October is...Food and Recipe Month!

We're "theme-ing" our months. In September, if the spirit moved us, we talked about First Sales. This month, it's sharing (if the Rider so chooses) a recipe or great food tip. As the holidays approach, I hope we can bring new ideas to the table (pun!). So check the blog often. Not every day will be a foodie thing, but I'll use my days to talk about my fave recipes and maybe find a way to include them in the comments (I'm SO trying a microwave mug chocolate cake recipe ASAP!)

Came home from Costco tonight where Son 2 accompanied me and insisted on bringing home a bag of dried mangos. Tasty, but =very= sweet.

My Stories' Story

One of the questions most frequently asked of authors is, ‘what made you start writing.’ It’s also one of the most difficult to answer because, for me, writing is something of an addiction. I’m not sure why I became addicted, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be cured, but one day I simply had to write a book. So I sat down with a spiral notepad and filled up the pages with gibberish. To be quite honest, I had read a romance novel by a best selling author, decided it wasn’t very good, and became certain I could do as well.

As it turned out, I was terribly mistaken. But I didn’t know that until I’d finished my manuscript. I always thought that once I had done so, I’d be able to move on…do other things…laundry perhaps. But after the first draft was completed I realized some of the mistakes I had made and thought I could do better. So I rewrote it, secure in the knowledge that, once it was finished I’d be ‘normal’ again. But by the time the thing was typed I was totally hooked. I bought The Writers Market, started sending my work out and joined the local RWA branch. I also organized a critique group and began another novel.

But getting published was not an easy task for me. It was a long, painful and ugly process. I can’t tell you how many times I swore I’d quit. In fact, my husband finally said, “I think you should quit. Then, when people ask, we’ll say, yeah she was pretty good, but she’s kind of a quitter.”

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reason I sold my first book, Surrender My Heart, was because Susan Sizemore was a golden heart finalist and she was one of my critique sisters. Therefore, I HAD to go to New Orleans to the RWA conference to cheer her on. And it was there that I met Ellen Edwards, senior editor at Avon Books. She sat down beside me at the opening ceremony and asked if I was a writer, if I sent my work out and who I sent it to. I said, “Yes, yes,” and “you.” At which point she got a sort of deer in the headlights expression on her face and swore to read my manuscript. Six months later I got a call from her publishing house. They were interested, but wanted to make sure the manuscript was still ‘available’ before they finished reading it. In my excitement I’m afraid I may have asked, “Available for what?” In retrospect, I’m not sure what I was thinking. Bird cages? Fire starting? To make a long story somewhat shorter, they promised to get back to me in two weeks. A month went by before I got the call.

But sixteen years, 30 novels of various kinds, and 150 rejections later, I’m an overnight success. Well, okay, I’m an overnight…wannabe success. But I’m still plugging away. To me, tenacity is all important. In fact, I kept this Calvin Coolidge quote above my desk for years.

"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.”

So how about you? What’s the magic ingredient that makes your dreams come true?

www.loisgreiman.com

A Different Kind of Breast Cancer

We get hit with cancer this and cancer that it seems every day of the week. So when I was shocked by an email a friend sent me several weeks ago, I thought it'd be a good idea to bring it to everyone's attention.

It about about a different type of breast cancer. It's rare, but I'd never heard of it. It's called inflammatory breast cancer, IBC, and is the most aggressive form of breast cancer out there today. There's no lump involved and mammograms don't help with detection.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3s9_UrVtc6c

And here's more information from the National Cancer Institute: http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/sites-types/ibc

What's so devastating about this type of cancer is that the symptoms are so wildly different than what we're taught to look for in other forms of breast cancer. The initial indications that something could be wrong are as simple as redness, swelling or warmth in the breast.

So watch the video and then tell your daughters, friends, mothers, and neighbors. Awareness might saves lives.

I'm toying with the idea of doing some type of health service announcements occasionally on my blog days. It's something I'm really interested in and read about a lot. As readers, you guys interested? Yay or nay?

Helen

KATHLEEN'S FIRST BOOK (and Coming Full Circle)

Anyone remember the celebration scene in Dances With Wolves when Costner is called upon to tell the story of his buffalo kill one more time? And he says, "No, no, I can't tell the story again. Oh, all right, one more time."

After, yes, 25 years, I've told my first sale story so many times that I feel like everyone in the world has heard it. But the Lakota had heard Costner's story a few times already, too. Oh, all right, ongi. One more time. (Grinning. My big bullseye. V is for Victory. Love this story.)

In the Beginning, I was not a Romance reader. I was an English teacher, Lit major, mother of 3, wife of an Indian cowboy/rancher, Eastern dude gone West. Oh, and a writer. I was always a writer. But I was about 35 years into my journey when I started writing a story for fun--longhand, pencil, spiral notebooks--and was coaxed and cajoled by my Indian Cowboy to let him see what I was doing. He loved the first half--White teacher goes West 100 years ago--and wanted to read the second half. Which meant I had to write a second half. When it was finished, he had no doubt that I could publish it. (My Indian Cowboy was and is an avid reader, you see. Westerns, from Zane Gray to Rosemary Rodgers. Secure in his manhood, his only problem with Romance paperbacks was that they were too thick for the back pocket of his jeans.) Anyway, the book was Private Treaty, and it was eventually the first book purchased for Harlequin Historicals--although published as #2. But that's another story.

My first book was the one you see here. Private Treaty got me an agent, who said we'd sell it sooner or later, but could I write a contemporary category? "They're selling like crazy." I said, "Sure." I had no idea what he was talking about. (I had just made peace with the fact that I'd written a Romance, and the probability that I was--and am--a cradle-to-grave romantic. Indian Cowboy (nod to Christie's "Surfer Guy") had done some rodeo, so I went with that theme. Eastern teacher became Eastern journalist gone West. I attended my first RWA conference as a double Golden Heart finalist for Private Treaty and Someday Soon, which won Best Single Title Contemporary. I met Leslie Wainger, who told me the book was on her desk and she was eager to read it. "I hope you like it," I said. And I had nothing for the next 9 minutes of the 10 minute editor appointment.

We had two offers on Someday Soon. Victory Dance! It could have been published as a Ballentine single title, but we accepted Leslie's offer at Silhouette, which I know now was a good career move. I loved this first cover. Franco Aconero (sp?) was the artist, and every detail I described (Silhouette always gets author input) is included, right down to the green and black "buffalo" shirt. I had one like it.

And the full circle part? After a dozen years or more, I'll have two new Silhouette Specials out in '09. In Care Of Sam Beaudry is scheduled for May and The Prodigal Cowboy for December. Rumor has it that readers are hungry for straight contemporary romance again. In the 25 years since I started publishing, the genre has spawned myriad sub-genres, and each gets its turn to be the new hot thing. What goes around comes around in this business, and a little bird tells me that human boy meets human girl is coming around again. I am so there.

So help me out. Did you start out as a category/series romance reader and/or writer? Have you drifted away? Have you gone around and come around? Or has it always been good for you? What changes have you seen in category romance? (Can my cowboy hero cuss?)

Have you found yourself coming full circle in your journey? In what ways?

Nonsense

Consider this a public service announcement on behalf of writers everywhere – but mainly on behalf of me, Cindy Gerard, whose new series, BLACK OPS., INC. kicked off Tuesday (that’s right, I said Tuesday) September 23 with SHOW NO MERCY, which is now available at a book store near you! Now for the subliminal message part of our programming: buythebookbuythebookbuythebookohforpetessakebuythebook.

