaneously recognized as published by local RWA Chapters and considered unpublished by RWA National.   Agents and editors didn't care about my erstwhile publishing credentials, while I was prohibited from entering the chapter contests that might net me better ones.

Fortunately, the one contest I could enter was the Golden Heart.   I entered the contest in 2005 and again in 2007, making the finals both time.   In fact it was winning the GH in 2007 that landed the attention of my editor at Harlequin..   She had requested the full version of my GH book a few months before the finals.   Shortly after I won, she rejected the book. (What – you thought this was the end of the story?).   But, she offered me the chance to work with her on a new project.   Three revision passes later, I finally got "the Call."   Two days before my son's fifteenth birthday.

That book is THE CINDERELLA BRIDE, available December 10^th.   I'm making my son (yes, that same son who was born two weeks after I signed with an agent) drive me to Walmart so I can see my book on the shelves.   I'd hoped to enter it in the First Book category for the Ritas too, but- you guessed it.   RWA changed its rules again.   That sale from 2000 now counts.   Oh well.   Such is life on the writing roller coaster.

By the way, what is the lesson from all these ups and downs?   Simple.   Never, ever give up.   Publication really is around the corner.   It just might take fifteen years to figure out which corner that is.

Comment below for a chance to win your own copy of THE CINDERELLA BRIDE, as well as a copy of FAIRYTALE CHRISTMAS, an anthology I'm in with bestselling author Susan Meier.

********

When I'm asked about my first sale I always feel a bit of a fraud. I've always been a "writer" but until a few years ago, I'd hardly written a word of fiction.

I devoured books at school but I was never a big one for making up "stories." Don't get me wrong, I adored writing but when it came to school essays and exams, I always took the "descriptive" route. Or I'd make up little magazines about places I'd been on holiday and illustrate them myself.

With the support of a wonderful English Lit teacher, I got a place at Oxford University where I spent three years studying the classics. If I'd ever dreamed of writing my own novel (and I didn't), reading "the greats" intimidated me completely. Why would I write a novel, I reasoned, if I couldn't be Jane Austen?

After I left university, I turned my factual writing into a career and became a freelance copywriter and journalist.

Then, in 2004 I watched a BBC TV miniseries called North & South and my world changed overnight.

I was so inspired by that series I had the irresistible urge to write a modern version of the story. I shared my "fanfic" with an Internet creative writing group where someone told me that I'd written a romance.

That was it. I set about reading hundreds of romances. Soon, I was completely obsessed with writing. I felt that a whole new dimension of my life, hitherto invisible, had suddenly opened up.

I joined the Romantic Novelists Association and devoted myself to learning as much as I could about romance writing. I found I liked writing sexy, funny, fast-paced stories and I didn't have to be Jane Austen to entertain myself and other people.

I started a novel about a London PR girl who "helps" a mountain rescue team raise funds for their new base by persuading them to do a nude calendar. Not everyone wants to be helped-’especially a certain Mr. December.

After a year of rewrites and revisions, I'd finished the book and a writer friend persuaded me to send it a London literary agent.

As soon as I'd sent the email, I regretted it. Maybe, I thought, I'll just be ignored, or get a polite rejection or even a few nuggets of encouragement.

A couple of weeks later, the agent wrote back. She'd been "gloriously entertained," she said (that's a London lit agent for you, bless them) and added: "I'd love to see more."

Luckily for me, she liked the full and sent it to Little Black Dress; a sassy new romance/chick lit imprint that she thought would be perfect for my book.

Then one afternoon, I got The Call with a two book offer. I remember saying: "Can I tell my daughter?"

At which point I burst into tears and so did my agent.

Dating Mr. December (titled Decent Exposure in the UK) went on to win the RNA's New Writers Award and was made into the Lifetime TV movie, "The 12 Men of Christmas," in 2009.

Now Sourcebooks has published it in the USA-the first of four of my contemporary romantic novels. Wish You Were Here will be in stores in Spring 2011!

If my friend hadn't made me send it to my agent, it would still be lying on my computer and I wouldn't be here at Dear Author-

***

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away I wrote a book about a girl who loved Star Wars. It was a departure for me as I'd been writing Regency historicals, but chick lit had just taken off and several agents told me in no uncertain terms that the historical was dead as dead could be. So I figured why not try a contemporary?

