The Definition of Success

Yesterday on my Twitter stream, someone posted what appeared to be an auto-reported update from an app describing how many follows and unfollows that account had received in the last twenty-four hours. The poster was a book blogger, one who takes her charge very seriously, and I’m certain she’ll find the app a useful tool for measuring the success of her venture, or that if she doesn’t she’ll discard it as a nice idea that didn’t pan out. She’s a smart, savvy cookie, that blogger, and I’m sure she didn’t lose a minute of sleep last night over finding out a few people who had been following her no longer do.

Having said that, I feel fairly confident in saying that most authors who tried to use that app would find it to be a gateway to the deepest circle of hell.

I’ve been an active part of professional author communities since 1999, and in those fourteen years I’ve only deepened my conviction that by and large authors are the most beautiful hot mess of ego and self-consciousness that has ever walked the planet. As a friend of mine once pointed out—we slave (alone) for months and years over a work, crafting and honing and sweating and weeping, and then we not only share it with the entire human race but ask to be paid for it. There’s no escaping the ego, no matter how humble we are. Yet at the same time, to be able to successfully access the stories of the human condition, we must be humble, we must put ourselves aside and reach into truths where ego must be stripped away.

Maybe it’s a bias, but from where I sit writing romance is even more of a schizophrenic split. It is and likely always will be the best-selling sub-genre of fiction, the Big Kahuna of publishing, and yet it isn’t just the story of the human condition but a chronicling of humans at their most vulnerable: falling in love. Even if we try to shut out the world, we know our potential audience is huge, and as we strip ourselves away to write emotionally vulnerable stories, we find ourselves that story’s biggest champion, wanting it to become the biggest story ever, not for our ego but for its own sake. To give it that boost we often must gird ourselves and send the introverted writer out into the void, to be the shill and the advocate and the ringmaster for our book’s success.

Nothing, nothing feels more horrible than rising out of that selfless pit of story, putting on ego we didn’t want—and finding the story not only missing the goal posts but sometimes failing to even get out of the sidelines. Did we do something wrong? Did we not promote enough? Too much? Did we burp in public at a conference and that killed the book forever? Did we make a stupid comment on a blog post or social media and now our stories must suffer for our foolishness? Did we not give it a strong enough editorial pass? Did we edit too much and stripped away the soul? Why, how, did this work we slaved over become passed over? How did we see such a beautiful gem and fail it so completely?

Put a few books under an author’s belt, and this kind of nail-biting ego soup/self-consciousness spirals to wild and crazy heights of hysteria, and usually it isn’t allowed to bleed out until something random makes us spill our carefully guarded jar of crazy. It might be a review. It might be a reader’s random comment on Twitter. It might be the failure of a book to hit a bestseller list. It might be a disappointing paycheck. It might be a failure to be mentioned in a magazine citing several of our genre peers—but not us.

It might be hearing that a conference will extend pre-invitations to a small number of high-profile, reader-requested and bestselling authors—and we must now get a bigger crock for our crazy juice, because now someone will make a judgement, a call, our peers will make a call, and we if we don’t make that list, it will cut us, it will send us so deep into that hysteria that we may not write again, because we’ve been wondering this whole time if maybe we really suck, if those lower sales numbers and meh reviews are tea leaves, if this is the final Tarot card that says, “Jesus, you fool, give it up already and go back to the accounting job.”

Don’t. Don’t you ever, ever let anyone, anything, any list or invitation or blog or review site or magazine article define you that way. Don’t let any outside force, anything of any kind tell you who you are, what your stories mean, what potential your career has. Don’t, not even for a minute let anyone but you define what success means for your career.

BTL Diaries: Sometimes You Gotta Walk Away

Note: You may have noticed the header and theme of this blog is different. I’m playing with a new logo. This is the prooving ground. Let me know what you think.

