Oddly enough, as I was working on this post this morning I read Julie’s thank you to her own agent. I’m been thinking recently that I must be a very lucky girl. After all:
I have an amazing agent. She brilliant, savvy, fun, communicative, hard-working, supportive, loyal, comforting, aggressive… the list goes on and on. And I’m sure there are a lot of agents like that. But also, she gets me. When I come up with absolutely outlandish ideas that would likely mystify other agents who aren’t quite as pop-culture savvy, my agent not only jumps on it like it’s a shoe sale, but she expands the idea to be about seventeen times as amazing as I’d originally planned.
I have a terrific editor. I knew from the first time I talked to her that she was the perfect editor for this story. I don’t know if anyone has worked harder bringing this product to market, whether it was fixing punchlines that needed tweaking, talking me through rough plot points, doing mailings, writing quizzes, coming up with fabulous interior design flair that just MAKES the book, or any of the nameless, thankless jobs that go into the production of a novel. She’s the best.
I have the most phenomenal writing friends. My critique partner, Marley, who I think sometimes, impossible as it sounds, might be more excited about this book than I am. Of course, it does indicate the strength of her psychic powers. The email she sent me last spring after reading the partial (which was, I might add, after pitching it sight unseen at a conference) said that this was going to be the book that sold, and it was going to sell on partial. She’s so extraordinarily giving. I admire her ability to put aside whatever crappiness she’s dealing with to celebrate on behalf of the people she loves. Someday, I’ll figure out her trick to it. When life hands her lemons, she makes lemon drop martinis. I can’t wait until her first book is out. I’m so bitter that the rest of you all have to wait until Spring 2008.
My other critique partner, Cheryl, who not only let me live at her house a few years ago, but did me all kinds of favors when I was overseas, and wrote me the most wonderful email earlier this week when I was feeling down about the snail’s pace nature of my writing, and always lets me talk through my writing problems and is the best conference roommate a girl could have. She’s another that makes me feel rather less than generous by comparison. Also, it criminal that you haven’t read her books yet either, since she’s a brilliant writer to boot. Criminal. When it does, it’s going to be so successful. People will dress up like her characters for Halloween. Mark my words. (I’m not as psychic as Marley, but I try.)
I have a great mentor. She took the little blonde, clueless college grad and showed her how to be a pro. She never once treated me like I was less worthy because of my enormous stack of rejections letters. She taught me how you act around writers, around editors, around agents. She asked me for advice when she was stuck on a story issue and she probably doesn’t know how much that meant to me. She valued my little unpublished, untutored opinion enough to ask my advice. But that’s how Julie is. She’s kickass and outspoken and has no qualms about pissing people off if they deserve it, but she’s also got one of the biggest hearts in the business. She’s a natural born leader and she’s smart enough not to give credence to bullshit. I really like that in a friend.
Oh man, the list of writers-I-love could go on and on (mostly about people in TARA).
I’ve got fabulous friends. This point was driven home to me at my college reunion earlier this month. Everyone was so excited about my book. My friends in D.C. are really stepping up to the plate, recruiting all of their friends to come along to the launch booksigning. I may have to order more cake.
My parents are planning me a party to end all parties. Seriously, weep if you don’t live in Tampa. You’re missing out.
I don’t know how I can repay all of these people for all the support they’ve shown me over the last year. I’m sitting here holding my book in my hands and thinking about how it’s my name on the cover, but there are so many people behind it. You can’t even imagine. There should be a credits roll or something. I should buy Crane out of thank-you notes.
Need something to read in the next 18 days before your Secret Society Girl cravings are satiated?
How about a chick lit mystery set in sultry San Fransisco? That’s right, mystery writer and amateur sleuth Sophie Katz is back in Kyra Davis’s newest release: Passion, Betrayal, and Killer Highlights.
Confession: I somehow missed out on Double Latte when it came out (I might have still been in shock from my book sale) so I’m a bit behind on the storyline. Sigh, another thing to put on the list for when I’m done with SSG2.
Sophie Katz has just offered a man $12,000 for his services…is she desperate of just meshugeneh?