I ended up with a book I called Jedis, Wookies, and Other Men I've Dated (later The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly Men I've Dated). At the same time my agent was submitting Jedis, I also managed to final in the Golden Heart (a contest for unpublished authors sponsored by the Romance Writers of America) with an historical I called The Rake (later When Dashing Met Danger). Yes, I knew historicals were deader than a door nail, but I was a glutton for punishment.

The final judge for the Golden Heart was May Chen of Avon Books. Meanwhile, Jedis sat on Erika Tsang's desk, also of Avon.

I was teaching 6^th grade English in Houston's inner city at that time. I wasn't supposed to have my cell phone on in the classroom, but I had forgotten to turn it off when I stuck it in my desk that morning. Imagine my surprise when it rang in the middle of 4^th period. At first I thought it was one of the kids' phones, and I was giving the whole class my you-are-in-big-trouble-now look. And then some helpful little girl said, "Miss, the ringing is coming from your desk."

Now, I was the one in trouble (kids love to tell you when you've broken the rules, don't they?). I should have ignored the phone, but I decided to go to my desk and turn it off. When I saw my agent's name on the screen, I forgot all about the kids and answered the call. He asked if I was sitting down, and I sat. The kids by now were in heaven-’throwing paper, talking, and getting out of their seats. I didn't care.

Over the din of thirty 12-year-olds, I heard my agent say something to the effect that Avon wanted to offer me two two-book contracts. One for my historicals and one for my chick lits. I was speechless, especially when he told me how much they were willing to pay. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than I'd expected, and it was times four books.

I looked up at my unruly classroom and wondered if I could quit right then.

Five years later I got another first sale call-’at least it felt like a first sale to me. See, what most people don't realize is that as hard as it is to get published, it's even harder to stay published. In May 2009 I hadn't had a book out since November 2007. Avon and I had parted ways. My agent and I had parted ways. Chick lit had died a bloated, overstocked death. Historicals were still hanging on, and not everyone was claiming they were dead anymore.

I had a new agent and a new historical series. All I needed was a new publisher. After school-’by then I was teaching 7^th grade English at a better school and always turned my phone off during class-’I got a call from my new agent. Sourcebooks wanted to buy my three-book historical romance series.

As excited as I was to sell those first books, I was even more excited to sell the Sons of the Revolution series. There's nothing like having something you want taken away to really appreciate it. And there's nothing like having the opportunity to write the book of your heart, knowing it might never sell but writing it anyway because at that point, what did I have to lose?

In June, the first of the Sons of the Revolution series, The Making of a Duchess, was released, and now the second in the series, The Making of a Gentleman, is in stores. Both are faced-paced historical romances. I guess the historical isn't dead after all. I'm sure glad I didn't give up on it!

What about you? Have you ever had a dream and been told it's as good as dead?

****

"Stop telling me you are going to someday write a book. Do it now."

I startled at my husband's words. "What did you say?"

"I said write the book. I dare you. In fact, why don't you quit your job and see if you can get anything published? I give you a year."

I stood as tall as my five feet two inches would allow, anchored my hand on my hip, and formed my words. "You're on."

I gave two weeks' notice and tackled my new career as though it were a real job. I googled writer groups and conferences, and purchased how-to books. Guess I was a bit of a bull dog. My day began at eight a.m., and I didn't stop until my word count goal was reached, leaving time to study the craft. I wrote out checks for writer conferences and studied my new writer books, one of which was a Writers Market Guide.

With my novel in my head and its contents slowly taking form on the computer screen, I also wrote short stories, articles, and devotions. It didn't matter to me if I was paid or not; building my resume and bio meant more than the dollars.

Then it happened. Many of the shorter pieces became published. Yeah! Already I knew I wouldn't ever have to return to my job. Although I was spending more hours in my new career than in my previous job, I was having fun! I found critique partners and continued to work on my novel. After putting together a proposal, I sent it off to various publishing houses who had indicated interest in Christian historical romance.