Okay. Got that off my chest. So what’s happening? Have I missed anything? How are you all doing? What are you doing to keep you busy? What are you all doing to stay out of trouble? Have you all figured out yet that because I’ve been doing a blog tour of the world promoting my new book – I mentioned that SHOW NO MERCY is out, right??? – that I really don’t have anything left to say and I’m just filling space and wondering how much of this crap you’re going to put up with?

Seriously, you all have days like this, right? Things just aren’t workin’ for ya. Here's a photo of my research assistant, Sly, having one of those ho hum days and laying down on the job. Maybe the coffee pot boiled over? Or maybe you stepped on the cat’s tail? Or perhaps, you drove away from the gas station with the nozzle still stuck in your car? Not that I did that. I would never do that. What makes you think I was talking about me? Just forget I mentioned it, okay? The true question is, what do you do when things just aren’t jellin?

When I have a day like that writing, I give myself several options. Keep my butt in the chair and work through it. Play solitaire all day. Google Monster.com and scroll through the list of possible new professions. OR, and this is my favorite – snag my copy of Bird By Bird, by Anne Lamot off the bookshelf and read a chapter or two. Never fails. She always gets me writing again.

So what has happened to you lately (and these are the REAL questions) that set you back or slowed you down – whether it be in your writing or your life in general. And what have you done to help yourself get past the doldrums? A really disturbed mind wants to know.

Wednesday's Winner!

Thanks everyone for stopping by and chatting with Janet Dean yesterday.

The winner of her book is d twomey. I've got your email, dearie, so I'll send it on to Janet. Congrats!

Guest Author: Janet Dean

Helen here. I first met Janet many, many years ago at one of RWA's national conferences. I was standing in line waiting to get a book autographed by Susan Elizabeth Phillips when I started having one of my typical conference meltdown moments. Janet, a stranger at the time, turned around, hugged me, and the rest is history!

Back then, we were both unpublished. We both subsequently finalled in the Golden Heart and sold our first books, and I couldn't be happier to have Janet come and visit today as her first book hits the shelves.

My debut novel, Courting Miss Adelaide, Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical, is on the shelves. Naturally I’m flying high, though not as high as you gals tumbling out of the back of that convertible. ;-) It took nine years to sell a book, then two more to see Courting Miss Adelaide in print so I’m savoring the moment.

The kernel for Adelaide’s story came from a newspaper clipping my father sent me about the placing out of New York City’s immigrant children. It triggered my “what if” moment—what if a lonely spinster wanted a child and saw the “orphan train” as her last chance for motherhood? From that moment on, life for Adelaide changes forever.

I find the history behind the “orphan train” fascinating. Between the years of 1853 and 1929, more than 250,000 orphans or half orphans rode trains from New Your City to new homes in the Midwest and beyond. What an amazing adjustment for these immigrant children, and for the people who took them in!

We history lovers tend to glamorize the “good ole days.” I’ve learned it’s far easier to travel into the past sitting at my computer or reading a wonderful book, than facing the rigors of the trail or the restrictions 19th Century society placed on women. Countless men and women met the challenge of their times. Their courage so impresses me that I want to write books that keep their achievements alive in our hearts.

But that doesn’t mean I’d want to live back then. I value modern conveniences, the ease of communication and especially of travel. We’ve all experienced canceled flights or construction tie-ups, but compared to the day when horses were the chief mode of transportation, we’ve got it made. My heroine is afraid of horses. To be honest, I prefer viewing them from afar. Adelaide had her reasons and I have mine.

My close encounter with horses goes back to my Middle School years when a friend invited me to go for a ride one spring afternoon. This would be my first time in the saddle. My excitement was tempered by a mild sense of foreboding, but Black Beauty had been one of my favorite childhood books and I loved TV cowboys and their four-legged friends. This would be fun!

My friend, Sara started with the basics, showing me how to saddle a horse, and then stood back while I tried. Just getting that heavy contraption on the mare’s back proved challenging. When I tried to tighten the cinch, the horse puffed out her sides. Sara shoved the heel of her hand into the mare’s side and her belly shrank before my eyes. Who knew a horse could be so devious as to plot to dump me, saddle and all? My sense of adventure sagged, but I was no quitter.

Sara showed me how to mount, then added one final bit of advice, “Let the horse know who is boss.” I knew full well that the horse and I both understood who was in charge. And it wasn’t me. But I’d have rather eaten grasshoppers than admit that truth. We headed out. Did I mention my horse wasn’t crazy about this little outing? She kept trying to turn back, evidently eager to return to the barn on this sunny, blustery day. We’d only gone a few yards when she decided she’d had enough. She left the road, climbed the concrete steps set into a grassy bank and crossed the neighbor’s front yard, ignoring my efforts to rein her in. When I finally got the horse stopped, her head hung over a barbed wire fence and my friend was screaming like a maniac. Or perhaps that was me. What happened was, and still is, a blur.

Obviously shaken and scared for her horse, Sara suggested we trade mounts. Red-faced, I clambered aboard the larger second horse as Sara reminded me to show the animal who was boss. Perhaps my memory is faulty, but I think that mare flashed me a smile. Thankfully, we arrived at our destination, our girlfriend Sandy’s house, without further mishap. I should mention here that Sandy lived near a small rural airport. The three of us had a chat and some refreshments before heading back. I’d just settled into the saddle of the larger horse when a low flying plane zoomed toward the runway. The horse reared on its hind legs, exactly like in the movies, except I’m no stunt rider. By some miracle I hung on.

This maneuver would’ve looked great in a show ring but didn’t do much for Sara. She suggested we trade horses again. I figured after almost hanging herself in barbed wire, the mare would behave on the trip home. And she did. I actually enjoyed myself, feeling like a horsewoman at last. Not far from Sara’s house, a paper bag blew across the road. My horse took off like a shot—

In hindsight, I realize I’m quite the horsewoman to have kept my seat that day. Though I didn’t appreciate the mishaps at the time, the experience helped me write a scene in Courting Miss Adelaide.

Anyone care to share a riding story? Horse, llama, camel, I’d love to hear your escapades. Especially if they don’t make me feel I’m the only one failing in the equestrian department.

Janet

Janet is giving away an autographed copy of Courting Miss Adelaide to one lucky commentor, so stop by tomorrow and we'll post the winner.

Welcome to My World!--by Christie

If my life was my favorite kind of romance novel, I’d be the studly hero with the fancy car stopping to pick up the bedraggled heroine on the side of the road (think Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s Natural Born Charmer). Or maybe this episode would be more like something from a paranormal romance, where an old love returns in a new body (Anya Seton's Green Darkness?)…

In any case, this is my real life and I have a new member of the family… That’s her on the left. We lost The Best Dog in the World, our wonderful yellow lab, Harlow, in July. It has been a great loss to the family, one that still hurts very much. It’s left a hole in our life that our other critters (two parakeets, now with three eggs); red-eared slider turtle who has two homes, one our pond and one our swimming pool; and big-as-a-platter desert tortoise cannot fill. We miss petting so much that we stop people and their dogs everywhere just to touch fur. But I’m just not ready for a puppy yet.

Last week, though, a cat was tiptoeing along our fence. Son 1 and Son 2 and I rushed out, just to say hello to a furred creature. The cat ran at first, but then came back. Son 2 offered her the pretzel in his hand. I said, “No, the cat won’t—” The cat has already chewed it down. Son 1 gave her a piece of salami. Another pretzel. More salami. (I know, bad choices, but boys will be boys). We gave her some water and then we went into the house. The cat yowled. We moved upstairs. The cat moved farther back in our backyard so she could look in the window at us and yowled some more.

