Looking forward… (plus a contest)

This is a repost from the Blaze Authors Blog from Thursday, in case any of the Super Lucky #1 Fun Blog's visitors might like a chance to win a book.

Hey, everyone! Happy… Dear God, mid-November? When did that happen?

I know it's a bit premature, but I've been thinking about goals for the new year. Goals have been on my mind all through 2011, since I've been doing all those ridiculous monthly Lent experiments, and while I don't want to do anything as intensive and constant as Discipline Year again any time soon, I am still very much pro-goal. So what to aim for, in 2012? Some aims are obvious; write and sell as many books as I can. Stay healthy. Learn when to step away from the keyboard. And between July (no sugar) and this month, alcohol-free Novembooze, I'm eager to keep eliminating sugar from my diet (if anyone else shares that mission, I can't recommend this lecture enough as motivation). But here are some more measurable, targeted goals I've been kicking around:

1. Read more. I'd like to read one hundred books in 2012. That's two a week, and I know to some of you voracious types, that's laughable. You could read a hundred books by April, I bet! But in the past few years, since becoming a writer, my fiction-reading skills have taken a battering. Every book I open up turns into a lesson. Not drudgery, not homework, but I'm so semi-consciously preoccupied with seeing how other authors put their words and stories together, it takes me ages to read, now. I'd love to relearn how to read quickly, nuts to turning the act into a learning experience. So, a hundred books in a year. That's my first goal.

2. Cook new things. My vegetarian month, Meat-Free May, and our participation in a farm-share program (we get a box of fresh, local, seasonal vegetables every week) have reminded how much fun it is to try new recipes. I'd like to try a new recipe once a week in the new year, to keep my modest culinary repertoire expanding…and to make grocery shopping a bit more adventurous.

3. Run ten miles. I used to hate running. But in the last decade it's gone from torture to chore to routine to something I even look forward to, some days. But I've yet to run farther than five and a half miles without stopping, and most days I go about three. I'd love to be able to say I ran ten miles, even just once, just to know I can do it. I'm going to aim to reach that goal by my birthday (May 2), with a little help from a renewed YMCA membership once the weather here turns inhospitable. Which could be any second now. [checks watch]

4. Land an agent. I really need to get off my butt and do this! It's a scary goal, because of all the ones I've listed, it's the one whose success is ultimately out of my hands. I can try and try and try, but I could still fall short. But that's a stupid reason to not try, so come January, I'm an author on a mission!

So those are my goals. I think 2012 is going to be an exciting year! I'll be attending my first Romantic Times Booklovers' Convention in April, and those folks actually just nominated Caught on Camera for an RT Reviewers' Choice Award, for best series debut. Pretty cool. So cool, in fact, let's do a contest! Tell me a goal you have in mind for the new year, and I'll pick a commenter [from the original post's comments] at random to win a paperback copy of Caught on Camera (or if you've already read it and you're patient, I promise I'll mail you a copy of my next Blaze, once it's published). I'll even make the contest international, so go ahead—tell me what you hope to accomplish in 2012! I'll pick a winner on Sunday, around noon, EST, and announce it in the Blaze Authors Blog comments.

Take care! Can’t wait to hear what your goals are.

Meg

Six Sentence Sunday #11

Got some cool and completely unexpected news this week that my first Blaze, Caught on Camera, was nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award for best series romance debut. So to celebrate, I'll let it take over Six Sunday. Here's the basic premise—Ty is a television survival show host (think Man vs. Wild or Survivorman) and Kate is his personal assistant, best friend, handler, pretty much everything but lover. As the book starts, they're busy taping a show in snowy Saskatchewan…

She rounded the bend at the edge of the woods and discovered why Ty wasn’t shouting back—sitting splay-legged on a fallen tree, he had one of the other cameras perched on his broad shoulder, its lens trained on Kate, red light blinking. As she neared she heard him narrating for his own amusement, a raised whisper in the Australian accent that earned them at least a quarter of their ratings.

“… the natural habitat of the Kate Somersby. We can see from her stance that this approach is one of postured aggression, though the look in the female’s eye suggests that mating may be on her mind. Let’s wait and see what she’s after.” Ty abandoned the voice-over as Kate pushed her boot against the front of his vest, toppling him harmlessly backward into the wet snow.

Thanks for swinging by, everyone! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.

Om nom nomination!

Well, the official list of nominees is out, so I can quit being such a cagey pessimist—looks like I'm up for a Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award, for best series romance debut! Pretty cool. I was nominated for my first Blaze, Caught on Camera, which came out last April. I'll be sure to celebrate by excerpting it for Six Sentence Sunday this weekend.

Thanks to everyone who tweeted warm congrats this week…especially my NEC-RWA chaptermate and fellow Harlequin author Barbara Wallace, who told me I must be on the list, before she'd even seen said list. Your faith humbles me, Barb! Congratulations on your own nomination, for Best Harlequin Romance!