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Since last we spoke, I’ve worked on Better Than Love for one whole day. I tried for a second, then a third, and on the fourth day my muses stood up as angry mountains of angry and said WE ARE NOT DOING THIS.

I didn’t blog it for a lot of reasons, the chief being that was an awfully personal moment and very frustrating. It’s been a hard year for projects (for everyone I know) to start with, but then there was the whole gamble of blogging progress, plus the fact that I’ve been trying to write this sucker since 2010. I’ve done the walk away before, so I wasn’t buying the whole “oh, maybe not right now” thing. I sat long and hard, then said, well, if it doesn’t start working in a few more days, I’ll shelve it indefinitely, maybe permanently.

The muses stood up in their mountain-ness and said, “You’ll do that right fucking now.”

So I did. It made me sad, because I love Chenco, but the truth is, sometimes there are the stories we only tell ourselves. Sometimes the time is never right or the window is small and you’re busy brushing your teeth or something when it happens. All I knew is that every time I tried to work on BTL my brain dredged up A Model Man which has been stuck on Stuckety Fucking Stuck since April or worse, and that in fact is what I’ve been working on lately. So far so good, but I’m still fussing in the pre-stuck part, so we’ll see. That sucker feels like Special Delivery and the way it fucked me around for two years.

I’ve also been doing Other Things. I’ve had many many days that are just emails and promo posts and shuttling things for RRW and other biz stuffs, travel for something I’m not sure I’m supposed to announce yet, but I will when I get full permission. I’ve also been walking a friend through the valley of hell of a book, something I know well and hate, and it feels good to help. It’s also still early in the school year for Anna, plus I’m never out of things to learn about Heidi’s New Cooking Adventures. I even had a birthday party for myself, which was fun and rather me, even if they did keep dragging me out of the kitchen to be social. I think people thought it was odd that on my birthday I wanted to spend three days cooking tamales for my close friends and family. I did, though. That’s kind of how I roll.

Anyway, all this happened, and the whole time BTL sat shelved. As in, I had no intention of picking it up, possibly ever. I was ready to apologize to fans, to encourage them to go write fan fiction or use the Sam/Mitch/Randy/Ethan die-casts to write their own stories, even just in their own heads. It was all set that the SD series would simply be finished.

I forgot about Chenco, though, and how badly he wanted to be story.

In the end I think it was a good technique, because instead of me killing myself trying to make the muses function, Chenco is doing the heavy lifting, sorting out the things that keep snarling (“Hey, maybe I’m not Mitch’s brother, just some guy he adopts like a brother!”), keeping things interesting and tantalizing. The muses are not buying it, but they’re watching out of the corner of their eyes. I think if I keep saying, “We’re not doing this” and let Chenco dance, it might all work out.

I’m aware that I get a lot of readers, both of my books and my blog, who write, and what I’m saying next is to you. Sometimes you have to walk away. Sometimes the characters don’t stand back up and dance for your muses. Sometimes you work a long time on story and it’s nothing more than a hard, frustrating lesson. Sometimes you write story and it never sees the light of day, by your hand or by the publishing gods. I’m here to tell you, that’s a good thing, and you should never feel ashamed for putting something down. Oh, fans, yes, they’ll be disappointed. But you know what would disappoint them more? You never writing again, or writing but being always bitter and angry and frustrated and letting it show.

There’s no way to measure how many authors I’ve talked out of trees this year. I think all the transits of the stars and what not have made things hard, and the social pulse on the ground isn’t helping either. The zeitgeist isn’t friendly just now, nor is it accessible, not like it used to be. It’s been a hard year to make up story for a living for whatever reason, at least for a lot of people I know, and I’m one of them. This happens. This happens a lot. Sometimes it’s the way the wind blows, sometimes it’s personal, sometimes it’s inexplicable, but it happens.