Acceptance came much sooner than I expected.

I'll never forget the day the email came. A publishing house wanted my novel. They liked my characters, my setting, my plot! Woo! Hoo!   They asked for a few changes, which I quickly completed, and they sent me a contract.

The following months were spent in excited anticipation of publication-’copy edits, viewing the book cover, and being able to say, "I'm a published writer." The publishing house contracted with me for several books over the next few years. Every book gave me a thrill, and it still does today. But not the same over-the-top, cartwheels, and bubbling laughter as the first novel.

I discovered I enjoyed suspense, so all of my novels took on that flavor.

But I'd also discovered something else. With every new technique and concept learned along the way, I had a deep desire to teach other serious writers. I formed a writer's critique group in my home. I began to teach at writer's conferences and mentor other writers. I became active in the Christian Writers Guild, and today I am their Craftsman Mentor.

Fifty novels later, I'm still learning and teaching the craft of writing. Encouraging other writers to achieve their writing goals is as much a passion for me as developing my own novels. It all began with a dare and finding the self-confidence needed to take those first steps in learning how to write. And my husband? He's my best cheerleader and my worst critic. He challenges me to dive deeper into characterization and plot while assisting my in research.

If I can do it, so can you.

I dare you.

The Surrender of a Lady

***

I'd like to say I have wanted to be a writer since my childhood years, but that's not quite the case. I had dreams of being a great writer until I hit highschool. That was when I started getting abysmal grades in all my English classes. So I focused on music and science instead. Many years later, I found romance novels and devoured every one I could get my hands on and began to dream of writing again.

Three paranormal manuscripts, a novella and ninety or so rejections later, I started weighing my options in the world of publishing. It was time to face some hard facts about my writing if I wanted to seek publication: I wasn't that great at writing paranormals.

So I started a new project that had been nagging to be told for a few months. It was set in Constantinople, the Isle of Corfu and ended in Italy (all during the Victorian period)-’settings and a time period I hadn't previously tried and knew nothing about. I told myself that publishers didn't want foreign settings with foreign characters in romance (my heroine is half Spanish and there are characters from many cultures in my book). But I didn't care, because I was writing something that kept me on my laptop desperate to know what would happen next in my heroine's, Jinan's, journey.

I had never read any books like the one I was writing. Yes, there are harem books out there, but I couldn't find one like mine in romance or in literary fiction. I was worried that a story so different from the norm might never live to see the light of day, but I was determined to find a home for it.

I met my agent at a conference. She offered representation within a few weeks. We talked about revisions and the story as a whole and I worked diligently on making my story better. Then I was on submission, and I patiently (well, not so patiently) waited for rejections and hopefully an offer to trickle in.

An offer for three books came in before any rejections could. I think I cried. I can't really remember. I know I was sitting in my cubicle at work trying to hold back my excitement-’my coworkers oblivious to the fact that my whole world had just changed.

The good news didn't stop with the offer, though. All the other houses still had to get back to us. We got a lot of positive rejections and another offer. I even got to talk to both editors before bidding commenced.

I couldn't believe that two houses wanted this book that I was scared crapless of writing because it was so different from everything I had ever read. It was nerve wracking (because I couldn't tell anyone except my critique partner and hubby), and a scary and exhilarating ride for the next two weeks! Then the final offer came in and I couldn't be more thrilled than to have sold to St. Martin's Press.

This time at work I didn't hold back my excitement. I emailed my whole office when the offer went up on Publishers Marketplace (some didn't even know that I wrote). I called my Mom and Dad who in turn told our gazillion member family my good fortune!

Finally, the day has come when I'll see my first book on the shelf in a bookstore. I can turn to the other women (and odd man) in the romance section and say . . .   that's me! Okay, so they'll think I'm crazy (and I can admit that I am a little strange), but that's okay because every bit of the journey, the rejections, the learning, the frustrations, the high and low times have brought me here, to the final realization of my dream of becoming a published author.

THE SURRENDER OF A LADY hits shelves September 28, 2010. Comment below for a chance to win one of three (3) copies of my debut book. (Sorry, this contest is open to North American residents only.)