Six Sentence Sunday #9

Greetings, my sixy beasts! By now you're all surely sick of reading about my evil twin's Parisian man-whore, so let's move on. Here are six sentences from my upcoming Blaze, tentatively titled Honeymoon for One. The seaplane pilot hero and runaway bride heroine are in the cockpit, headed for the mainland, and Will is teasing Leigh for having artlessly thrown herself at him the night before:

“Never been sexually assaulted by a guest before,” Will said, facing forward. “Just trying to be polite, lest you manhandle me again.”

“Womanhandle, you mean.”

Another grin.

“You can get away with a lot,” Leigh said, “since you’re the only man who can get me off that island.”

“If we’re being indiscreet again, I’m going to go ahead and delete the last two words of that sentence.”

Thanks for swinging by, everyone! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.

Six Sentence Sunday #3

Six sentences from Honeymoon for One (working title) just contracted by Harlequin Blaze. The sale came after a very challenging year of rejections, following my initial sale.

The heroine has just run away from her wedding and is en route to her honeymoon destination, sans groom, being transported to a private island by a very irksome seaplane pilot…

“Not too late to swim, if you’re offended by the service.”

“No, thank you, though I suspect I’ll be sitting in the cabin on the way back.”

“Probably wise—my old man was a cabbie in New York,” Will said. “My gifts of customer service are purely genetic.”

“A very rare and malicious disorder, I’m sure. Thank goodness you’re not contagious.”

Head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts.

Hell froze over!

Greetings from Victoria, BC! Vacation is still in full effect, but I'm popping in to interrupt the blog hiatus with some long-awaited great news—I finally sold a second book to Harlequin Blaze! I found out this afternoon while driving around Vancouver Island, and though my phone cut out on my editor, I heard enough to the know it was the news I'd been giving myself gray hairs over.

It's been an entire year since the first sale, and while I'd heard from multiple series romance authors that the second sale is infamously the hardest (since the first is often a bit of a fluke), I won't pretend I wasn't starting to doubt my ability to ever come up with another winning proposal.

If you're curious about the details, the book's working title has been Honeymoon for One, and it's about an actress who pulls a runaway-bride act on her wedding day and meets an unscrupulous (but alluring) pilot when she runs off to enjoy her Caribbean honeymoon, sans two-timing groom. I'll be sure to include a few lines in a Six Sunday post when I'm back in Boston next week.

Thanks to everyone who told me to hang in there through the failed proposals and jags of self-doubt, and the looong spells of cricket-chirping these past twelve-plus months. Couldn't do this job without you guys!

My Thirty-Third May

I feel as if I've barely blogged this month. I feel just slightly as if I've barely been conscious this month, actually, especially during that week and a half of non-stop rain and gloom. At the same time, I can't believe how much I've gotten done. I turned thirty-two on the second, and so far the thirty-third May of my life has been…all over the place.

As the month started, I'd just thrown in the towel on a third failed Blaze proposal, eyeballs-deep in a weird mix of frustrated / discouraged and liberated / hopeful. Two weeks after hearing I needed to put that last proposal out of its misery, I'd started and finished the next proposal (synopsis and first three chapters) and sent it off to my intrepid editor. I got a call about it just this past Friday while I was waiting in the train station—I'd gone into Boston for a physical and to get my possibly stress-fractured shin x-rayed. My editor wanted to see some deeper emotional insight in both the hero and heroine's initial opening POV scenes, and a stronger first couple paragraphs. Um, period.

Period?

Period! No changes requested on the spartan synopsis. No issues with either characters' conflicts or motivations. Nothing wrong with the hook, the setting, the premise. For reals?

Apparently, for reals. When I had what I'd cautiously hoped was a light bulb moment, chatting with senior Blaze editor Brenda Chin at the New England RWA conference, I prayed things might go this way. The last three proposals have missed the mark flagrantly and unsalvageably, though I thrashed and struggled as much as anyone could, trying to force them to work. Then at conference I finally gave myself permission to quit overthinking and overworking, overguessing the details of the overwrought plot, when I'm simply not an up-front plotter. I got the green light to explore a workable hook, and did just that, 100% chart-, graph-, and fourteen-page synopsis-free. It may not have scored a resounding, revisionless acceptance, but the writing process felt infinitely more organic and intuitive that the last few efforts, and I'm not surprised it garnered far fewer editorial misgivings.

This morning I finished (I hope) addressing my editor's concerns with the opening chapters, and sent the revised proposal back out into the ether. And she's encouraged me to keep working on the subsequent chapters, which can't be a bad sign. So keep those fingers crossed, if they haven't grown arthritic and mangled with your unwavering empathy. Maybe I'll have extra-good news to share soon. Maybe I'll even manage to make my second Blaze sale within a year of the first… For those with Doomsday clocks at the ready, set them to July 12.

May was also the month of no meat. This experiment, of all the Discipline Year self-imposed challenges I've yet tackled, was far and away the easiest and the most fun. The only temptations came during family barbecues, and I resisted with little angst. Otherwise I had a blast rediscovering an interest in cooking. I always enjoy cooking, but in the past year or two I'd gotten to a point where I simply recycled the same half-dozen dinner standards over and over. Meat-Free May was a great excuse to try out new dishes. In fact tonight I'm making that African stew again, so my repertoire of regulars has expanded! And of course, my life will no longer be complete without tempeh making the occasional appearance.