I could slam through BTL and pump out something. I could override my muses and make the story work whether it or I want to work or not. It would suck, by the way, and at best it would be like a bad date, something that was maybe fun if you didn’t think too hard but mostly left you back home on your doorstep feeling empty and confused. And upset, because I’d have taken your money for that date, and you’d remember that. Story isn’t something you push, not when it’s saying slow down. If you’re a slow writer? Then you’re a slow writer. If your muses like to meander? Then that’s what they’re going to do, and yelling at them, I promise you, won’t help. Neither will making them go when they don’t want to.

Creating story is such a fragile, miraculous effort, and we need to acknowledge that. We spin whole worlds out of gossamer threads, worlds great and strong enough for millions to walk through and feel they are at home. Unlike the movies and TV, we do this all by ourselves–polish and such comes from editing, yes, but the bricklaying, or rather that thread-spinning that becomes bricks and trees and earth and city sidewalks and shopping malls and everywhere our characters go–that’s all us. We’re the directors and actors and writers and by and large the producers too. We do most of the editing. We add special effects. We create the worlds as lonely gods, and yeah. It’s hard.

So I’m not writing BTL right now, but I’m no longer saying absolutely I’m never picking it up. I’m back to, when people ask when SD3 will be out, saying, “Not sure, still working.” I’m back to knowing fans are disappointed, wanting their next foray into a friendly world. But I”m making other worlds, ones my muses are ready to do, and I’m sticking to the truths I know, that if I write a book when it’s not ready, it’s going to be bad. Yes, other people can write sequels faster. Yes, other people don’t have as hard a time. That’s okay. Other people aren’t me, and I’m not them, and allergies and extra pounds and all, I like–no, love–who I am.

As for Better Than Love? Randy is a betting man, and he hasn’t laid anything down yet, but he’s got his eye on Chenco, and he keeps smiling and touching his lip thoughtfully. I have a feeling before long he’ll be in there helping Chenco woo the muses. So no promises, but–well, you know how Randy gets. I doubt you’ll wait forever.

Why I Have an Agent

One of the most common questions I get from other digtial-first authors is why do I have an agent. Sometimes the question is asked curiously, but mostly there’s an implied hell in the query, as in, “Why the hell do you have an agent?”

I understand where the implication that being agented in my business is unnecessary, and for many authors I can see how an agent would be superfluous. However, I think more of my brethren should consider following my lead. Here’s why.

Agents are for professional-minded authors. While I understand most authors believe they are professional-minded, it’s not a bad idea to do some naval-gazing on this one. Individual definitions on professional-minded may vary, but here’s something to start with.

• Focused on long-term over short-term
• Focused on building a career, not indulging a hobby
• Concerned about careful wording of contracts and the implications these wordings have for future works
• Concerned about getting competitive publishing contracts

The list goes on, no question, but these are some points worth emphasizing. I can’t tell you how many authors I know who don’t read their contracts, who simply sign them because they assume since the publisher wanted their book or was so friendly that of course they wouldn’t ever screw them over. Anyone who has been screwed over in publishing knows the meanest sharks usually smile before they bite off your head. Trust the law and nothing else. The law comes in your contract, and it is the only thing that will save you.

Contracts can include nasty little clauses, like moral rights or rights-of-refusal which, if too limited, can mean you’re locked into bad terms on a series forever. Let’s say you start out at a less-awesome-than-most house with 30% or less royalties. Really, these days anything less than 40% is dismal, but  let’s say you have to go for 30% or, God help you, 25%, which is what I started at. Sometimes we have to do what we have to do.

Let’s say, though, that you have a series contracted for 25% and the series does well. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can end up signing a contract that means you will get 25% for every book in that series, even the ones you haven’t sold yet. In general first right of refusal means you show them first, but contracts are tricky bitches.

I was recently shown a contract from a publisher I wasn’t familiar with which declared no negotiations on any points. I have to say, I was floored. Jaw-hanging floored. Really? Nothing is negotiable? Not even those clauses giving said publisher all kinds of wiggle on release, the ones that say the author has to keep track of when the book is up for regeneration (which apparently wouldn’t happen) or risk automatic renewal? The much lower than I’m used to now rate? With no word on why I should settle for that? And a firm no-agent policy? Really?