Considering the kind of disasters that usually befall the half-black, half Jewish mystery writer, probably both. Because the last time Sophie saw sexy P.I. Anatoly Darinsky, he practically danced a jig when she waved goodbye-a normal reaction for a man who’d nearly bought the farm due to her misguided attempts at vigilante justice. What are the chances he’d agree to take incriminating pictures of her sister’s philandering husband? Or that he’d let her tag along-you know…for research?
But when her brother-in-law turns up dead and her sister becomes the prime suspect Sophie’s priority is finding the real killer. With or without Anatoly’s help. Her brother-in-law’s secret life yields plenty of suspects, but the San Francisco police aren’t taking any of them seriously. So Sophie does what comes naturally to her: she stirs up trouble (to lure the killer out, of course).
But if her crazy plan works will everybody survive the outcome?
In the rollicking follow-up to Sex, Murder And A Double Latte, Sophie hones her irreverent humor and sleuthing skills to a sharp edge.
Wow, it’s Thursday already and Secret Society Girl 2 still isn’t done. I keep writing and writing. Guess that instant gratification thing isn’t working out like I expected. (The RTB readers burst into hysterical laughter.)
Last night I dreamed about the release of my book. Oddly enough, this is the first of those dreams that I’ve had. You had the usual stuff: people hating it, people loving it, etc. In general, I prefer the latter.
I prefer stuff like this which, all in all, might be even better than Hokey Pokey!
It is a quirky, well-paced, clever, and fresh novel from debut author Diana Peterfreund. Amy is a charming, funny and smart character. I really liked her. There are hilarious, laugh out loud moments (loved the comment about Amy’s friend-with-benefits, Brandon, looking like a sidekick in a WB show LOL). I read this book, from start to finish, with a smile on my face and will definitely be picking up the second installment in the series. Highly recommended.
I’m prety sure this is Lanie, because I don’t know who else in New Zealand has read my book. She can officially say she’s the first person on the continent to get her hands on it! Also, fab blog. Hot soccer players. What’s not to love?
Yesterday I went to what is called “a bookseller lunch.” Nice work if you can get it. Basically, what it means is that I had lunch with several local booksellers and talked about my book. Honestly, it might be the most fun I’ve ever had. In a stroke of genius, the publisher representative sat me between two booksellers, Pam and Susan, that I’d accidentally met at BEA while standing in line to meet Geraldine Brooks (Pulitzer Prize-winning author of March). Another attendee, Allie, reminded me of my hard-working heroine — not only was she a bookseller, she was also a senior in college, and headed to some sort of summit in Miami (you know, in between all her other duties)! One bookseller, Dan, even showed me around his store after lunch. (Hence the earlier post about things I’m not allowed to do.)
Now, the best thing about having lunch with booksellers is you are guaranteed to be surrounded with book lovers. Oh it was a big booklove-in. I have so many recommendations now that I’m not allowed to read. Factoid: I learned that there are actually people out there resisting Harry Potter until all seven are out. Booksellers LOVE Harry Potter. They get very dreamy looks in their eyes when you say Harry Potter. I covet that look. I want it to happen when you say my book, too.
Joy of joys, most of them had actually read my book already, and they wanted to talk about it and what parts they’d liked best and etc. etc. etc. We had a little casting call, and then debated about “whom Amy should end up with” and chatted about my inspiration, the romances hiding under my bed, and what we liked about BEA. They each got a copy of the book, which I signed.
It ended up being a lovely event, and I enjoyed meeting the new caretakers of my book. It’s basically out of my hands now, and in those of the good booksellers of North America. Or, will be, in, oh nineteen days.
Don’t tell Sailor Boy, but I went book shopping. I’m not allowed. I have stacks of books from BEA that I’m not allowed to read until after my deadline, and then I went on a spree in New York, and my TBR pile is threatening to crash through the floor and into the apartment of the people below us… it’s an addiction.
At first, it was just going to be some category books, on the excuse that if I don’t buy them now, they will disappear and I’ll never be able to find them again (ahem, Grailkeepers series) but then there was this whole buy three get the fourth off table and… well, it got out of hand. Sadly, I’m not allowed to read any of them. I’m not allowed to read Closer, by Jo Leigh, despite starting it on the Metro ride home and devouring the first 50 pages because Jo, man, can she tell a story. (You have heard me talk about her WWII era romance here before.) I LOVE her Blazes. I read them all, and have, ever since she was one of the launch books. There was this one, I even remember the name — SCENT OF A WOMAN, about this couple who met for anonymous sex in a hotel room, and the only thing the hero knew about this woman was her perfume, and he actually went into stores smelling perfume until he found out which one she used. Now, whenever I see Boucheron, I remember that book.