I didn't lose or gain any weight, so no revelations on that front.

My husband suspects that, in part, my unnaturally long blue spell (nearly two weeks' funk) in the latter half of the month could be linked to the decreased protein intake. I'll buy it. It was also rainy and I had PMS and was dealing with stupid social media melodrama angst and was uncertain about my proposal, but I rarely stay bummed that long without something else going on, so perhaps he's on to something.

Still, I'm in no rush to bring the meat back. I'll be excited to order seafood at my favorite restaurants once more, and it'll be nice to toss chicken in with the stir-fry, but I haven't missed meat all that much. Doesn't hurt that I have a broad-palated partner with West Coast ideals, either. The entire household went veggie this month, at least at home. Thanks, manfriend!

Next month was supposed to be No Java June, when I go coffee-free (if not caffeine free—tea was to still be kosher) but I think I'll switch it up. All things going well, I may be on deadline, and that is not the time to volunteer for chemical withdrawal. So I'm likely going to swap June and July and go sugar-free for the next month. Anyhow, more on that tomorrow.

Despite the possible stress fracture, which is keeping me from running, May has been a great month for exercise. Lovely spring temperatures for my daily walks, plus we've been cycling a couple times, hiking even more, and at long last I got my shit together and rearranged my room, making it yoga-friendly again. Unless you're talking to someone who's practiced and enjoyed yoga themselves, it's hard to say how powerful and awesome it is without sounding like a self-satisfied hippie-dippy douchebag. So I won't ramble, but since I got back to hardcore stretching before bedtime in the last week or so, I've slept better, felt better, blah blah blah. Go yoga.

Back to work! Hoping to finish my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin's edits quickly, so I'll have time to indulge in a beer and last night's Bachelorette episode before chores call me to wifely duty. Enjoy the final day of May! Or if you're already in June when you read this, don't tell me what happens. I hate spoilers.

Watch me flail!

As promised, here's a link to my post over at the Blaze Authors Blog, all about my ongoing struggles as I work to make my second Blaze sale.

Hit Send…and receive!

Hey all,

My new fantail shirt! Sweet as.

Plenty of you seem to pity me enough to click my post links on occasion, and as such you're likely aware that my road to making my second sale to Harlequin Blaze has been…shall we say…uphill. Well this morning I hit send on my FOURTH proposal since selling my first—and for now, only—book with them.

This latest attempt emerged after much frustration, persistence, and well-timed guidance, which you can read all about in my scheduled post with the Blaze Authors Blog tomorrow (I'll post a link to it here.) I felt confident as I sent this new story out into the editorial ether… Well no, "ether" is wrong. My experience with my editor at Blaze has been nothing if not clear and open, nothing ephemeral or murky about it. But anyhow, this time feels different. Not because I'm positive it will hit the mark, but because my fingers aren't crossed gangrene-inducingly tight for once. The theme of this submission has been "Don't Overthink It." Probably ought to get that tattooed on my palm, an added reinforcement the next time I find occasion to slap some sense into myself. Shouldn't be long at all. Anyhow, what will be will be. Perhaps fourth time's the charm?

Three varieties of Almond Gold!

So, I hit Send and spent the rest of the morning feeling that weird mix of post-submission hopefulness and paranoia. By lunchtime I was feeling downright blue for a variety of non-dramatic reasons, but things took a nice change by the time I got back from my daily walk. Not only was there a royalty check waiting for my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin, but my faithful Kiwi pen pal Gerry's yearly birthday care package had arrived! He sent me an ace bird-nerd shirt (a fantail is a common New Zealand bird) and the requisite pile of Almond Gold chocolate bars, plus some Spaceman Candy Sticks. My new shirt smells of them. Bonus. Also had some new cover art waiting in my inbox for the evil twin, which I'll post on her site and Goodreads this afternoon. So I've perked up a bit. I hit Send in good faith, and good things have already come to me in return. Feels like a hopeful enough omen.

Now if only someday soon I get to write the blog post entitled, HELL FROZE OVER! I SOLD MY SECOND BLAZE!!! But patience, oh spastic one.

Intuition and Commercial Fiction

No clue where this post is going, so don't expect any profound hypotheses.

After wrapping some major edits and other responsibilities, it's time to tackle the task of revising my latest Blaze proposal. I've had a couple of weeks to ruminate on it since talking to my editor, which is good. Those weeks dampened the blow of hearing the submission wasn't quite hitting the mark as is, so that fact is no longer stinging, disappointing news, but merely a large item on my to-do list. What I really took away from both this proposal and the previous one (which was simply rejected) is that I'm trying a bit too hard.

Conversely, another supposed Blaze I wrote before I'd sold Caught on Camera didn't feel that way at all. I wrote it quite quickly and pleasurably, thinking it was a Blaze, and really loving it. Then I was told it's not a Blaze and the multiple reasons why were spelled out, making that fact rather obvious in hindsight (mainly, it was too dark). But happily I did sell it to Samhain (it's called Trespass, out in late July), and thank goodness, as I really like that book, even though it's not a Blaze as I'd intended. Bonus, I got to add in all the swear words I'd softened per category romance etiquette.