Really?

For some authors it’s less of an issue. The best deal and the best money is not their focus: they want their story told, and they want it told in a particular way. Perhaps they truly want a specific cover artist or editing experience. Perhaps their greater concern is the timing of releases. Or perhaps this isn’t even a real career for them but more of something fun on the side. None of these focuses are wrong, and in the case of these here, no, an agent isn’t necessary. And as I said, number of authors are able to be professional-minded without an agent.

If thinking about contracts makes you sweat? If keeping up with what’s competitive and what isn’t makes your head hurt just thinking about it? If you aren’t already somewhere you are very happy with and want to keep your options open or focus your career?

Get. An. Agent.

My agent is Saritza Hernandez. She bills herself as “The Epub Agent” because she was doing this when no other agent would touch it. I lose track of when she is and isn’t open to new clients, but obviously I recommend looking her up. Another agent I know interested in digital-first works is Eric Ruben. He’s closed to submissions, but if you meet him at a conference or on the streets of New York, say hello, and you never know what might happen. More agents are considering us every day. Watch for them at cons and read their bios and watch Publisher’s Weekly. The smart ones know we are where the future is at. And some of them will probably be doing more contract counseling for one-time fees, since this may be a better fit for both them and the authors. Maybe you could even ask them if they’d be open to such a thing.

The problem with people asking me why I have an agent is that most of the best things she does for me, I can’t discuss in detail. I’ve had many instances where I would ask for something and get told no or get silence, but Sary asks and I get everything I wanted and stuff I didn’t know to ask for. I’ve had awkward, delicate moments where I would have pancaked and hard handled with serious grace. I’ve had her fight for what I knew was right, and when I haven’t won, I got better and clearer answers of why than I’d have had without her. And there have been times, many of them, when she has stopped me from stupidity. I’ve lost my temper with a situation and she basically told me–smiling and soothingly–that this was the best that could be had at the moment, so I needed to figure out how to navigate.

The truth of the matter is that even the nicest, truly benevolent publishers have their best interests at heart, and your interests are there only to serve them. An agent gets paid only when you do, and she is there for you and you alone. She wants you to get the most money and the best deal. It’s her job, and if she doesn’t do it, she doesn’t get paid. An agent looks at your contract from your point of view and makes sure it’s the best possible for you, or she knows when to walk away. An agent can also hold delicate conversations with the publisher more gracefully, like a yenta. Because essentially that’s what she is.

An agent is not for everyone, and yes, they’re hard to find. I looked for fifteen years for one, and no one ever fit. It was harder to find my agent than my husband. It may seem easier to simply go with the flow, to suck up the bad contract or confusing wording. It might work out.

Or it might not.

I am a neurotic control freak who loses her head when she tries to predict what direction to take in this volatile business, which is why I have an agent. This year twice now she has said, when I began whirling like a dervish, “Do this now. Now do this.” She’s given me insight on which publishers to try and which not to. She’s RIGHT on top of the money all the time, and rights and distributions and who looks well-seated to last and who is not looking so rosy. She has saved my ass and my face more times than I can count and under circumstances I can’t share. She has secrets I can’t tell, some of which she doesn’t even tell me. In short, she has everything I don’t have and everything I need.

She shares it with me for 15% of every book she sells for me. Honestly? Most days it seems like the biggest bargain in the world.

And that is why I have an agent.

Blog Hop: This Week’s Post

It’s at Stumbling Over Chaos, which means you will get some awesome black cat pics too.

 

Blog Hop and Writing Updates for the Curious (Hint: I talk about The Special Delivery Thing)

This week’s blog hop is here at Blaine Arden’s place. We’re getting close to the end, and someone is about to win $200 worth of book shopping. It could be you if you go to all the stops and leave comments….