The next morning, Surfer Guy found her still in the backyard and he fed her some dog food. She was so hungry that before he left for work he said, “Unless we find an owner, we have a cat.” Fast forward a few days. Signs have been up. Craig’s List notified. The neighbors tell me she’s been hanging around their yard for over a week. No one calls. She came to us skinny. We couldn’t get her to play with a piece of yarn or anything else. Now, with cat food in her bowl 24 hours a day, fresh water all the time, she’s filling out. Her coat is shiny, and, as you can see, she’s getting comfortable. Very comfortable. She has toys now, she has favorite spots to sleep, and she seems to be thriving on our attention.

So, we have a cat. We had cats before, when Surfer Guy and I were first married. They were litter mates and lived for thirteen years. I think the reason I rushed out to this cat was she reminded me so much of our girl cat, Baltimore. Same shape and size (though she was black and white). So I called the new cat Ghost of Baltimore (GOB) at first, but because this new critter is all black and has these cool and spooky yellow eyes, she is now Goblin.

I think she was meant for us. My mom was afraid she might be feral, but this girl is a family kind of cat. The first couple of days she was extremely grateful, but now she’s returned to a catlike superiority that I just find so funny. I already love my little Goblin.

Have you ever taken in a stray? Tell me this is going to work out!

Debra - How I didn't win the Golden Heart

For most of us, writing is something we do because we must. It's not a choice. We are driven to put words on paper. Publication is obviously the goal, but I've found that people who ONLY write for publication rarely make it in this business. There are so many easier more secure ways to make a buck. Seriously.

I knew this. I wrote anyway. For eight years. Well, longer than that but who really counts a sequel to GONE WITH THE WIND written at age twelve? (Even at twelve, I was looking for the happily ever after and I wanted it on the page and not implied.) I wrote a gothic in college. I think it was 96 pages long. And awful. There were twins with switched identities, a fire, a secret passage, a governess and a emotionally damaged child. And very little dialogue.

"Are you...the new governess?"

"Yes...I am."

Did ANYONE hire governesses in the late 1970's? Or speak like a Barbara Cartland novel?

This was written for my own amusement. Never circulated (thank heavens!).

Then in the eighties I met someone who published romance novels. For the first time my brain woke up to the idea that maybe I should consider writing a published novel as a serious and achievable goal. ::gasp:: I read. I studied. I even managed to snag a NY agent. An editor was interested but then she left the publishing house before the manuscript was bought. (I had no idea that this was life in the publishing biz!) Then my agent (a well-credentialed big NY agent) wanted revisions. Big revisions. I was stupid. I said, "No, I don't think so."

I no longer had an agent. But I had learned two valuable lessons. "Don't count your contracts before they hatch." And, "You aren't *that* good." It was back to the trenches for me. I moved from the romance genre to the fantasy genre. My luck wasn't much better, or so I thought. I didn't know it at the time but my rejection letters were stellar. Brilliant, actually. But I didn't know anyone who wrote and submitted to publishers, so I assumed that everyone who submitted got 2 page rejection letters, single-spaced with tiny margins and "pity" invitations to submit more projects.

One day I got a letter from Carin Rafferty, a Harlequin author who was moving to town and wanted to start an RWA chapter. I blew her off twice (I wasn't actively writing romance) but when I got the third reminder of the organizational meeting, I grabbed a sweater and wandered down to the library. We had to tell a little about ourselves and I soon found out that my rejection letters weren't the pathetic responses I thought they were.

I signed up to participate in a critique and got a phone call from Carin. She said that if I was serious, and I wouldn't cry, whine or procrastinate...then she'd work with me one-on-one. To this day I have no idea how she made it through that first manuscript we worked on. She knew it was unpublishable. By the time I'd finished it, I knew it too. I put it away and begin a romance about a woman whose editor sends her back to her hometown in the west to write a story about an adventure vacation cattle drive. Cowboys, cattle and westerns, Oh My!

I'd tapped into one of the strong story genres that publishers like to see in new authors. I didn't know a western was smart. I just knew it was a great story for me. I entered it in the Maggie contest. I didn't final. I did get a note from one of the judges who asked me to come see her at the conference. The lovely Sandra Chastain, now dear friend and business partner, introduced me to agent # 2 and said, "You have to sign this girl. She has amazing talent."

Okay, I added the word "amazing" but Sandra did literally introduce me to every agent at the conference which secured a private appointment with each of them. My new agent didn't ask for revisions but I would have done them! While she was sending the book out, I entered the Golden Heart and FINALED! The Loveswept editor who had requested a revision of my book was the final round judge! Oh, frabjous joy!

I did not win. When introduced to the editor at the conference, she said, "Why on earth did you enter the unrevised version of the book in the GH???" However, shortly after the conference, my agent called to say that editor loved the revision and wanted to offer a 2 book contract. I'm not sure what was said other than that I accepted. I hung up, then I sat down in the middle of my den floor and stared at the phone.

An editor had bought TALL, DARK AND LONESOME.

Next I told the dogs, while I was dialing my hubby, and after telling/screaming the news at him, I began dialing the whole Eastern seaboard--one number at a time. My mother arranged (unbeknownst to me) to buy the original art for my first book as a Christmas present that year.

Very quietly, without a lot of fanfare and a moderately expensive long-distance phone bill, the direction of my life changed. I became an 8 year over-night success.

How about you? What's the best contest you didn't win?? Who's offered you a helping hand along the way?

Dealbreakers

So last week I'm reading a book. It's by a writer I enjoy very much. Well-written, interesting story, that I would say falls in the thriller/mystery genre. I'm thoroughly happy with it.

Until, near the end, a character that is certainly one of the two largest characters in the book, if not THE central character, that we've spent much of the book hoping is going to get through the danger, bites it.

I have to say, I was not a happy reader. Even more so since the author is so good, so I was enjoying the book so much and so invested in that character. I know I'm promised nothing; the mystery WAS solved, the bad murderer caught, so it does fulfill the requirements of its genre.

And yet . . . I'll be thinking twice before I spring for the next book by this author. And I'll certainly be peeking at the end first.

So what are absolute dealbreakers for you? Any books you just loved except for ONE unforgivable thing?

Susie

Ghost Town - at last, a movie for grown ups!

. . . and not in the way you're probably thinking.

No sex, violence, or mutually-assured-destruction with thermonuclear "f-bombs." Ghost Town is an enchanting and well-made movie about a misanthropic dentist, Dr. Bertram Pincus-- played with superb understatement by the wonderful British actor Ricky Gervais-- who doesn't need or want people in his life. . . but gets them anyway. Dead people. With needs.



Needy dead people. The worst kind.

And nobody's needier than Greg Kinnear. . . a philandering wretch who is killed in a freak accident on the day his wife learns he has just bought a condo-love nest for his girlfriend.




It turns out, there are hordes of other people just as needy and desperate for somebody to see them and help them put their souls to rest. The sidewalks of New York are full of them.

Gervais's dentist is in this fix because he died for roughly seven minutes during what was supposed to be a routine colonoscopy. The scene pictured here-- with the doctor and the hospital lawyer-- has to be one of the driest, funniest on film. We SO enjoy watching the dentist get the kind of treatment he often dishes out to others. And the lawyer is priceless!

Now dead people just won't leave the poor dentist alone. And he isn't interested in helping anybody. . . until he sees Greg Kinnear's widow (Tea Leoni in an adorable role). . . who is just trying to get on with her life. Kinnear blackmails the dentist into helping him break up his widow's new engagement to a questionable-but-unquestionably-handsome guy.