***

When I was an aspiring author, I had a vivid dream of how my first book would come to be published. After all my years of researching and polishing my manuscript about Cleopatra’s Daughter, an editor would clutch my beloved manuscript to her heart and sigh with joy. Then I would get the call, in which I would learn that my magnificent work was a rare gem in the literary world, and everything would be fairies and rainbows and unicorns…

Yeah. So that’s not what happened at all.

Being an idiotic neophyte, I'd always assumed that my book was a work of epic fantasy. Nevermind that it was historical. Nevermind that it was a journey more suitable to women’s fiction. I figured that since it had magic in it, it had to be fantasy, and pitched to a few spec fic editors who were excited to see the full manuscript, but ultimately decided that I was barking up the wrong genre tree.

At that point, it struck me that if I wasn’t even sure what genre I was writing in, I obviously needed some help. So, I set about getting an agent. Only a few days after I started my search, I received a call from Jennifer Schober of Spencerhill Associates. She excitedly asked to see the full manuscript of what I was then calling Cleopatra’s Daughter.

Now, this was a miracle. But because by all rights, she shouldn't have called at all. Not only had the email I provided to Jennifer bounced, but I had also managed to send her a manuscript in which all my comments were right there in the margins where she could read them. (Did I mention already that I’m an idiot?)

In spite of all this, she wanted to read the full manuscript and called to tell me that she “love love loved” it and wanted to offer me representation. There was no question that I was going to say yes. Jennifer wasn’t just my dream agent, she was also passionate about my work. Even so, I took the time to read over the contract before enthusiastically accepting.

Now, literary agents all know what happened next, right? As soon as you sign a new client, out comes every old manuscript from the trunk. And I had a few. I didn’t want her to think I was a one trick pony, after all. Sure, I wrote historical fiction. But I also wrote fantasy and romance and a few other things besides. I particularly love mythology and I’d just completed a little novella about a gorgon in love. Yes, that’s right. A gorgon.

Jennifer patiently read my stuff and adored the gorgon story which she assured me was perfect for Harlequin’s Nocturne line. I told her that I had an idea for an accompanying novella about a modern day hydra and she loved that idea too. I was really excited to work on something as creative as updating Greek monster mythology for modern readers, and things were looking great! I was on cloud nine.

Of course, I had no idea the emotional roller-coaster I was about to take.

You see, an editor who shall remain nameless at a major publishing house, fell in love my big historical about Cleopatra’s Daughter. What’s more, she was taking it to the acquisitions board. My agent was super excited. I was super excited. It was happening! Just as I had hoped, an editor had clutched my manuscript to her heart and sighed with joy…

But then everything came to a screeching halt. There was a problem. You see, another book entitled CLEOPATRA’S DAUGHTER was just about to hit bookshelves. And it had been penned by none other than best-selling author Michelle Moran.

Now, I don’t think it’s possible to overstate my state of shock as my first major sale unravelled. In thirty years, no one had written a book about Cleopatra Selene. But now, somehow, the enormously talented and personable Michelle Moran had done it! I was plunged into despair at the thought that my manuscript was no rare gem. I'd seem like a copy cat! All my publishing hopes and dreams were in smoldering ruins. Ruins, I tell you.

I couldn't be comforted. It was like the worst break-up I’d ever had. I brooded and listened to maudlin music. I stayed up late watching Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton on DVD. I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. And I don’t even like Chunky Monkey.

Then, as if in penance for that ice cream, I came down with the worst case of stomach flu I’d had in my life. I spent the next few days in the bed or worshipping the porcelain goddess so that when my agent called, I struggled not to groan into the phone. I was utterly confused when she told me that we had an offer.

I was dehydrated, curled up in a shivering heap at the end of my couch in a pair of fuzzy slippers, and so I assumed I was delirious when she said that Nocturne editor Tara Gavin had loved my gorgon novella, and loved my outline for the modern day hydra even more. So much so that she wanted me to turn it into a book.

I may have said something very eloquent like, “Wait, what?”

“It’s official,” Jenn told me. “A two book contract for Nocturne. Your first book!”