About once a month (sometimes more) someone finds me somewhere in social media and gives me a version of the following: Are you going to write more of the Special Delivery  series? The answer is yes. One more book for sure, two probably. The follow up question of “when?” however is a lot more complicated.

There are a lot of issues, the simplest of which is time. I frequently get compliments on the length of my novels and the complexities of my plots and characters: the downside of this is that those sorts of things take more time. Believe me, I’ve often longed to whip out some quick novellas, but as a reader, I don’t like them, and in my experience the shorter my work, the less it seems to satisfy anyone, starting with me. Unfortunately story ideas come way too fast and furious for me, and part of seeing what will work and what won’t is writing them down and seeing if they take off. If something gets to 30k, I’ll finish it eventually for sure. I have a huge folder of 10-20k starts that cannot all possibly see the light of day before I die, especially if others keep leaping in front of me as I go.

Part of my process is also that things have to sit and gel. I ran into real trouble this past year when I agreed to a contract where I’d write book three of a complex series within a year, and it killed my muse so hard I’m still trying to coax it back into play. Hurrying does not help me at all. Right now I’m working on a book that if I told you about it, you’d probably start squeezing, but I’m not because right now it’s hard enough to sit down and crank out a thousand words for the day. I can’t even promise they’re good words right now. The victory is that I’m writing at all.

The bigger issue is also that my books often want to cure like wickedly good cheese or wine. I’ll be rolling and then all of a sudden STOP, slam, and they won’t talk to me possibly for years. A Model Man is doing that to me now. It took me forward like a roller coaster, and now it’s so mum I just let it sit on the side. The one I’m working on right now is in the snarly middle part where I really have no idea what it’s doing anymore and am starting to suspect it might be utter crap. Except I also know that this is very much what the middle is like for me, so I’m less upset than I’ve been in the past. Plus, see the above about just trying to get words on the page.

But there is a particular problem with Special Delivery 3, and it’s that you all like those books way too much.

When I wrote Special Delivery, I was unpublished. It took me three years, and in the end I basically wrote it because my husband wouldn’t stop bothering me. I tossed in our California trip because I didn’t know what else to do. The more I wrote the more confused and tangled I felt, but I just kept writing because Dan was unmoved by my wailing that it was a horrible hot mess and please just let me quit. Once I got done I felt somewhat better about it, and I was in love with Randy and in that nervous stage before my first book was out (Hero) so I wrote Double Blind for NaNoWriMo. I was doing the edits for it while Special Delivery was just beginning to get attention.

This is to say, I wrote them both happy and ignorant in the dark. I of course had the usual dreams that they’d do well, but no real plans that they would and no practical experience of what that would do to my muses.

Add to this that it’s during that summer that my health took a hard slide into Not Good, and the idea of writing more of Everyone’s Favorite became so heavy I could barely lift it. I tried to do recreate the NaNo magic, but all I got was a snarly hot mess.I have something like 100k of material, but it’s disjointed and plotless and more importantly endless, and every time I’ve tried to fix it I’ve been dragged away by other things. Part of the problem is that.

But the largest issue is that everyone is watching, or at least it feels like it, and it’s very distracting. It’s hard to get Zen enough to not care, to push that out and just work, especially as I’m schlocking other books, taking myself back into sales and marketing mindset. Add to this all the other stuff plus my insane insistence that I keep developing already paired characters, that it’s not just a new romance with recurring roles, and the urge to smoke and drink my way into a coma becomes acute. This book has taken three years because it’s hard.

Every time a psychic gets a hold of me they fell compelled to tell me how vital it is that I meditate, that allegedly there is some great message from beyond waiting for me if I do so. Usually I am only annoyed by this, but lately I’ve been thinking more pragmatically. I’m thinking of meditating but coming with a clipboard. I’ll hear the great cosmic message, but only if part of it is or along with it comes mental clarity so I can get all the writing done I want to do, plus still hang with my husband and kid. I’m not sure it’s kosher to negotiate with one’s Spiritual Guides, but I plan on doing it anyway. I don’t really care what the universe has in store for me. I want to write a lot of stories, as many as possible. Since I’m the one ambulating and putting up with the sugar nonsense, I think this earns me enough voting shares to control the meeting.