You guessed it. Dr. Pincus (called Dr. PinkAss by Kinnear) falls for the widow. And in so doing reclaims his lost humanity.

Very nice cameos by a number of people we've seen but can't name. And some of the funniest "gag reflex" stuff you'll ever see on celuloid. Add a huge great dane getting his teeth brushed and the occasional "bystander getting hit by a bus" sight gag. . . and you have a thoroughly delightful ADULT movie. With a melting heart that makes us leave the theater with a smile that lingers.

What about you? Seen any movies lately that made you think: "I hope everyone sees it and it makes a hundred million"?

What's your pleasure?

So when the idea to blog about drinking came to mind I thought "Really?  You don't drink."  And then myself said to me, "Yeah?  So what's that peach sangria sitting on your desk right now?"

Hee.

So this is the deal, I don't drink.  Not in terms of more than one or two sips a year.  I just don't like the taste of alcohol.  I have no interest.  Sure, the occasional ice cream drink will attract me, or some fruity concoction with umbrellas and strawberry halves, but no wine, no beer.   If I can have one White Russian every few years, I'm happy.  I do like creamy drinks, but no more than a few sips.   I don't understand the concept of 'having a drink' or a 'relaxing glass of wine'.  Champagne for celebrations?  I'm the one at the party looking for the fruit juice or water.

I don't fault anyone for having a glass of wine at lunch, or a mixed drink with friends, or even a few beers to relax at night.  The hubby does it.  It works for him.  Most of my friends order drinks at lunch.  Hey, they like the taste!  Why not have a drink?  I'm not going to talk about alcoholism.  It ruins lives.  And as for driving after having a few—you had better not!  'nuf said.  This is a fun chat.  Let's share drink recipes!

So now that my nest is empty and I'm discovering the joys of having so much time to myself, and spending much of that time with the hubby, and yeah, rediscovering that other stuff, I've decided I should start exploring my tastes a little further.  You see, while I've never had a burning desire for alcohol, I have very purposefully avoided it while the kids were living at home.  I like to set a responsible example.  Seriously.  

But now?  Heh.  Liquor store here I come!

There's something about the liquor store.  I enjoy shopping there.  I may visit it twice in a year, and that's one time too many usually.  Every time I walk through those doors I feel as if I'm doing something wrong.  Am I allowed?  Will a cop leap out from behind that beer display and bust me?  Isn't that weird?  Maybe because I don't go there often I've never gotten used to the atmosphere.  

Yet how decadent to walk down the aisles.  I tend to spend  a long time inside.  All those pretty bottles!  The colors, the shapes, the interesting names.  How can you not stand there in awe at the pure fruity, twisty, make-that-a-double awesomeness of it all?

Okay, so I'm a major dweeb at this drinking thing.  It'll take me a while, and really I don't need to start a drink a day habit, but a few sips once in a while would be fun, if not relaxing.  I'm a big girl; it's my party and I'll twirl that paper umbrella if I want to.

  I have recently discovered something I like.  Applebees serves a delicious White Peach Sangria.  I downloaded the recipe:

2 parts Peach Schnappes

2 parts White Wine

2 parts pineapple juice

4 parts Sprite

It's nummy!  I could have one of these every so often.  I might even use that whole bottle of wine before it gets old.  (Trust me, I've bought wine before thinking maybe this time I might develop a taste for it; I take a few sips; I dump it out.)  Why can't I appreciate the flavor of wine?  It all tastes like cork or wood to me.  

So let's have a cocktail chat.  Tell me about your favorite drink to sip and relax by the pool or on the sundeck, or even while snuggled with a chenille blanket and a great read.  Induct me into this wondrous world of drink mixers and fancy shakers and chocolate martinis.  I want to learn.

Michele

Roberta Isleib

I first met Roberta Isleib while at a conference in Los Angeles. At the time I was completely unaware that she was a clinical psychologist and could have answered all my questions regarding the business. With a little luck she might have even been able to do something about my own psychoses. But maybe she’s too busy writing her wonderful series to fix me because she’s just seen her eighth novel published in seven years. (http://www.robertaisleib.com)

ASKING FOR MURDER is the third book in the series featuring advice columnist/psychologist Rebecca Butterman. Roberta is also wrapping up her year of service as president of National Sisters in Crime. So thank you, Roberta, for all the hours you’ve contributed to SINC, and for joining us here in the convertible.


Thanks to everyone at Riding with the Top Down for hosting my ASKING FOR MURDER blog tour today!

Dr. Butterman (AKA Dr. Aster), the main character in my mystery series, most recently ASKING FOR MURDER, is an advice columnist. Even though I’m a psychologist and an advice column junkie, I’ve found that writing her columns is not so easy. After cranking out three of her books, I think I’ve figured out how she would describe her approach: “Most people have a pretty good idea of where they’re already headed when they ask for advice. A wise friend simply shines a flashlight on the path.”

But wait a minute, what about the famous Dr. Phil? He’s not one to stand by on the sidelines with a flashlight. In 2006 while visiting Los Angeles for the “Sisters in Crime Goes to Hollywood” conference, I sat in the good doctor’s live studio audience. (Lois was there too!) A pair of sisters who’d been estranged by boyfriend/husband issues fought like cats and dogs for the better part of their fifteen-minute segment. Even Dr. Phil, an expert on handling catfights, looked defeated by the end of the show. These women had come to Dr. Phil for help as a last resort, but darned if they were going to let him get a word in edgewise! After several attempts to expose the bones of the problem and redirect the sisters, he slumped on his barstool, chin in hand, and rolled his eyes at the audience—as if asking the question “where did I go wrong?”

I’ve been in similar positions—you may have too. An unhappy friend bashes her husband for his insensitivity, miserly approach to money, and emotional abuse, and then asks you what to do. And pleased to be of assistance, you trot out your best Ann Landers/Dr. Phil imitation and offer excellent advice, stating the obvious: “Leave the bum!” Then she makes it clear you’ve overlooked his many fine qualities and offended her to boot.

Here’s an example of how it sometimes goes:

FRIEND: “My mother-in-law refuses to share Christmas with my side of the family…what do you think I should do?”

YOU (feeling wise): “You have to talk this over with her, tell her she needs to take turns with the holidays.”

FRIEND: “Yes,” she says, “but there’s no point in talking to my mother-in-law. It never works. She wants Christmas Eve at her house and that’s that.”

YOU: “Maybe it needs to come from your husband. He should tell her, not you.”

FRIEND: “Maybe,” says your friend, “but he always says what’s the big deal? I can have it my way once she’s dead and buried.”

You feel like an advice-giving idiot! Like Dr. Phil, you want to help but you’ve been stumped. What went wrong? What would Dr. Butterman advise?

She would say that if you don’t acknowledge the feelings first, you can offer solutions until the cows come home and your friend won’t find them useful. If she says she’s upset about Christmas Eve dinner, don’t assume you know exactly what she means. Ask questions and then reflect back what you’ve heard. For example: “Sounds like you’re feeling really pissed at your husband. Do I have that right?” Or even more simply, “you sound so sad when you talk about your marriage.” Comments like these may help your friend recognize feelings she wasn’t fully aware she had.

Then before inserting foot into mouth, find out where she is on her internal map. Ask your friend what she’s considering, what she hopes for, or what she’s already tried—rather than use the conversation to explain your own wise ideas. Even a simple question can do the trick, like “what do you think you should do about Christmas?” If she says never mind the damn dinner, she’s thinking it’s time she left her husband, wow! You can see that helping her negotiate dinner parties was on the wrong track. But be careful of piling on! Many of us have had the experience of criticizing a friend’s husband or boyfriend, and then faced the embarrassment and strain to our friendship when she takes the creep back.