I sat there in my delirium contemplating this. After years and years of honing my craft and polishing my manuscripts, I had somehow sold my first book–sight-unseen–based on an outline? Later, of course, I would realize that it wasn’t just based on an outline. Tara had purchased my gorgon story, which would go on to be MIDNIGHT MEDUSA. She understood the arc of my planned MYTHICA series and based on all my other work, she had faith that I could deliver an exciting, gritty story of dark sensuality.

“So this is really happening?” I asked. “It’s safe to shriek?”

My agent laughed and said yes. But I didn’t really scream. Instead, I may have murmured something like, “I think I have to throw up.”

I called my mom. Then I crawled back into bed. When my husband came home, we celebrated with shots of Pepto Bismol. I tell you, Pink Bismoth has never tasted so fine…

In the next few months, I was on my way to becoming a Harlequin author. My debut novel, POISONED KISSES, turned out to be a story that moved me. It's one that explored fears of abandonment and the disguises that we all wear, even with those we loved. If you’ve ever wondered what kind of daddy issues a daughter of Ares might have, this is the book for you. And I couldn’t be prouder for it to be my first book sale and part of a longer series that I’m writing for Nocturne.

But there’s also a cherry on my chunky monkey sundae. You see, a few months later, Cindy Hwang of Berkley books read my historical. I don’t know if she clutched it to her breast and sighed with joy, contemplating dreamily about what a literary gem she had found. But she did make an enthusiastic offer, and now LILY OF THE NILE: A NOVEL OF CLEOPATRA’S DAUGHTER will hit bookshelves in January 2011.

***

So I wrote  Soulless on a dare. No really.

I was winching on, as you do, that no one wanted to buy my overwritten overbuilt YA fantasy series (ten years or so of trying).

My then partner, AKA the Louder Half, looked at me and rumbled, “So why don’t you just write something that will sell?”

To which I replied, “I’ll play your silly game.”

At which he explained, “Your problem is that you want to be an artist. What you need to be is an artisan.”

He’s a computer geek, what can I say?

But there was some merit to this idea. So I thought to myself, what’s missing in the book world right now? What do I want to read that I can’t find? What niche can I carve for myself in this troublesome market? I know they say never to write “to the market”, but I was so very tired of playing by all the rules.

So I nosed about. There were plenty of urban fantasy books out there but they were mostly contemporary. Steampunk was just getting popular but it was mostly dark. I enjoy reading about the past but I also dearly love a good laugh. So I dared myself to try to write a steampunk urban fantasy comedy of manners. Why not? I had nothing else to loose.

It took me 6 months to write and then I sent  Soulless out into the slush piles and prepared to collect rejection letters. I did collect them, but mostly from agents.

Much to my shock, just under two months later, I got that fateful 212 phone call that every writer dreams of (212 is the area code for New York City). I was drinking a most excellent latte and correcting term papers at my favorite local cafe. There might have been some rather indelicate sputtering and a certain amount of foam loss as a result of the fact that on the other end of the line was a senior editor from a major publishing house.

I then wandered, in simulated dignity and forgetting all about both exams and latte, through the cafe and out the back where I started gyrating around the parking lot in an excess of excitement.

With possible contract to hand, I queried my first choice agent and she said yes. Contract negotiations commenced. Only then did I find out they wanted a series.

The Hunt

***

My first sale was due to Disney. I'd always dreamed of writing a romance novel One Day (cue the Disney music), but that day was always some vague, indeterminate day in the future. I was working for Pixar, an inspirational workplace, because it seemed as if absolutely everyone there-’from the Oscar-winning directors to the guys in the maintenance department-’were creative. Everyone spent weekends writing a book or a film script, illustrating books or exhibiting in galleries, crafting and running highly successful Etsy shops. I was able to take free writing courses from Pixar University, Pixar's in-house training and development program, and I loved it. My stacks of writing books grew, but my word count didn't. I'd write that book. Someday.

Then, one morning, I went to work and my manager asked me to step into his office. And shut the door. Uh-oh. Ten minutes later, I was laid off and bawling my eyes out in the Human Resources office, a casualty of the Disney-Pixar merger. All I wanted to do was stop crying long enough to slink out of the studio without being spotted.