So I can try too hard and miss the mark, and end up with a proposal that feels so forced and not-me-ish that I don't even care to finish it in the hopes another publisher will want it. Or I can write intuitively (as with Trespass) with not enough objective thought given to the tone and conventions of my targeted line, and end up with a book I love but that doesn't wind up where I'd initially intended. I need to find some middle ground.

Caught on Camera may have been that middle ground. I was pretty naive about everything when I wrote it, plus when the opportunity presented itself I wrote so fast I didn't give myself much time to overthink anything. I flung myself at the dart board and managed to hit close enough to the bulls eye to get invited to revise. With these other proposals I'm way over-aiming, psyching myself out, body clenched tight from the pressure, breath held, and my darts are hitting the wall and floor as a result.

But it's hard to will one's self to be calm when approaching a book. I want to write intuitively, but my 100% natural writing style is not very marketable. But when I work very hard to make a book commercially viable, I don't sound like myself quite as much. I'm determined to be a professional writer, though, so I need to figure out a way to make my own voice soar within the conventions and constraints of an established line. I need to accept that I simply don't enjoy or excel at writing plot-driven books, but also stop assuming that precludes me from being marketable. Character-driven stories can be as dynamic as plot-driven ones, right? I just need enough external plot to hold the story together while my characters live out the drama I much prefer to explore—the intimate human-to-human kind. I need to quit trying to cram my characters into what I think the "right" sort of plot should be.

For example, I do not enjoy writing stories with villains, and avoid it whenever possible. I like the animosity to come from the protagonists, especially since I enjoy writing lead characters who are themselves a bit despicable, if only in the odd moment or situation. I mean, we're all a bit despicable now and then. And that's so much more interesting to me than an external bad guy getting in the way. In fact I rather like it when the two leads view one another as the villain, at least to start.

Well, I have to go do some actual plotting now instead of just yammering about it, so I better leave this here. If I stumble upon any insights into the trying-really-hard versus flying-by-the-seat-of-my-intuitive-pants balance I'll be sure to share them.

Spotted in its natural habitat!

Yesss! It's the very first sighting of Caught on Camera in the wild! Big thanks to my Twitter buddy @EmilyCale. I don't suspect I'll ever fail to be excited by this, so if anyone else spots it, do feel free to e-mail me the evidence.

A thousand days later…

I won't ramble on and on, but I wanted to share that it's my very first [official] romance release day! Caught on Camera is out from Harlequin Blaze today. It's actually been out for a couple of weeks on eHarlequin, but now it's available everywhere as both a paperback and e-book, such as Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and maybe even in bookstores (not sure—haven't gone out to hunt for it in the wild yet).

I haven't popped champagne for a release day since my first erotica release in February 2010… But I think today I'll relax my what's-woot-worthy policy and celebrate. After all, this is a day I've been dreaming about for exactly 995 days—since I first opened a blank Word doc and began to write my very first romance. Wow, from zero-to-mass-market-published in just under a thousand days! That's kind of cool.

I'll be cracking open the champs around four this afternoon, and also cracking open my iPad and celebrating with some Angry Birds Rio. A big thanks to everyone who made this day happen—my husband, my beta readers Jen and Amy, Blaze editors Laura Barth and Brenda Chin, my RWA New England chaptermates (I utlimately sold the story based on a two-sentence pitch at our 2009 conference), Les Stroud and Bear Grylls, and all my awesomely supportive family and friends, both tangible and digital!

Quick additonal note—I was recently invited to guest post on the RT Book Reviews blog, so I'm over there today, chatting about my personality disorder. Er, my writing.

EASY STREET CLOSED

Please Use the Long and Less Deluded Detour 
Through Realityville →

When you are an aspiring author, you're taught to crave one moment of the writer's journey above all others:

The Call.

The first sale, the toiling unpubbed writer's ultimate drool-covered lust object. Oh, how things will change when you get The Call! Stress, to be sure, but exciting stress. You'll have an editor or an agent or both, professional deadlines like the big girls and boys, to be followed by cover art, perhaps an advance, a release day, fame and praise and endless, glowing reviews as everyone finally discovers your humble but undeniable genius!

Or not. I don't assume anyone apart from a true narcissist believes that it will quite so easy. And as we all know, authors are only selectively narcissistic. Most of the time we're quivering, shell-less masses of goo, cowering as we await the sticks that are surely poised at all times to poke our delicate viscera.

I decided to write this post to dispel some myths. Chiefly, that everything falls into place when you get that oft long-awaited call from a Being on High (your agent or editor). When we start out, The Call seems like the finish line—sprint or jog or crawl, it doesn't matter, but if you progress forward long enough, you'll break through the ribbon, triumphant.