This one is not about perfume. It’s about a woman, Christie, whose life has been destroyed by the efforts of a stalker, and the Delta-force hero who comes to her rescue and teaches her how to kick some ass. In love already? I sure was.
But wait, there’s more! For those of you who have not yet discovered the magic of a Jo Leigh romance, Jo is giving away one very special copy to someone who posts on my blog. I have decided to make it a contest that Jo will get a kick out of: the winner is first person to correctly answer the following question:
Who was Diana’s favorite character on The X-Files? (one guess per poster) Win the contest and read the book. Make me jealous because I, alas, cannot read it until I’ve finished SSG2.
Maureen McGowan, whom many of you remember from her remarkable tale of agent-offer-at-conference that we shared on Diana’s Diversions back in February, has a blog. Today, on this blog, she is discussing her own early misconceptions about how this whole “pursuit of a writing career” was going to work out. Most aspirants have illusions of some sort. Though I never labored under the self-publishing fantasy (boy, is that the subject of another blog), I had plenty of my own bizarre theories.
Back in the early days, I even had a list somewhere detailing exactly when I expected my first book in each Harlequin category line to be released. I was not one of the people who failed to research the category lines. Oh no, I read all of the paragraph-long descriptions, then matched them up to each of my (unwritten) story ideas. At last count, I think I was going to be writing for Temptation, Blaze, American, Special Edition, Desire, and Superromance. And then, Red Dress Ink. Of course, that was just at Harlequin. And it was going to be all unagented. And within two years. After all, it took a year from the time of acceptance for my book to come out, would probably take me a month or so to write each book, and they’d clearly accept it right away, seeing how good it was.
And this is after STUDYING the market. I wasn’t going to go in blind, you see. I’d pored over all the information on the then-nascent eHarlequin.com (which promised I’d “Learn to Write,” a subject heading which has since made me grimace), and I’d read an older version of Kathryn Falk’s opus on romace writing. I was an EXPERT. I understood all the little rules (i.e., “it takes a year” “category lines have very different personalities”) and knew that if it took me one night to write a 6 page term paper (which had like, no dialogue and was in a smaller font besides) then it would never take me more than 40 days to knock off a whole book. Oh, and if my book was massively different than anything that they’d ever published before, they’d like it even MORE, because finally someone had given them something fresh! Like, say, a romance without a happy ending! That would blow their socks off at Silhouette!
Um, right. Around this time, two things happened that shattered all of my illusions. The first thing was, I met a real romance novelist while doing an article for my newspaper. And, despite all her claims to the contrary, she’s actually a phenomenally nice person who didn’t laugh me out of the Mexican restaurant (though, in retrospect, I think I did a pretty good job hiding my sheer stupidity from her). I also tried to write a book, and it was much harder than I’d thought. Julie said I should join RWA, but since I was broke, I promised my now-sober-and-disillusioned self that I wouldn’t spend a penny on this pipe dream until I completed step one: actually writing a whole book.
The day I finished that piece of crap (which at the time I thought was marvelous — come on, sex scene on a pool table? What’s not to love?) was one of the proudest days of my life. I instantly signed up for RWA and basically dived into the deep end of the pool. I wanted to figure out what else I’d gotten wrong and how to go about getting it right. My friends in TARA will bear witness at my eagerness (read: officiousness) and dedication (read: obsession). When I, like Maureen, did not sell at the two year mark (my 25th birthday) I cried bitter tears. Sailor Boy, who has somehow propelled me up this gorgeous New Zealand South Island Mountain in order to watch a phenomenal sunset over the Tasman Sea, was unable to console me, despite the spaghetti and tuna he’d prepared for my birthday dinner (he’d even packed candles).