If you absolutely must give a suggestion, make sure to couch it in statements that start with “I.” For example: “I worry about your safety when you talk about Dave like that.” And if you feel like you’re in over your head, trust your gut and tell your friend she needs a professional opinion. Even Dr. Phil refers his TV customers to therapy once their fifteen minutes of shame are over!

And now the doctors are in, ready to answer your questions about giving advice, and to hear about the worst advice you’ve ever gotten—or given. A signed copy of ASKING FOR MURDER goes to the best story…

My First Sale. . . seems like it was yesterday!

My first book. Rapture's Ransom. Yes, I know, I've cringed at that title for more than two decades. I was first published in the era when historical romances had to have one of the "magic" words in the title: rapture, ecstacy, passion, or love. At least for many publishers.

Let me take you in the "way back" machine to the early 80's. Romance was booming, everybody was getting published (or so it seemed), and everywhere you went, you saw racks of paperbacks: gas stations, drug stores, supermarkets, restaurants, truck stops, and even hardware stores.

I started writing when a friend gave me a copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss's "Shana." (Interestingly, I had read a book by Frank Yerby years before ("Lord Johnny") with a similar plot.) At first I dragged my feet about reading the book; it just wasn't my cup of tea. But I knew my friend would ask AGAIN if I had read it and I was desperate for some diversion. (I had a five year old with a broken foot.) So I picked it up and by page 75 I was hooked. When I finished the book I went back to the start and read it again. The whole thing. Then I headed for one of the paperback "racks" and picked up another historical romance. . . and started to have some prime fantasies of my own.

One fantasy kept going around and around in my head: a handome hunk would kidnap me and make love to me every day until I lost 40 pounds. Yeah, I know. Everybody has that fantasy. Anyway, one day I got a yellow legal pad and started to write it down. Forty or fifty legal pads later, I had a book. And I had to learn to type in order to put it into legible form. I sent it to my sister, who had a subscription to The Writer magazine, and she encouraged me to submit it. . . even sent me a list of publishers names and addresses.

I chose four and sent out a letter and a sample of my manuscript. Chapters 3 and 4. Hey, they said "sample" and nobody told me they had to be the FIRST chapters. I knew nothing about publishing. I didn't even know anybody who had published a book.

Believe it or not, one of the houses asked to see the whole manuscript. I sent it and waited 6 months. I finally got up the nerve to call and got-- the janitor. The publisher had gone bankrupt and the printer had seized the assets! I have no clue what happened to that manuscript. For years my nightmare was that somebody pulled it out of a dumpster in New York, put their name on it, and sold a million. FYI-- I no longer have that nightmare. I don't think anybody else would have wanted to put their name on it!

My sister sent me another list of publishers and I sent it out to 13 more houses. That made 17 altogether! I made a chart to keep track of my submissions. 12 more rejections came back. . . #13 asked for the completed manuscript. I sent it and waited again.

About six weeks later, I got a telegram asking me to call the publisher to speak to an editor about my manuscript. I couldn't believe it. I called the next day from work and she made me an offer over the phone. I was terrified to let her off the phone without saying yes-- so I said yes! Pitiful advance. Just pitiful. But to me it was just a thrill to know that I'd be seeing my words in print and my name on a book jacket. I had to do a few revisions. . . which I did in record time. And then I settled in to wait for publication.

Then I got a one line letter from the editor saying that my book "Destiny's Choice" had been retitled, "Rapture's Ransom." ACKKKK! Ptooey! I hated the name, but when the cover came with my name on it. . . yes, in teeny tiny white letters. . . I forgave the indignity.

I didn't tell anyone-- except my family-- that I had written and sold a book. I was delighted when it came out and I got author copies. I just loved having this "secret writing life." And as soon as I could, I started on another idea. I wrote that 2nd whole book before submitting it. I didn't know you could sell a book "on proposal." I didn't know you could "negotiate" for money. I was a lamb waiting to be fleeced. And I was.

But I kept writing.

It took another two years before a friend mentioned seeing in the paper a meeting of romance writers. . . the RWA National Conference. It was too late to attend, but I got contact information and the week after the conference, I called Susan Johnson. . . who graciously invited me to a chapter meeting. I had published two books by then, but felt like a complete newbie. Everybody knew more about the business than I did.

Since then I've worked for four publishers-- five now, with Harlequin-- and probably a dozen editors. Through it all, I've met the most wonderful women. . . creative, generous, open-hearted women. . . smart, savvy, intelligent women. . . women I am honored to say I'm writing in the same genre with.

And I've had two young women tell me they named their daughters after my heroines. Now that's humbling.

Through all of this what have I learned? Persistence pays. Almost nothing else does. If you fall on your face or your rear: get up, dust yourself off, and try again. And I've learned that I probably do better when I have to "earn" my way along. Instant success might have made me a one-book-wonder. Having time to develop my voice and style was a blessing-- even though it didn't seem like that at the time.

I'm turning a new page-- writing a historical for Blaze and planning my first contemporary. I've written a small non-fiction book that's out for consideration right now and I'm working on two larger pieces-- one a paranormal and the other a women's fiction. You just never know what's around the bend, folks. It pays to be open to all kinds of possibilities.

Oh, and I did meet Kathleen Woodiwiss later, at an Avon party in Minneapolis. She was warm and gracious and lovely-- and I did a fangirl "Oh, I love your books so much; you inspired me to write" number on her. She didn't even flinch.

So, does my story ring any bells for you? Have you ever gone all "fangirl" on an author you admire? If you write, how do you handle success? Does it make writing easier or harder for you? What is your definition of success these days?

Helen's First Sale

I got the call that Harlequin wanted to buy TREASURE while touring a university campus with my, then senior, daughter. The group of parents and prospective students surrounding me probably assumed someone had died when I burst into tears. Then came my big smile and the group’s collective sigh of relief, and all was well again.

I have to be honest. Had another rejection come down the pike, it would’ve been my last. Ever. And I mean it. I’d gotten my accounting resume all polished up and had already started the networking process with past co-workers and some friends in the finance industry. My head was turned around and I was, believe it or not, okay with it.

It wouldn’t have felt like a failure at that point. I’d given writing everything I had to give for as long as I could and I’d finally reached the proverbial wall. Or was it that I could finally see the dang thing that I’d been banging my head against for ten plus years?

At the time TREASURE sold, I’d written four complete manuscripts and had several others in various degrees of completion. I’d been nominated three times for Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart for unpublished writers. Won Georgia Romance Writers Maggie and Smokey Mountain Romance Writers Laurie, and finalled too many times to count in other contests.

I was on my second agent. I’d had several editors at big houses tell my agents that while they loved my book(s) they couldn’t buy it/them. Their senior editor or the editorial committees always seemed to nix the deals for various reasons.

I’d rewritten TREASURE for a single title house. It wasn’t enough. I rewrote it again for one of the suspense lines at Harlequin. The initial editor loved my rewrites, but the senior editor for the line shut it down. (Funny, TREASURE won the RITA in the series suspense category!) Finally, I rewrote it a third time for my current editor at Superromance. She’d given me a 13 page revisions letter and no promises.

I decided to try ONE LAST TIME. One last rewrite, one last shove, one last hope thrown out into the universe. Wow.

Isn’t it strange how things happen? A couple can’t have a baby, so they adopt. They find out two months later, lo and behold, they’re pregnant. And … and … hmm, okay, so I can’t think of another example, but you know what I mean.