I won't pretend I'm much of an authority on the industry. I still consider myself a newbie, having only begun writing two and a half years ago, and had titles available to readers for a little over one year now. I'm no seasoned veteran. Most of the time, I have no idea what I'm doing or how it is I've tricked someone into buying my work. But during my short journey, I have enjoyed more than one "call" of my own:

November 2009, an e-mail telling me Ellora's Cave wanted to buy an erotic novella I'd submitted to the slush pile, sans agent. I'm published! I'm published!

March 2010, a call letting me know I'd finaled in the Golden Heart—a contest some view as a shortcut to Easy Street, which turns all your queries to gold.

June 2010, an e-mail telling me that my Golden Heart manuscript was in fact going to sell to the progressive digital-first publisher Samhain—my first choice for the shorter-length romance, which wouldn't fly at a traditional print house looking for a longer single-title. Yes! Now I'd be published under two genres!

July 2010, an out-of-the-blue call from Harlequin Blaze, informing me they'd like to see revisions for a book I'd submitted fifteen months prior, before I'd even written any of the half dozen erotic novellas I'd since sold. I'd long ago given up on that book (only the second manuscript I'd ever completed), assuming it was so bad they'd burned it and blacklisted me. But no, they're just very busy people. Not long after the revision request, another call informed me that they liked my changes and wanted to buy the book. And by the way, where do we send your advance to?

And those four "calls"—though none of them what we think of as the BIG BREAK holy grail of selling a single-title to a huge New York house via an agent—when lumped together sort of imply that I've arrived. I made it to the party, and I didn't even have to sneak through an unlocked basement window! And many days I do feel as though I've arrived…but I won't for a single second tell you there's any such thing as Easy Street.

Nine months after selling to Harlequin, I'm still looking to land an agent to represent my two 90,000-word single-titles. Although I've made some efforts, they've so far been fruitless, met with a couple nibbles but no bites. Acquaintances say, "Oh, you should beating the agents off with a stick! You write for Harlequin!" But I'm sad to report that the offers, they are not busting my door down. This could be for all sorts of reasons, all of them legit… Agents are cagey about signing new authors when publishing is in the midst of such whopping-great flux, its future unclear. The book I'm hoping to sell doesn't have the wow-factor (in fact I suspect it does not—it's quirky and engaging, but not especially commercial or easy to boil down into a snappy, high concept pitch). Perhaps none of my shortlisted dream agents are intrigued by the premise, for the simple reason that it's not their personal cup of tea. Perhaps they got their purse stolen or their heart broken in New Zealand and don't want to read a book set there. Maybe all of those factors. Either way, my agent-beating stick is presently collecting dust.

Here's another myth—once you have an editor, you're in! They will buy everything you send them! I've been very fortunate with both Ellora's Cave and Samhain, in that they have yet to turn down any of my subsequent submissions. Their digital-first publishing models allow them to take chances on wonky-shaped pegs like me. Harlequin, however…that's an entirely differently ball game.

Cocky, freshly Harlequin'd newbie that I was, I expected that I had it made when I sold to Blaze. Part of this delusion came from the fact that my first sale to them—the first book I'd indeed ever written to target the line—sold. And in fact, the way in which I was invited to submit the full manuscript was very flukey, one of those right-place-right-time, make-your-own-luck strokes of good fortune you often hear about as an aspiring writer. Though I worked very hard to ultimately make the sale, in many ways the opportunity fell into my lap. Well, if I could sell to Blaze that [relatively] easily, I must be a natural! Surely I will go on to grace international bookstore shelves alongside my fellow Blaze Babes, in perpetuity, until I die peacefully of old age, swaddled in the glittering robes of my myriad successes! Well, I will share those shelves, as of April 1. But there may be crickets for some time after that.

My path to penning a winning Blaze proposal since Caught on Camera sold has been as daunting as the initial sale was "easy", and not for lack of trying. I've been rejected three times (once before Caught on Camera was accepted and twice on proposal, post-sale). My latest proposal is currently with my benevolent editor, and my fingers are crossed so tight they're turning gangrenous.

There is a certain trick to writing series romance, and it requires you to understand your line intuitively. I fear I'm still learning the nuances of my line and my audience. It doesn't come merely from reading every Blaze that comes out, or absorbing every scrap of advice my patient editor has generously offered. It is a skill that many authors possess, but I do not rank among them. This was a very disheartening hunk of reality to stumble over, and after two rejected proposals I began to think my first flukey sale was just that—a fluke. I'd never crack the code and sell another Blaze ever again. But goddamn, I'll keep trying until my editor files a restraining order.

After a series of calm, professional conversations with said benevolent editor (followed always by bouts of private, hysterical sobbing once I'd hung up) I came to accept that precocious or not, I was not a magical wunderkind, shat from the heavens in a gilded gown and anointed with immunity to the trials of publishing. The reasons for my rejections were gently and frankly tendered—this story was too dark for the imprint, this other one just didn't have a solid enough "sexy hook", the required DNA of a successful Blaze.