Now, sometimes when we witness the newb fantasies, a writing friend says to me, “Diana, were we ever this clueless?” I usually say no, but now I’m not so sure. That list of mine is out there somewhere. Now, don’t get me wrong. The publishing business is a complex and often opaque industry, so I full sympathize with newcomers who can’t quite suss it out. I couldn’t, and I thought of myself as a pretty bright cookie who was doing her research. Luckily, I fell in with a great crowd: a writing group who welcomed the little upstart with open arms (I Heart TARA) and a mentor that never ever ever ever laughed at my ignorance. I’m, um, not that good. I’m trying to be. Part of the reason I write about craft and industry stuff so much on the blog is that I want people to have more to read on this matter to counteract all the misinformation out there (by, say scam agents and vanity publishing outfits). But, anyone who sees me rant knows that I’m not perfect where that goes.
It’s been a while since I’ve read Plato, and Zeus knows I don’t agree with half of it, but I do try to remind myself often that the path to knowledge starts with admitting how ignorant you are. As soon as I met people who were actually in the industry, I realized how off my interpretation of my research had been. I’ve been observing a lot of what I’ve been calling “willful ignorance.” Folks unwilling to look at the hard truth because it contradicts with whatever they have been insisting to themselves. No matter how much information and advice they receive to the contrary from experienced writers, editors, and agents, they keep looking for the one person or website, or whatnot who will confirm for them what they’ve already insisted is true. I think that’s the part that I was never like. I was an idiot, sure, but I didn’t want to be one.
Special Note: I’m off on a very special activity today. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.
I haven’t done one of these in quite a while. See the column on the right for the extant entries in the series. To wit:
The ‘When Good Advice Goes Bad’ series seeks to report upon various bits of great writerly advice that has been trampled, maimed, perverted and otherwise turned to dastardly means. Everything from the simple “try not to use passive voice,” a banner that has been waved in every wholesale genocide of the word “had”; to the more complicated career questions, such as “start with category because it’s easier.” We’re looking fat advice that is well meant but leads to errors, or even good advice that we can explore and see how we might be, even now, interpreting it in a damaging manner. I hope to learn a lot.
Today:
WHEN GOOD ADVICE GOES BAD: The Myth of the One-Book Wonder
How it goes bad: “I’m afraid they’ll think I’m a one-book wonder.” “How do I avoid coming across as a one-book wonder?” “I’m going to tell this agent about every time I’ve ever placed pen to paper because I don’t want them to think I’m a one-book wonder.”
Where it’s found: Prolific usage by inexperienced writers who want an excuse to throw everything they’ve got at an unsuspecting agent or editor.
Here’s the thing to keep in mind, folks. I don’t know any agent or editor who automatically assumes a query from a genre fiction writer is from a so-called one-book wonder. From a celebrity or memoirist? Sure. But if you just say the more formal equivalent of, “Hi, I have this 90k book in this genre, here’s what it’s about ::insert awesome blurb:: can’t wait to hear from you,” then that’s all right, too.
But but but, I hear you say, the agents say they want to know in advance! Isn’t it better to show how much experience I have by telling them about all seventeen books I have on the back burner?
NO. Here’s what you do. Insert this line at the end of my query: “This is my second completed manuscript.” You could also insert this line: “This is my third completed manuscript.” If the number increases beyond three, say, “I have completed several manuscripts.” (Like any woman of a certain age will tell you, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit vague on that number.) That’s all you need to say.
If you talk about 17 books, they’re going to start backing away slowly, wondering how bad you are that you didn’t manage to land anyone before now. (This may be completely untrue, by the way, because there are a variety of reasons that someone hasn’t sold other than that they suck, but that’s the impression it will give. It’s similar to the way many editors look at slush piles. They auto-reject older submissions, figuring if they’d been any good, the writer would have already secured an agent and sold the puppy.)
If, saints preserve us, you proceed to describe all seventeen books and their various genres, then the industry pro will also freak out becuase they’ll decide that though you may not be a one-book wonder, you haven’t settled into your niche yet. Keep in mind the other part of the good advice: long term career. Not a flighty genre-hopper.
But but but, I hear you say, that’s not true! They *are* afraid of getting a one-book wonder on their hands! That was Rachel Vater up there giving that good advice. Rachel Vater! She’s totally a top-drawer agent, plus she edited the Guide to Literary Agents. She knows what she’s talking about!
Okay, fine. If you insist. They’re afraid of getting a one-book wonder. But let me tell you about the other things they are much more afraid of:
1. Getting a no-book wonder: has this writer sent me a query for a manuscript that doesn’t exist? 2. Getting a one (or more!) book blunder: Does this manuscript suck? 3. Signing a writer and getting a book deal that becomes a one-book flop because the sales are so low.