The road to getting my first book published was rough and rocky, but I’m thinking now that I’ve won a RITA for that very book, it was worth every bump and bruise.

If you don’t write it, send it in, keep writing and keep sending it in, it can’t get sold. If you don’t start that new business, take that art, business, dance class, join that club, etc … no one’s going to do it for you.

Writer or not, is there something in your life, some goal you’re trying to reach, that seems forever just out of your reach? What motivates you to keep at it?

Kathleen Lauds Public Servants

I was all set to blog about my first sale today, but after watching bits of the coverage of 9/11 remembrances yesterday followed by pieces of the Columbia University forum on service, I'm otherwise inspired. Stay tuned later in the month for my first sale.

A Class Act was my second book, published in 1985. The hero is a tribal policeman, the heroine a teacher. One of its later reprints featured Rafe in uniform, but this one depicts the Dakota setting beautifully. (Although Carly really needs a jacket. I guess it's Rafe.) These are the kind of everyday heroes I love to write about. Writers--including LaVyrle Spencer, who was honored in several comments yesterday--often find their stories through ordinary people pitched headlong into extraordinary circumstances.

Such was 9/11, and I was impressed and inspired by the juxtaposition of the memorial and the forum on public service. I thought maybe we could share some stories.

I came of age in troubled times. Segregation, civil rights, the "war" on poverty truncated by the Vietnam War. Our parents fought WWII, and they wanted us to take advantage of opportunities they fought for--education, careers like law and medicine, get a house and maybe a second car, raise a family. But we wanted to change the world. Many of us devoted at least some of our youth to that ideal. Hearing both presidential candidates talk about encouraging public service last night warmed the cockles of this Boomer's heart. I hope they're serious.

My daughter is one term away from completing her training to become a police officer. She was very much inspired by the service and sacrifices of the NYPD during 9/11, but she also feels that she has something special to offer as an American Indian. She's passionate about the choice she's made, and I understand that, even though I'll probably worry. A little bit.


One of my sons trained as an EMT and thought he might become a first responder. He shadowed a firefighter. He hasn't pursued either of these callings--partly because he doubts himself in the face of some of the challenges he knows he'd have to face--but he came away with greater understanding and enormous respect.

Meanwhile, in my bailiwick, I created a firefighter. I did some interviews that really gave me pause. Fire really scares me. In order to write Blacktree Moon I had to imagine walking into fire and the kind of courage it would take to do that. The kind I don't have.

I was a teacher. Yep, that's me, fresh out of college and idealistic as all get out. I taught for 17 years on Clyde's reservation, and it was the seminal experience of my life. I'm so tired of what I consider to be a growing lack of support for teachers and for public education. My granddaughter's first grade teacher recently explained to me that "kindergarten is the new first grade." That's terrific. Let's fully fund kindergarten. Let's pay teachers. Let's train them better. Let's get in there and lift these heroes up because, believe me, their job is getting harder all the time. Encouraging good teachers to serve in areas where they're desperately needed by helping them pay off their college debt is a great idea. Back in my day it was called the National Defense Fund. Yep, teachers.

Both candidates mentioned Americorps/VISTA during last night's forum. VISTA was big in the 60's and 70's. For some it was an alternative to the draft. I knew lots of VISTA workers back when, and I think it's a wonderful service. These are current pictures of people of all ages involved in VISTA projects in the U.S.

Community service. I wonder how many people truly understand the work of a community organizer. They teach. They help people figure out how to get a floundering community on its feet. They train community leaders by teaching the ins and outs of democracy and all its institutions, of finance and marketing and education and public services. Peace Corps volunteers (right) do the same kind of work on foreign soil.

I was glad to hear that both presidential candidates understand the importance of public service and pledge to support it. We hear a lot about supporting the troops, and I come from a long line of soldiers, so I certainly agree with that. It's one of many ways people can serve. Veterans' benefits are a major concern for me. I'd love to see more young people get into public service, at least for a time. It's more than just a contribution to country and community--it's enlightening. I knew a couple who got married right after college, trained and served as police officers with every intention of going to law school after they experienced the law enforcement side of the coin. Which they did. They could be heroes in my book.

Tell us some of your everyday heroes. How do you feel about public service?

Wednesday's Winner!

Maureen is the winner of Tawny Weber's giveaway on Wednesday!  Maureen, please send Michele your snail  mail address to:  toastfaery@gmail.com

Congrats!

First Sale and Patriot Day

Good bad or otherwise, you’re getting a twofer from me today. First things first – my first sale. It falls into the ‘if I knew then what I know now’ category, I probably wouldn’t be published. I was so naïve. Such a baby – rhetorically speaking – and so ignorant of the business. Long story short, I was in love with LaVryle Spencer’s work – who among us doesn’t love and miss seeing new work from LaVyrle?? Anyway, I’d exhausted her complete library – or so I thought until I discovered some old titles but couldn’t find them on the shelves anywhere. So I wrote to her. That was before the days of e-mail (yes, Virginia, there is a pre-web era many of us survived, but just barely). Wonder of wonders, she wrote back to me. Told me she wrote to me personally because my letter was so articulate. In my 'star-struck' mind that equated to: “LaVryle Spencer thinks I’m articulate. I bet I could write a book.”

You laugh but that’s just how it all started. I sat down with a portable manual typewriter with a sticky E and set out to write the great American novel. From that moment on I was a gonner. Bitten bad by the writing bug. That manuscript was rejected by the best editors in the business (many of whom I enjoy seeing at RWA nationals) but the rejection letters were very encouraging so I kept at it. I wrote two more books. Farmed them all over NYC and finally got the call one pretty fall afternoon from Elizabeth Barrett (yes that’s her name) from Bantam Doubleday Dell’s now defunct Loveswept line.

My hubby was helping a farmer friend of his so I was home alone. I was screaming and buzzed with excitement so I hopped in the car, drove out to the farm, bounced across a fall-plowed field or two until I found Tom behind the wheel of a HUGE combine picking corn. He saw me coming, jumped out of the cab and ran to the car. “Who died?” he asked frantically. In his mind, nothing else warranted the beating my poor car was taking.

We still laugh about that day but MAVERICK was my very first title and came out in July of 1991. Now- wow - 17 years and 41 books later, I still get a little tickle of excitement when I think about that first sale.

My question for you all is, if you're a writer, was there a particular author who inspired you? A particular book? Have you always wanted to be a writer? Or if you're not a writer, what compels you to take a chance on a new author?

On a more somber note, today is Patriot Day. Seven years ago today our lives were forever changed by the horrors of the 9/11 attacks. Please stop with me and take a moment to remember with both sorrow and pride all we endured as a nation that day. In honor of those lost then and in the days that followed as our military fight and defend all that we hold dear, if you fly a flag please display it at half-staff today and observe a moment of silence beginning at 8:46 a.m. eastern daylight time to honor the innocent victims who lost their lives as a result of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

In peace…

Cindy

Guest: Tawny Weber

Which Hero Pushes your Hot Button?
I love romances for so many reasons, but the most obvious is the hero. Nothing brings a book together for me more than the hero does. He’s that fantasy guy that we female readers get to imagine ourselves romancing as we step into the heroine’s shoes. The one we get to live out adventures, romances, excitement with, right? Am I the only one who judges my romances in their heroes?


Personally I’ve got a soft spot for Bad Boys. I think it’s a sneaking suspicion that those sexy, motorcycle riding, rough and ready heroes just know all kinds of naughty little tricks that the cutie-patootie Boy Next Door probably doesn’t. I have friends who swoon over the Alpha hero, and others who swear by the Beta guy. Some readers always buy certain authors books because they specialize in a specific kind of hero.