Dag, I needed help. It's been offered most kindly from the same mouth that's rejected me. Because my editor wants me to be successful, she has very patiently allowed me to submit multiple Blaze premises to her for her opinions before I begin writing the actual proposals, as it's coming up with the right Blaze-y hook that's most challenging to my woefully non-commercial, marketing-inept brain. But I want to sell more Blazes and I believe I could be good at the job, and so I must train myself to understand the line the way my editor and my fellow authors do, much the same way I taught myself to self-edit for all those new-writer foibles when I began this whole journey. If that requires a bit of hand-holding in the beginning (or anywhere else along the way), I'm no longer too proud to ask for it. And I count myself very lucky to have a editor (a very busy editor) willing to offer it.

I have discovered something intensely important during this painful process—I am not a natural at every aspect of writerdom. But I do have the drive and the willingness to take criticism and wring all the pain out of it (after a few days of healthy sniffling) and use it to make my next attempt more likely to hit the bulls eye. Or at least the dartboard.

Later this week, I have a call scheduled to discuss my latest Blaze proposal with my editor. Gone are my illusions that I'm the second coming and my expectations that all I squeeze from my noggin and into a Word doc will be ready to publish. But I hope to hear that my story has promise, and with tweaks could be accepted. I've adjusted my assumptions and my definition of success. I'm also about to send an agent query out into the world, to precede me before I meet with said agent at a conference next month. She may reward me with nothing more than a handshake and a polite "pass", but should more heartening news be in store…well, I'll never know if I don't print the pages out and stick them in the mailbox.

I hope it's clear that this is not a woe-is-me post. Nor is it a slap in the face to aspiring authors, some bitter old crone looking to take the shine off that glorious moment they'll likely one day experience, if they're patient and ambitious—The Call. The Call is wondrous, no matter what form it takes, and you should wallow in it when it arrives. Wallow and gloat and toast, just don't expect that feeling to last forever. It can't, and it won't, and even if it did, you'd be too high on it to appreciate the next bit of good news.

What I'm trying to say, I suppose, is that writers, no matter what stage they're at, are equal beings. Perhaps not so tidily, according to the numbers on their paychecks or their Amazon ranking, but no matter what stage we're each at, we have the struggle in common. We share the struggle, along with triumphs both small and large, hopes for new successes in the coming weeks or months or years, and thrilling news to share with those who care about us and have watched us struggle and get knocked to the mat only to stand up again and invite the next punch en route to victory.

I better cut this off before the boxing metaphors get much worse. Fingers crossed for myself for my queries and phone calls, and crossed for all of you, for whatever your own goals may be, no matter how modest or lofty, looming or distant.

My book, you knows you wants it.

Quick note—it's my day to post on the Blaze Authors Blog, and as it's St. Patrick's Day, a holiday all about luck, I'm giving away a paperback copy (or perhaps two) of my Blaze debut, Caught on Camera (out in bookstores next month). Head over HERE for a chance to win!

"Someone already hates your book."

No amount of philosophy can ever prevent the screaming. 

Those are my husband's grim words of wisdom on the topic of reviews. They sound harsh, but he means them philosophically. As many writers will agree, we live our lives in cycles of pain and joy, fear and delight. I'm now entering the pre-release phase on two books, my first two romances. I already know from my experience publishing erotica that book pre-release is a time of jitters, of both the happy and terrified varieties. Excitement for the world to finally have access to my work, and fear that it will disappoint them. Greater fear that it will disappoint them and they will share their displeasure with the internet and shave away a little sliver of my self-worth. (Luckily, self-worth regenerates, much like a starfish's appendages.)

I'm at a funky, unnerving point this week. Advanced review copies of my two romances are circulating, and the paperback and ebook versions of my April Blaze seem to already be available to buy from eHarlequin.

Reviews and ratings are already trickling in for both stories. Positive ones. Out of the blue I discovered that Caught on Camera (the Blaze) had earned four-and-a-half stars from Andrew Shaffer at Romantic Times (you need a subscription to view the review for the time being, but the highlights are on my books page). The story also received glowing praise from Penelope's Romance Reviews—Penny and I are RWA chaptermates, and she told me up front in her charmingly blunt way that if she hated it, she'd be diplomatic enough not to post her opinions. She doesn't mince words or kiss asses, so I was relieved as well as surprised when I earned a lovely write-up from her this morning. Also today, I Twitter-stumbled (twumbled?) across this review from a self-described Harlequin aficionado. Colored me flattered!

So I'm on cloud nine, right? Dear God, no! I'm terrified.

I've never owned a new car, but I have to imagine this is what it feels like, right after you've been handed the papers and keys to your dream ride. At this moment in time, it's perfect. Unmarred by scratches and mud and spilled drinks. The second it leaves the lot, the danger begins. You almost beg for a dent, just to get it out of the way, so that you may give up the suffocating dream of perfection and the pressure that comes with it. That's where I am now, waiting for the first inevitable ding. Practically praying for one, so I can breathe and move on in glorious, dignified imperfection.

When I reach this phase and become nervous and self-doubtful and sometimes downright paranoid, my husband likes to lay that line on me. "Someone already hates your book." What he means is, no matter how great a job a writer did, somebody, somewhere, won't like it. Quite possibly, many somebodies won't like it. It's a scientific fact. When he says that to me, he does so hoping to set me free from my own expectations. It pretty much works, at least in theory.