Whether or not the writer has other books in her is way down on an agent’s priority list, because most of the time, it’s assumed. It’s something they want to discuss with the writer AFTER they’ve read the book the writer has sent. That way, if they think the writer shows promise, but not with this book, they can ask for something else, or if they think the writer is someone they want to sign, they can see if they are interested in the same long-term career goals that Vater mentions.
This isn’t something that beginning writers need to be worried about, and yet, over and over, I hear the term bandied about writing lists as if every agent opens a query letter and says, “This story looks great, but how can I request the material if I’m not absolutely positive, through a detailed account of all this writer’s other works and the submission process she has undertaken with each one, whether or not she’s in it for the long haul?” Come on, now. If you are afraid of being taken for a newb, say it’s your whateverith completed manuscript.
Let me tell you when you can start worrying about being a one (or, gulp, two) book wonder. When you have sold your book, and it comes out, and your editor stops taking your calls. Then you worry. Me, I haven’t sold another book yet, but as soon as I finish the second book in my contract (in August) I will definitely be thinking about how best to get back in the game.
(However, I did get paid yesterday for my anthology. Yay!)
One more word on this point. When an industry pro says, that they are interested in authors, not just books, it does not mean that their design is to pick any old writer who can string some sentences together and mold them into something publishable. It means they want to represent an author with a product, and will stand by that author. But first the author has to produce something that is worthy of the agent’s investment.
I look forward to my release with equal parts terror and anticipation. Today, the anticipation has an edge. Why? Because today, my website has been unleashed. Hurry over to
and enjoy all the fun. Special behind the scenes info, gossip about yours truly, and most of all, an excerpt. An excerpty excerpt. All you people who have been bugging me can now get off my backs. (Except for you, Shannon. I fully expect you to bug me ’til July.) Woo hoo!
Note: All praise of the design should go to Mike at Constant Image, who was kind enough not to throttle this control freak author during the process. Patient man, I’m telling you. Okay, you can praise me, too. Like the doors? Totally my idea. And the favicon. And, of couse, the secret society section…
Are you in on the secret? Better get in, fast. There’s a special section on the website that’s open only to secret society members.Inside, there are contests, quizzes, a forum, and special secret info. To join, simply sign up for my newsletter:
I’m not much in the mood for blogging today. It’s been a rough weekend for me for a variety of reasons not fit for blogging ears. I hope to have fabu news on Monday.
In the meantime, and completely on a different topic, has any one else noticed this phenomenon? Once you are a writer, people respond to any disagreement, political, aesthetic, what-have-you, with threats not to read your book and to tell everyone they know not to read it either? I was reading some blog the other day about bad covers, and any time someone disagreed with someone else’s definition of a bad cover the first thing they did was swear that they’d never buy any of the person’s books again and blah blah blah, usually signing off with an officious “You’ve just lost yourself a reader, Ms. Blank.”
To them, it probably reads as “hit them in the pocketbook” but to me, it reads “And your mama wears army boots!” It’s so off-topic and random.
I can’t imagine how many people I’ve turned off of my books because I dislike, among other things:
1. Super low cut jeans 2. Saxophone music 3. jellyfish 4. “intelligent design” 5. Scary-looking zombie-like creatures (who aren’t zombies) on computer generated romance novel covers
Okay, busy busy weekend ahead of me, writing-wise, but before I take off, I just thought I’d point out a few things:
1. Editor and author Jason Pinter has a hardline blog up about hiring agents, which goes well with Julie Leto’s latest Marisela blog on the topic.
2. I’m officially on the list to sign at the RWA Literacy signing in Atlanta, which is interesting, because I wasn’t sure what the final decision had been. However, if I am signing, there won’t be many copies, so come early! With any luck, we’ll crank those babies out quickly and then I can get out from behind that table and hit the bar. ____________________
It’s officially “Weird Fact Weekend” at Diana’s Diversions! This is how it works. I post a weird fact about myself. Then the first person to post in the comments will comment upon my weird fact, then post a weird fact about him or herself. The second person to comment will comment about THAT person’s weird fact, and then include a weird fact of their own… and so on.