Because heroes are so integral into my writing and I’m fascinated by the appeal that different guys hold, even if I don’t always get it. I run a Hunk of the Month poll on my blog each month and its fun to see which hottie is preferred. I haven’t run fictional heroes yet, rather well known stars like Johnny Depp, George Clooney or in one case, Gerard Butler against himself in different time periods to ask the readers which historic hero they’d liked best. Coming up I’ll be polling for the Geeky Hunk, the Vampire Hunk and the Hunk with the Most Romantic Pickup Line to name just a few. I’m always surprised when my clear favorite doesn’t win. It’s like... huh? You all don’t LOVE him? (Seriously, some people don’t get all hot and bothered over Johnny Depp? I mean, really?)


Nick Angel, the hero in my latest Blaze, RISQUÉ BUSINESS, is a little bit of an alpha bad boy, definitely one of those take control kind of guys who make me think “oh yeah, he’d know a few naughty tricks.” (And boy does he!!!) He’s my favorite kind of guy, that sexy, intense, kind with a wicked sense of humor.


Thankfully there plenty of hero types to appeal to all of us, but it makes me curious. Do you have a favorite hero type? One kind of guy who if you see him on the cover makes your fingers itch to grab the book? How about an all time least favorite? You know, that instant turn-off hero that you won’t ever read? Tell me about your most and least favorite hero types and we’ll choose one name to win a book from my backlist.
Tawny’s latest Blaze release is RISQUE BUSINESS — where a literature reviewer out to make a name for herself and an erotic suspense author out to save his reputation go head to head in a game of sexual one-upmanship. When newly made over Delaney Connor publicly critiques best-selling author Nick Angel’s inability to bring emotion into his stories, it hits him where it hurts… his sales and his ego. In retaliation, he issues her a challenge of his own. Either prove good sex needs emotions… or admit the greatest sex in the world is purely physical. You can check out RISQUÉ BUSINESS here.

Tawny Weber is usually found dreaming up stories in her California home, surrounded by dogs, cats and kids. When she’s not writing hot, spicy stories for Blaze, she’s shopping for the perfect pair of boots or drooling over Johnny Depp pictures (when her husband isn’t looking, of course). Stop by and visit her on the web at www.tawnyweber.com

My First Sale, and a Question

Unlike others, I joined RWA before starting my first manuscript. I was prompted by one of my best friends from high school * who came for a visit and asked me why I wasn’t doing what I always wanted—writing romance novels. So, shortly after that I discovered my local chapter and joined. (I realized there was such an organization from the many acknowledgements written to members of Romance Writers of America in the romances I was starting to devour after a many years hiatus.)

I also joined a critique group, read a zillion romances, wrote a manuscript that was rejected by Silhouette Desire, served on the board of my local chapter, had a baby. Then one night, sitting at a board meeting, I was passed submission guidelines for a new Harlequin/Silhouette line then known as “The Written Word.” Each book was supposed to start with a form of communication. You ever get good vibes about something? This struck me immediately.

The books were short, 50,000 words, and I wrote a chapter each week, passing them along to my critique group. I finished the book in ten weeks. It took another twenty to get the call. The editor who bought my book, Melissa Senate (now an author herself) particularly liked how the heroine’s workplace woes figured into the story. I think Melissa was already envisioning what we now call chick lit.

Quick summary: It’s titled THE WEDDING DATE (and pre-dates the movie with Debra Messing). Heroine hires a guy to be her date to the wedding of her ex-fiancé and the woman he’s marrying--who is the boss’s daughter at the company where they both work. (The invitation on the cover art reads: You and a guest are cordially invited to your ex-fiance's wedding. P.S. Please leave sour grapes and a gift at the door.)

The call came in the early morning (guess Melissa didn’t realize I’m a California girl), but Surfer Guy was already at work and didn’t have a phone in that classroom where he was teaching. Next up, my critique pals, but it was before 7 a.m. I told the two-year-old, but he wasn’t much impressed. So...I called my mom. I’ll never forget that morning!

Who would you call first with the best news ever? You won the lottery, or you got that job you’ve been angling for, or that promotion you so well deserve?

* In case you’ve not heard this before: My friend who came to visit…she’s the first female governor of the state of Michigan and is in her second term. Jen’s following her dream too!

Debra - How do you buy books?

Okay, I know this isn't about my first sale. But I'll get to that later in the month. Promise.

Today I want to pick your brain. I want to know how you decide which books to buy and where to buy them. First let me give you some context...

There's a debate in the industry about something called "returns."

Returns are the unsold books that the bookseller sends back to the wholesaler. Yep, you heard me. The bookseller doesn't have to be responsible for their inventory. They can (at any time) send books back to the wholesaler. No sales are ever really final unless you make the books NON-returnable.

This is a dirty word in bookselling. Booksellers hate non-returnable books. They won't usually order them for store shelves unless the bookseller is pretty darned convinced that book will sell itself. This business model evolved because publishers tried to get booksellers to take a chance on new authors. Somehow returnable books for "new authors" became returnable books for "all authors."

There has always been grumbling in the industry, but lately some not-so-small publishers are experimenting with non-returnable books. Returns are horribly costly for publishers.
As you might expect, the books returned are in pitiful shape after being shipped around the country four (4) times (first to the wholesaler, then bookseller, back to the wholesaler, and finally back to the publisher). The publisher generally has to pay for shipping twice which is why paperbacks are rarely returned. The covers are stripped off and returned for credit.

Massive amounts of books are printed and never sold. They're pulped usually. I could go on about the ins and outs of returns, but that's not the point. I just wanted you to know what returns are and how NOT having returnable books would affect shelf-space. (i.e. a book would get darned little of it.)

SO...how important is it to you that the book is on the store shelves? Is that how you make your buying decisions, by browsing the shelves every so often?

Or do you do most of your shopping online these days and add books to your cart until you're ready to order?

Are you willing to track a book down once you've found out about it?

Are you willing to ask your bookseller to special order a book for you?

We all love a bookstore, me included. But I rarely go to a bookstore to purchase a particular book. All my planned purchases are online. I buy more "planned" books than "browsed" books.

How do you buy books?

Don't hate me because it was fast . . .

I didn't grow up thinking I would be a writer. Too big a dream, really; where I come from, you might as well say you were going to go to Hollywood and be a movie star. Same reaction.

But I was always a reader, non-stop. I wrote a little, now and then - a mystery story when I was in third grade or so, that my grandmother kept; when I was a junior, my first attempt at a romance (Her name was Fawn. Can you imagine? And she was soooo beautiful.) I didn't get too far. Thank goodness.

And I didn't write again, nothing that wasn't an assignment, for at least ten years. But when I was 29, my then-youngest son was going to preschool, and my husband was making noises about me getting a real job, and I realized I might never have that much free time again.

I didn't want to be at the end of my life and wonder if I could have done it. So I started a book. I didn't tell ANYONE. I wrote on this old Apple (the kind with the screen in the tower) that Matt had brought home from work, and he discovered what I was doing when he stumbled across a file named "Tony" when I was about halfway done.

I still didn't tell anybody I knew. Didn't want to answer all those "sell a book yet?" questions. But I found the local chapter of Romance Writer's of America when I was about halfway done. We started a critique group (Hi, Helen! Connie Brockway was in it too. Can you believe how lucky I was?) and I entered the Golden Heart because I knew it would make me finish it - I'm far too Minnesotan to PAY to enter a contest and then not do it.