This job comes patterned in alternating stripes of relief and fear. Relief at the hands of a satisfied reviewer, fear that the next one that won't be so kind or impressed. Relief to have finished a book, sold a book, seen its cover, smelled its pages. Fear of what will happen to it, thrust out into the world and the interwebs. For each book, this pattern has a peak, and the descent down the other side eventually smooths out as my release day [or week, or month] high fades and my focus shifts to the next story. I'm not there yet, though. With a double romance debut ahead of me in the next month, the white-knuckling is just beginning. I am making the jerky, clunky ascent to the zenith of the roller coaster's highest drop, awaiting free fall, twists and turns before I'm deposited sweaty but safe back on the ground. And wouldn't you know it? The second I am, I'm already counting my tickets and scouting for the next ride.

Baby's First Romance Cover

Finally! I can share the cover for The Reluctant Nude, my first romance title with Samhain, due out this April. I've been getting taunting e-mails from my editor for the past few weeks, asking for my authorly input on various versions, and left to salivate while I wait for the green light to share. Now the wait's over! Behold!

Huge thanks to the artist, Kanaxa. It's my aim to keep this blog as light on the book promo as possible, but if you want more details about the story, you can head to the books page of my website.

Oh and since this post is borderline self-pimpy already, I may as well mention that I also just found out my debut April Blaze, Caught on Camera, is available for preorder on Amazon. Surreal.

Rich Man, Poor Man

I'll take the poor man, please!

I've been thinking about this for the past week or so…my next Blaze proposal is taking shape in my head, and I'm busy fleshing out my hero. I suspect he's going to be a professional fighter (of the martial artist / boxer persuasion) and I'm pondering the consequences of this choice. I've written fighters before, largely because they turn me on like all-get-out. It's not a job that pays well, however, so my fighters tend to have day jobs to get by. But for Harlequin…is that enough?

In mainstream romance, readers want their heroes to be providers. Not billionaire tycoons necessarily (though sometimes, yes, and of the Greek variety) but they want to feel confident that the man is willing and prepared to support the heroine once they fall for each other. This is problematic for me, as wealth turns me off. Give me a man with a five o'clock shadow in an undershirt and jeans over a styled specimen any day of the week. In fact, let's explore this visually:

My thanks to empireonline.com for the pic.

Well, that was the easiest choice ever. Though admittedly, Hugh Jackman seems to be pretty lousy at shaving, so finding a clean-cut picture of him was a challenge. Oh, how I suffered.

Where was I? Right, conspicuous wealth turns me off. Big slick houses turn me off as well, as do fancy cars and jobs such as "investment banker" and "millionaire entrepreneur". I like my men with tangible, physical jobs. Partly because sweaty, capable men are sexy and dependable. And partly because physical jobs handily explain a hero's standard-issue unreasonably abstastic physique.

For my alter ego and her erotica heroes, this isn't an issue. If the sex is crazy hot, a hero can live in a modest apartment and readers don't seem worried about it. But with romance there's more emphasis on the future and everything the couple is embarking on together, going forward. Whether I like it or not, a low-earning hero can be perceived as weak. No reader wants to worry what might happen if the heroine loses her job or their future child requires an expensive procedure and God forbid the hero can't step up. And if the reader finishes the story still worried about the characters, it's not a happily ever after.

So as much as I'd like to stick my scrappy, martial artist hero in a studio apartment and toss my heroine toward him, the majority of mainstream romance readers aren't going to be satisfied by that. My solution in this story's case is to give the hero money in the form of inherited wealth. He's rich—check. But in this case, the money was inherited from a father my hero resents deeply, money the hero refuses to touch because it represents everything he hates about his relationship with his absentee dad. Yes! He's loaded, yet he can live well below his actual means, relying on whatever he makes from his modest day job salary to preserve his pride. But we all know if the heroine suddenly needed a million-dollar operation, he'd pony up. So I get the working-class scrapper I love, and the reader gets the security of knowing the hero does have the financial means to provide under catastrophic circumstances. I'm very pleased by this brainwave.

Well, that's enough bloggage for now. Back to research! And yes, that means watching videos online of muscly, sweaty men beating each other senseless. God, I love this job.

I can has podcast!

Just wanted to share that I recently recorded an interview for a podcast as part of Harlequin's So You Think Can Write? event (November 1–5). Myself and two other new Harlequin authors are sharing our journeys en route to getting published in the recording titled How I Became a Romance Writer. It will be available for streaming and downloading on November 1 at 3pm EST, plus I'll be sure to embed it here on the blog if technology allows. Couldn't tell you what I actually said, as I was too nervous to retain any memories of the interview, but I'm fairly confident I didn't make an ass of myself.