I made it home. I sat on the bed, howled, and ate my way through all of the junk food in the house. My husband, wise man that he was, hugged me and left to make a grocery store run for more sugar. Halfway through, though, something happened. I got mad and I stopped crying. I'd loved the idea of my job and I'd absolutely adored the studio-’but the work itself had become boring. If I could write anything, I realized, I'd be writing romance. So why wasn't I doing that? I had a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines in my bathroom that promised me that being laid off was actually A Very Good Thing (clearly, that writer didn't have a mortgage) and that it was the universe's permission to reinvent myself and choose to pursue whatever I felt a passion for.

Choose. Choosing sounded damned good to me. I could choose to write a book. I could see being laid off as an opportunity to follow my dream, rather than as an invitation to drain my savings account.

I chose to get up each morning and, before I looked at the online want ads (shh, don't tell on me), I wrote. At first, I had a daily goal of 500 words. Then a thousand. Then three thousand. I wrote three books while I was waiting for my first sale. One wisely resides in my closet; the light of day is not kind. The second earned me a revise-and-resubmit (closer!). The third book was the charm. THE HUNT is a fun book, my treat to myself as I slogged through job postings and interviews and the constant No, No, No! of job searching. I just made the book up as I went along, adding in all my favorite bits. A strong, sexy alpha male. A really, really sexy chase scene. Some slightly kinky sex. Pyramids. A heroine who was resilient and feisty and more than capable of making the hero want to reach for happily-ever-after. By the two year anniversary of my layoff, those choices were a complete book and I had an agent and my first sale. And the revise-and-resubmit? I revised and resubmitted and BOND WITH ME, a sexy paranormal romance about fallen angels in search of their soul mates, comes out on August 24^th. All because of a choice.

***

My journey to become an author reads like a Cinderella story.   But that doesn't mean there weren't road bumps along the way.   It all started when, a little over ten years ago, I found myself at loose ends.   We'd just moved back to Texas from Austria, my daughter was going off to kindergarten and my pre-pregnancy career in association management required long hours and a lot of away time.   I wanted to be home for my child, but I also wanted regain some identity beyond "mom' and "wife'.     And so I sat down and made a list.     Rock singer, Broadway star, secret agent, write a book.     You know, totally practical choices.

Well, reality sank in quickly, and I realized I talked to much to be a spy, I was a little too old and a little to rotund to live in spandex, and today's Broadway stars all sing and dance.   I can sing.   But man, you don't want to see me dance.   Which left "write a book'.   Writing is something I've done my whole life.   I've written stories ever since I was old enough to put fingers to pencil.   But I'd never seriously considered the option.     And writing could be done anywhere and anytime.   Wherever my husband's adventures took us next, whatever hours my daughter's life demanded.   And I could live in jeans and sweats.   It seemed a win/win situation.   Only I'd never written a novel before.

So I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves and being a little obsessive/compulsive, started researching.     Both the idea for my story, and the genre I'd chosen to write in.   Romantic suspense.   Now that one was a no brainer.   I've always been a romantic at heart.     I love a happy ending.   Cried when I didn't get to see Cinderella's wedding.   Wanted more from Meg and Calvin in A Wrinkle in Time, and always loved a good romantic hero – like Mr. Darcy.   And as a lover of suspense, I liked the idea of integrating the suspense plotline with the romance.

So after reading something like four-hundred novels over a three month period (my husband had no idea what I was doing, and thank goodness was wonderful enough not to comment), I opened the proverbial blank computer page, and started to type.   About five months later, I wrote THE END and cried and drank champagne, and being an over achiever, joined RWA, entered a contest, started the second book, and began Agent Quest.

Now there’s a task not suited for the squeamish.   Anyway, six months later, I got a call (next best to The Call) and after singing eight rounds of the Hallelujah Chorus and doing a victory dance that would make Snoopy proud, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and signed with my agent, (which doesn’t say a lot for my signature.)