Our chapter had a conference that spring. On Friday, an editor from Berkley ripped apart my idea, and I was devastated. And then I got a phone call that I made the GH finals on Saturday! An agent who was there told me to send it; I thought she told everybody that, which was pretty much true.

That's when I told my mother. I overnighted it to the agent on Tuesday. On Thursday, she called me and said she wanted to represent me, and if it was okay with me she was delivering the ms. to Carolyn Marino from Harper at Grand Central station that evening, because she knew she was looking.

On Monday, she called me and wanted to know if I was sitting down.

Yeah, I know. Little did I know at the time that they were the only fast editor and agent in New York. And I've been turned down since then, believe me.

But that book was JOURNEY HOME. Like Michele, I wish I could tweak the writing here and there. But I still really do love the story, and I'm not sure it's been quite as much fun to write since then. Too many critics whispering in my brain, now that I've learned a few things about writing. Being clueless and starry-eyed has some advantages.

Susie

Dark Rapture Winner!

Whew! Major computer problems this morning and just getting online now. I drew a name and ESTELLA is the winner! Estella please send me your snail mail address and I'll get your prize in the mail, and let me know if you want it autographed to you or someone else.
toastfaery@gmail.com

Michele

A (Not So) Brief History Of My First Time

No not that first time.  That time would be entirely too short and not worth the ink.  :-)

This is about my first time writing a story and publishing.

I'm not the sort who has always wanted to be a writer.  But I have always had stories playing in my head, since a very early age.  Elaborate stories that stretch over days and weeks, and certainly made me the bookish introvert I am today.  In 1990, when I was pregnant with my son, I had the notion to put down a story on the page.  Why not?  I liked the stories, maybe others would too.  And maybe I could sell, make the big bucks, and never have to work nine-to-five again?  

Such dreams.

So, with rummage sale typewriter before me, I began a weird story that featured a vampire as hero.  The remake of Dark Shadows starring Ben Cross was playing at the time, and that's when I learned vampires could be sexy.  I tossed in rock music, pissed off ghosts, a little time travel to my favorite period, 18th C Paris, and oh yeah, there's that wall paper scene because at the time I was currently tearing paper from the walls of my new house.

I went through three typewriters that summer, and finally got a cheap used computer one day with the little screen that must have been six inches across.  Remember those?  Two years later, I had a 200,000 word manuscript.  My masterpiece!  During that time, I'd been researching publishers using the Writer's Market (I hadn't heard of RWA back then), and decided Zebra was most open to new authors.  So, I packaged up the tome, kissed it, and sent it off.  [Note: the standard single title romance is 100K, but I didn't know that, among other things.]

And then I started my next story.  By then, I had become a writer, for real.  Didn't matter if I never sold a story, I just had to write.  I wrote stories I wanted to read, and I still do.

Six months later, and another manuscript half finished, I got the call.  A real live editor from the big city of New York actually wanted my book!  And she wanted to pay me for it.  How cool is that?  I still remember the day: April 8th, 2:00 in the afternoon.  My mother had stopped by, because it was her birthday.  My hubby was home (for reasons I don't recall; he always works until evening) and was taking a shower.  So, I jumped into the shower, fully clothed, and told him the good news.  When my mom arrived, it was interesting explaining my wet attire and the surprise book contract (I hadn't told anyone in the family I was writing).  It was a great day.

That was 1993.  The book was scheduled for publication in 1995.  I got to edit the book (four-page revision letter; it wasn't bad) and I was told to cut 70K words from the mss.  I said sure!  Little did I realize at the time, that I'd just been asked to cut the equivalent of a Silhouette Romance from my story.  I managed to get the story down to 145K; the editor seemed fine with it.  At one point during this fascinating process I called up my editor to ask what, exactly, was going to be on the spine.  I mean, would it be put out as 'Horror' a la Anne Rice, or 'Fiction'.  She was like "No, dummy" (okay, so the dummy was implied) "It's a Romance."  That's the first time I  knew I had written a romance.  Cool!

A cover arrived.  It was red and black and the hero was strangely purple.  I didn't care, it was gorgeous.  And the lettering was in purple foil.  Neat.  It was going to be a real book!  I made homemade bookmarks and sent to tons of bookstores.  Yeah, it cost a pretty penny, but I wanted the world to know about this book.

At the end of 1994, my editor called.  "Sorry, we're not going to publish Dark Rapture.  The vampire market is dead."  Pun not intended.  "But you know, I really like this book; I'll see what I can do for it."

 

I hung up, stunned.  Did things like this happen in publishing?  Can they buy the book from you and then not publish it?  I didn't know any other writers at the time, so had no one to ask.  I could only go back to the computer and keep writing.

The following year, my editor reported they were going to try again and scheduled the book for 1997.  Whew!  And guess what?  They made a new cover.  Heck, I liked the old one, but take a gander at the new one.  John DeSalvo in leather lace-up pants and looking SO sexy!  The blood dripping from the rose.  To this day, this is still my favorite cover.  I mean, look at it!  It rocks.  

So I set about promoting.  Again.  Letting bookstores know that the story would finally be published.  Back then, the vampire selection in the stores was not a dozen new titles every month, as it is now.  They published less than a dozen vamp romances the entire year.  So fans who read paranormal were really hungry for new stuff.  To this day, I still get fan mail for that book.  

So fast forward to the release!  Yay!  My first book!  I was so proud, and even fellow authors in the local RWA chapter I'd just joined were interested (Though some stood at a distance; who is this chick?  She writes about vampires?  Where's the cross and holy water?)  Anyway, I did a few book signings with some awesome names in the business.  And at one of my first signings, Betina Krahn presented me with a bottle of champagne.  (Class act, that Krahn chick.)  

Within two months, the book had sold out.  Used copies appeared at Amazon.  The highest priced I noticed as $80.  Really?  For a paperback book?  And people were buying it!  Myself, I have only 3 or 4 copies of that book now.  Wish I had more.  I have a 'send around' copy that's all tattered, but which has been to a few agents and editors with the promise it is returned to me because I just don't have any spares.  That's kind of cool in itself.

It wasn't really like a dream come true, it was more a manifestation of something that had always been with me.  My desire to tell stories.  And I'm still doing it, and hope to do it for a long time.

Now, eleven years after the first publication of Dark Rapture, the publisher has rereleased it.  They slapped a new cover on it (see the pic to the right above), and well, I have to be honest and say 'Yuck' to that cover.  It's not bad, but it ain't pretty either.  The guy on the cover is nothing like the gypsy-wild long dark-haired rocker vampire in the book, but whatever.  Here's hoping it won't scare readers away from picking up the book.  :-)

I'm excited for the rerelease, but a little worried, as well.  I wasn't given a chance to re-edit the book, and while I think it's an awesome story, I KNOW it needs editing.  Heck, it needs major revising.  I started reading it the other night, and man, did I like my adverbs back then!  My writing has really improved since the early 90s.  I just hope readers will understand this is 'classic' Michele Hauf, and enjoy the story.  And I hope I didn't reference anything from the 90s that'll seem strange now.  I did talk about a 'car phone'; can't imagine the size of that thing back then.  

So there you have it!  Though I sold the first book I ever wrote, it took four years to actually see it in print after the sale.  Some published authors might sneer at my selling the first book, but trust me, I've received many rejections since then.  But I'll never stop.  I am a writer.  It's in my blood.

So if you're a writer, have you always been so?  Or have you recently come to keyboard and screen with ideas?  What about the readers?  What's your take on vampire romances?  Love 'em or loath 'em, I think they're here to stay.  

I'll give away a copy of the new DARK RAPTURE (sorry about that cover) to one commenter.

Michele