The SYTYCW event is a great opportunity for aspiring writers targeting the romance genre. Here's the gist, from the Harlequin blog:

Does your imagination run wild with vivid characters? Have you ever dreamed of becoming a USA TODAY bestselling author? Well, our editors want to make those dreams come true. We are hungry to find talented new writers for Harlequin Books. Through podcasts, blogs, and discussions with our expert editors and current authors, we’re going to help you understand the appeal of the romance genre. And there’s a special daily challenge with feedback that will give some great insights into crafting the perfect story. So for the next week, come by to hone your skills and get started on the path to publication. So you think you can write? Here’s your chance to show us!

Awesome, no? I think this is a super-helpful thing for folks who are in the shoes I myself was wearing two years ago. One of the best tools I found when I was targeting Blaze was the Ask the Editors podcast series (I think the audio files may be having technical issues at the moment, but stay tuned). Those provide not only a glimpse at the various lines' requirements, but some insight into what the individual editors are interested in as well, nuances you won't find in the regular writing guidelines. Anyhow, I hope what I had to say will help another aspiring author embarking on this occasionally mystifying journey.

Greetings from Minnesota!

Quick post. I'm in Minnesota for a few days visiting one of my old penguin-wrangling cohorts from my aquarium days. We're way out in the boonies in her charming little village, which is basically run by her mom and stepdad. The beating heart of town is the BP gas station, where I'll shortly be grabbing a coffee (16 ounces for 95¢!) before we take a walk.

This is my third and final day here, and may I just say, Minnesota rocks. Garrison Keillor always had me believing it, but now I know for sure. We're out in farm country, and so far I've met guinea hens, regular chickens, a rooster, several cows dressed as Oreos, a gazillion barn cats, four horses, a half dozen dogs, three turkeys, and who-knows-how-many no-see-ums. I got to take a guided tour of my friend's childhood, and see where she was crowned Butter Queen. It's also homecoming week so the town is very bustley and excitable, plus the fall foliage is putting on a good show.

Yesterday I got to shoot skeet for the first time ever. Despite growing up in Maine, I was never a hunting gal, but I'd done target shooting before, with both a rifle and a hand gun. The shotgun was heavier than anything I'd held before, and I tucked the butt against my armpit, not my shoulder, for the first couple shots, so I now have a lovely black bruise as a souvenir. But on the bright side, I hit two of the dozen or so pigeons I took aim at, which I think is pretty respectable for a first attempt.

We later got burgers at a place called Guenther's (delicious) and went bowling in the MSU student center. I was hoping to break a hundred, but I think I only got 94…though I did get to do my strike dance. I used the hot-pink wussy ball, and the end of my thumb nail came off. Still, it was nice to do some proper bowling for a change, as I live in Massachusetts where candlepin is mistaken for "real" bowling. Sorry, Mass, but you're just wrong on that one.

Today we're planning on doing a little mini-golfing, so I'm getting to indulge in all sorts of awesome non-sports. I'm later meeting some more of my friend's relatives, some of which have a whole house full of animals, including, it has been alleged, some button quails in the basement. Not sure if a basement is the best place to raise quails, but I'm curious to get my hands on them if the opportunity presents itself. After that we're swinging by the town's bar to buy a six-pack, then it's off to a bonfire.

This morning, post BP coffee, I'm recording my part of a podcast for Harlequin. Ooh, my first audio interview! I'll be chatting about how I got into writing, and about my first Blaze book, Caught on Camera. Two other new Harlequin authors will also be taking part, and the podcast will be out next month. I'm wretched at public speaking, but luckily this will be more like a casual conversation, so I think I'll do just fine.

Better get some Cheerios in me. Minnesota waits for no woman.

Greetings from Oregon

I'm on vacation in Oregon at the moment…as I said before, don't bother trying to burglarize my house—it's very difficult to get past two stories of neighbors and two deadbolts. This morning marks the start of day three, and because tomorrow we're off to see the redwoods and visit some friends-of-manfriend, today we have very little scheduled. Ahhhh.

Day one was relaxed, a short hike in Cascadia Park with my mom-in-law (PNW, I love your spongy trails and mossy trees) and a visit down the road to see my dad-in-law and stepmom-in-law, where we were plied with much authentic Mexican food (and watched my stepmom-in-law make tamales we weren't yet allowed to eat). Also got visited by a very fat baby, my…um…step-nephew-in-law? The nomenclature in these blended families is complicated.

Yesterday, day two, was a trip to the coast. Coffee, rainy roadtrip eventually turning sunny, a treacherous-but-totally-worth-it walk down a craggy jetty where this bird-nerd spotted some common murres and red-necked phalaropes. Excellent, though I'd been hoping for some guillemots as well. We had lunch at the Rogue brewhouse—very ambitiously sized burgers and some good beer. Then more driving and beach nosing-around, then dinner with the in-laws in Corvallis. Afterward we stopped at a Borders and I made it a point to check out the Harlequin end-caps in the romance section. My mom-in-law got all excited when I showed her the Blaze section where my books will be living in April. And yeah, I got excited too.

That's about it for now—I'm hoping to get some writing done after we finish watching this episode of James May's Toy Stories. And did everybody solve the Sunday Puzzle yet? Shouldn't be too tough for my fellow book nerds. Enjoy your Tuesdays!