To pass the time (as you are no doubt aware, this is not a fast moving business) and because all the really great writers I admire said so, I kept writing, and eight months after that,   I got The Call. This time I was paralyzed from the mouth down and only managed to say things like “Wow!”   “You’re kidding” “You’re sure?”   “Me?”  -’you get the idea. And then, so excited I was physically shaking, I hung up-’before finding out which publisher had bought the book.   Everything in its Time (by Berkley) was published in July of 2000.

And here I am almost exactly ten years from the day I first held my first book in my hands and checked inside to make certain the words were really mine.   It's been an amazing ride.   Full of the ups and downs that are part of any career.   And it is with the exact same excitement and pleasure that I hold copies of the first three books in my new A-Tac series; Dark Deceptions, Dangerous Desires, and Desperate Deeds.

I've learned so much along the way.   About writing, publishing, and probably most of all, about myself.     My husband's career has led us to Manhattan, my daughter will graduate from high school next year, and I'm still writing.   And pinching myself.   Sometimes dreams do come true!

***

Great to back at DearAuthor, and Jane, thanks for the invitation.   No discussion of execrable book covers this time; instead, I'm going to briefly describe how I first got published, with an eye toward what lessons other writers might learn from my experience and apply to their own efforts

At the risk of stating the obvious, it bears pointing out that the first thing you need to do to get a novel published is- write a novel.   I've said a lot about this before, particularly at my TEDx Tokyo talk, so for now, I'll just mention that in retrospect, I realize what gave birth to my first novel, Rain Fall, was a lifelong tendency to indulge certain passions of mine:   forbidden knowledge, politics, judo, jazz, and Japan (where I was living when I started writing the book).   Stories don't get catalyzed by the things that bore you; they quicken instead when you do the things you love.   So if you want to write a story, or just avoid writer's block, I recommend finding a way to do the things that fascinate you, the things you love to do, the things you obsess over and that make the world go away.   Those things are like coal being shovelled into the furnace of your imagination, and denying yourself those things is like denying your mind the nutrition it needs to thrive.   For more thoughts on how to find the time, discipline, and structure to write a novel (hint: don't watch television), again, my TEDx Tokyo talk is a good resource.

Okay, fast forward:   after about five years of on-again, off-again effort (I had a busy day job), I finished the first draft.   I had no idea what to do with it, so I went to a bookstore and picked up a book on how to get your novel published.   Apparently, I needed an agent.   Okay- next up, The Writer's Digest Guide to Literary Agents.   I identified the ones who handled thrillers, contacted them all in whatever manner each requested and, in short order-

Fifty rejections.

Most were form letters, but a few had some helpful suggestions scribbled in the margins.   A few had some really bad suggestions, one of which I still remember:   "Try third person."   That would have been a disaster for Rain Fall, leaching the story of the appeal of firsthand access to the mind of a ruthlessly competent but conflicted contract killer.   I ignored the bad suggestions, considered the good ones, and did an extensive rewrite.

Eventually, a friend of a friend who worked at a publishing house suggested that I send the manuscript to a few agents with whom she worked, one of whom was Nat Sobel, who became my first agent.   Nat saw promise in the early manuscript but knew it wasn't ready for prime time; he offered suggestions for improvement that were as extensive as they were excellent, and, about two years later, he judged the manuscript ready to go.   At that point (this was autumn, 2001), the deals came fast and furious:   first Sony's Village Books in Japan, then Penguin Putnam in the US, then eight foreign offers, all over the course of about two months, all two-book deals.   I quit my day job and have been writing full time ever since-’a dream come true.

Let's pause here and consider what might be usefully learned from my experience.

If I could do things over, I would have tried to write more consistently.   Spending months or even days away from a manuscript detaches the story from your unconscious.   Conversely, working on a story every day lights a fire in your unconscious that becomes self-sustaining, igniting new story points even when you're not consciously working on the draft.   So the on-again, off-again approach drastically inhibits your access to one of your most powerful storytelling assets:   your unconscious, what I've heard Stephen King call "the boys in the basement."