I’ll let you know how this goes. Or, you know, if I just crank up the iTunes and muddle on.

Beat Your Winter Blues Blog Hop Post: Clare London

Clare London had the blog hop last week, and I failed to link to it. Story of my life. Here you go. Be sure to leave a comment there for your chance to win the big certificate.

I keep meaning to continue my LGBT groups spotlight, but I continue to be behind in everything. Soon. In the meantime, have an LOL cat.

BYWB Blog Tour Post and Reluctant Zen

First things first. Go here to read about authors’ Valentines Day stories, including how my husband and I gave each other the same card on our first V-Day together. Also enter the contest again.

Meanwhile, back in my brain…

I don’t know what switch I flipped, but I done flipped it, and I cannot stand to be on the Internet at the moment. I’m way behind on email and things I need to do and have to force myself to do the bare minimum of all social networking/etc contact every day. Writing is actually coming okay. About 11k into a project I am not discussing because lately when I discuss things I can’t finish them, so here’s hoping keeping mum works some magic. God knows I need something.

What I am pretty sure I need, actually, is to meditate in some kind of fashion. I’ve been getting all kinds of messages from the universe lately, everything but a neon sign telling me to OHM NOW OR ELSE, and yet it’s amazing the lengths I will go to in order to not sit still and be one with the universe for even ten minutes. I either wander off in mental noodles or pass out asleep. It’s weird, because a part of me truly, truly wants to relax and unplug, and I can almost taste the good things it would give me, like, you know, sanity. And yet how I run.

I mentioned this to my therapist yesterday, who is a Buddhist and as you might assume does more than a fair amount of meditation, and she had an interesting tidbit that really helped me feel less frustrated with the whole meditation thing: apparently we all suck at it because we’re wired to hate it. The reason we feel allergic to it is that it goes against all the ways we’re programmed to be, and the very act of sitting still and observing, pulling back, makes our brain work actively to get the fuck out. I had no idea, but now that I know that, I don’t feel quite so bad. Weirdly, it makes me want to go sit and meditate.

Of course, I don’t actually do it. I just think I might actually want to try. I’m not sure if that’s progress or moving the dust around.

And at this point my brain is screaming from too much internet once again. I feel another episode of Medium calling. Catch you all later.

A Private Gentleman is available now

It’s release day! Book’s out all over the place. Those that I know of are Samhain itself (where it’s 30% off today because it’s Valentine’s Day) and at Amazon. Go and get it.

Or just enjoy these LOL cats.

 

 

Cat Tubes

Sick kitty, but not mine for a change.

A very good friend of mine emailed last night to let me know his rescue cat isn’t doing well at all. As someone who is about to make her millionth trip to the vet this year (shots and upper respiratory follow-up only, thank GOD), I know exactly how hard it is to foot the bills. If you have some spare pocket change to help, please do. If not, your thoughts and prayers (and messages, for he’ll read this) still count.

Here’s a link to the donation site, and I’ll paste the info from there below. Thank you for your help.

This young lady was found outside and abandoned by her previous owners. She has not been spayed and is very malnourished. She is experiencing difficulties closing her mouth all the way. When she eats she has a hard time chewing the dry cat food. We have her on wet cat food for the time being, but she’s still having trouble eating it. Twice she has run off with her jaw wide open pawing at it, as if it is locked in place. She seems like she is in a large amount pain and it troubles her to eat. The cost will make it difficult to get her to a vet right away. Any donations would be appreciated. Every little bit helps! For now we are just asking for enough to take her to be seen by a vet. After her examination and test we will find out if more donations are needed. Thank you so much for your help! -Jason