Here’s mine:
I have an excess adoration of cauliflower. I love it. I think it might be my favorite vegetable. I actually crave it sometimes. Raw, steamed, roasted, covered in cheese, curried, stir fried with szechuan sauce, I love it. I actually dinged a CP recently because one of her characters didn’t show the proper love for cauliflower in her book. My new thing is buying those jars of California Hot Mix and eating all the cauliflower out of it then throwing the rest away. When I go to the store, I sift through all the available jars on the shelf to find the one with the most cauliflower in the mix, an action which has earned me no small amount of odd stares in the pickle aisle. I would kill to find a company that just made California Hot Caulifower, but I think they need the jalapenos in the mix to make it work. Mmmmmm, cauliflower. (Guess what I’m craving now? Do you think 8:45 a.m. is too early for hot pickled cauliflower?)
Confession: I’m not much of a mystery reader. I never even liked Nancy Drew. I read only one Encyclopedia Brown, I never watched Murder She Wrote, and I’d probably lose the Trivial Pursuit point if you asked me the name of Agatha Christie’s sleuth (it’s something French, right? Poirot? Something like that?). I don’t know what the Cat did in any of the Cat books, I have no idea what letter that writer who writes the “ABC is for…” is up to, and I lost interest in Stephanie Plum as soon as she stopped ragging on her ex boyfriend and started trying to solve crimes.
However, I *love* Edgar Allen Poe, who is commonly cited as the inventor of the detective story, and also the Sherlock Holmes stories. So go figure. Plus, I was oddly drawn to Columbo, and I’ve recently gotten into Veronica Mars. Who knows?
Anyway, apparently, the thing in mysteries, especially the ones termed “cozy,” are to give your main character sleuth a schtick. This is your “brand” and your titles are usually puns on this brand. Columbo had a schtick. Holmes definitely had a schtick. That guy on Monk has the epitome of schtick. Half the fun for me in hearing about new cozy series is marveling at the inventiveness of the schtick the author has provided for their hero.
(This occurrence is parodied by Dean Koontz in Odd Thomas, which contains a mystery writer who made his fortune off a series of stories about a bulimic detective. I chuckled.)
Which brings me to the topic of this post, which is the latest Girlfriend’s Cyber Circuit Tour: Sara Rosett. Her debut, Moving is Murder, kicks off the “Mom Zone Mysteries” about an airforce wife and professional organizer. Because, you see, military wives have to move a lot, which provides plenty of fodder for new locations and mysteries, etc. etc.
Here’s the cover copy: Air Force wife Ellie Avery is an ace at moving. A professional organizer, she plans ahead, packs efficiently, and even color-codes the boxes. But nothing in her bag of tricks could prepare her for the secrets that shadow her new neighborhood… secrets that drive one of her neighbors to murder.
Moving four times in five years has honed Ellie’s considerable skills. But moving with a newborn daughter and husband Mitch in tow, a record-breaking heat wave, and the realization that their dream neighborhood is known as Base Housing East is enough to make her turn to chocolate for comfort. Now half of their neighbors are with the 52nd Air Refueling Squadron. Forget privacy.
Forget peace of mind, too. Driving home from her first squadron barbecue, Ellie finds neighborhood environmental activist Cass Vincent dead on the side of the road. The police call it an accident—Cass, fatally allergic, was stung by wasps—but Ellie’s not so sure. And when it looks like Mitch’s best friend might be a suspect in the murder, Ellie starts snooping in earnest. What she finds shocks her—and when suspicious “accidents” start happening in her own backyard, Ellie realizes she’s getting closer to the killer… maybe too close!
Publisher’s Weekly says: Packed with helpful moving tips, Rosett’s cute cozy debut introduces perky Ellie Avery…an appealing heroine, an intriguing insider peek into air force life.
See, now here’s a good racket to get into (and I say that with all affection). A cozy mystery with a marketable schtick might set you up for life, and Rosett appears to have developed a good one. Lord knows I could use some organizational skills, and getting them in the guise of fiction might be the spoonful of sugar I need to help the medicine go down. Plus, her plucky heroine sounds like a chick I’d like to spend some time with, even if the depth of her depravity is popping Hershey Kisses as an attempt to stave off fatigue after pulling all-nighters with a newborn. (She might think of me as a bad influence.) If you like your mysteries heavy on adorable and packed full of helpful moving tips, this just might be the book for you!