I would also have read more how-to books.   There are some excellent books on craft out there, and while I believe they're of secondary importance to actually writing and to learning to read like a writer, they can dramatically accelerate your mastery of craft.   Anyone who tells you "but you can't teach art," by the way, is being glib.   Of course art can't be taught, but teaching art isn't the point.   The point is:   all art is based on craft-’that is, on a   body of techniques that can be taught to and learned by anyone with talent.   Art is an expression of something unique to you and indeed, it can't be taught.   But without craft, there is no art, because all art is based on craft. The truism that "art can't be taught" is an observation so pointless and irrelevant that I wonder how it continues as a meme.   Maybe it makes artists feel more special, as though they've been chosen for unique dispensation by the magical writing muse.   Maybe it comforts talented non-artists by freeing them of responsibility for their failure to study.   Either way, it's silly and misleading and ought to be retired.

(On the subject of glib pronouncements inexplicably embraced unimpeded by critical thought:   Frank Zappa is supposed to have said, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture."   I suppose this could be true, if the expressive, descriptive, and overall communication possibilities of dance were identical to those of the written word.   Are they?)

(Another glib straw man argument, advanced not long ago by David Pogue, the NYT's technology columnist, is that we in the book biz need not be concerned about digital books because "E-book readers won't replace books." True, and the car hasn't replaced the horse and buggy-’you can still catch a carriage ride around Central Park, right?   But this is probably scant comfort to the horse-based transportation economy, which was devastated by the advent of the automobile.   The point isn't replacement; it is disruption, and anyone who tells you the functional equivalent of "firearms didn't really change warfare because after all the bow and arrow is still used at the archery range" is intellectually lazy or in denial or both.)

Sorry about the parentheticals- obviously, more coffee is in order.   Anyway, there's no substitute for practice, true, but for any skill you're trying to learn-’a martial art, a language, a musical instrument, writing-’there's an optimal balance of practice and theory.   In retrospect, I realize would have learned faster if I'd informed my practice with a little more theory, whether how-to books, writer's groups, conferences, or whatever.

One thing you shouldn't conclude from the fact that it was a friend of a friend who put me in touch with the guy who became my first agent is that it matters who you know in this business.   That's a common misapprehension, born of wishful thinking.   What matters is writing a great story.   The literary agent's business model involves reviewing everything that comes in, so eventually I would have gotten to Nat, and his judgment would have been the same.   Having someone steer me to him speeded things up for me, but that's all.

Remember, who you know might get a door opened for you, or get it opened a little sooner than you might have opened it on your own.   But what happens on the other side of that door is entirely up to you.   Manage your priorities accordingly (translation:   Write. The. Book).

Another lesson:   the truth of the adage, "Good writing is rewriting.   Sometimes people are astonished when they learn that Rain Fall, the first novel I'd started, was also my first published.   What they don't realize is that how much rewriting went into that manuscript-’for the amount I learned from it, it might as well have been my fifth manuscript, not, technically, my first.   You have to be committed taking the time and expending the effort to develop your mastery of the craft-’the practice side of the practice/theory balance I mentioned earlier.

Maybe I should close with a few thoughts on what kept me going during the eight years between the first idea for the Rain Fall manuscript and the first sale of rights for the novel.   That can be a long, lonely stretch:   no contract, a busy day job, the distractions of everyday life, and no external reason to believe you have the talent or might have the luck to get published.

I think that, in life, there are things you can control and things you can't (or, to think of the whole thing as a continuum, there are things that are relatively amenable to your influence and things that are relatively unamenable).   The things you're responsible for, and therefore the things that can be the source of legitimate pride or shame, are the ones you can control.   If you want to be a writer, the thing you can almost totally control is finishing the book.   Finding an agent, getting published- that all takes a certain amount of luck and timing and circumstances (although of course your hard work on what you can control will affect these less controllable factors, too).   So my attitude was this:   I wanted to be published, but if it didn't happen, I didn't want it to be my fault.   I wanted to be able to look in the mirror and say, "Okay, you didn't manage to get published, but you did everything you could to make it happen, you finished the book, so you've got nothing to be ashamed of and every reason to feel proud."   That attitude-’the fear of one day feeling that if I didn't make it I might think it was my fault-’is what kept me going for many years with no external signs of success.   Imagine how it'll feel if you don't get published and you know it was your fault-’and make sure not to let that happen to you.

I hope this was helpful-’and that you'll now get back to writing!