Mom

We Have a Winner!

Big News!

I WON!! Not only that, but I also took Second and Third!!

Maybe I need to back up.

Way back on October 14th, back when there was no snow on the ground, the trees were clinging to the last of their leaves, and I could send The Kid and The Dogs outside for the entire afternoon without being deemed a poor mother, I was notified Indian Princess had finaled in the Golden Rose, which I wrote about here. The next week, I got word that both Indian Princess and The Wannabe Cowboy had finaled in the Hot Prospect contest, which I’m sure you read all about here.

So, I just bet you were wondering how that turned out, huh?

I found out that Princess had gotten second in the Golden Rose a few weeks ago. No one-of-a-kind, handcrafted gold rose pendant; no gold-plated rose. Not even an editor request. I consoled myself with the fact that I had actually sold this book a week before the announcement. Oddly enough, this fact was quite consoling. I took my second place and called it a day.

I was going to blog about it, because I know that you, loyal reader(s), like to, as my mother says, “Wallow in the good news.” (Or maybe that’s just her?) I had every intent of blogging–but I was going to wait until I got the Hot Prospect results.

Sadly, this little thing called ‘the holidays’ happened, derailing contest announcements until everyone had gotten tipsy off of eggnog (seriously, who drinks that stuff?) and finished the panicked last-minute stuffing of Christmas Cards with the wrong year on them (not that I did that!) (Okay, maybe I did. I’m, uh, wishing you holiday greetings a year in advance!).

Finally, last week, word came down: Indian Princess had not only won its category, but it had been named the Grand Prize Winner! I get STUFF! A book trailer, active banner, and static banner from Firebird Web Designs! I’ll be talking with Carol of Firebird some time today (assuming that The Kid having a snow day doesn’t derail my every waking thought, because very little writing happens with The Kid spinning in my office chair).  Leanne Morgena of Wild Rose Press invited me to send in a partial, but again–I’ve already sold this book. I’ll have to pass.

I don’t want Wannabe Cowboy to feel bad–it did get third, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Actually, I kind of like being able to say I got First, Second, and Third!

Next up is the Golden Heart, which is the national contest through the Romance Writers of America. I sent both Princess and Wannabe off, as well as my single-title book, Mystic Cowboy.

I’m even more excited about this at the moment because I just got my judging packet in the mail today, and the first entry was pretty good. In every contest I’ve judged, I’ve had a finalist entry–Elizabeth Essex and Heather Snow. Both sold soon after. I’ve become friends with both. It’s exciting to think there might be another kindred spirit in my packet, just waiting to be read. Or that someone else has my stuff and is thinking the same thing.

Will I final in the Golden Heart? With which book? Will the dress I’m going to be wearing for my sister Leah’s wedding work for the reception ceremony? Will I have a winner? Will any of my friends be finalists with me? (You know who you are, Laurel and Rebecca!)

Can I wait the three months to find out about finaling? And the six month to the awards ceremony???

What was that New Year’s Resolution? Oh, yeah.

Patience.

A Preview of 2011

Hi! How was your break? Crazy? Mine, too! It’s been a while, so let’s do a super-fast recap of 2010 so you, loyal reader(s), are all caught up.

1. I sold my novel, Indian Princess, to Stacy Boyd at Harlequin. It’ll be out sometime in 2012.
2. She’d like me to do three or four books a year.
3. I’m going to be busy.

Yes, it was a wild n’ wacky Authorial year around here. In other Mom news:

4. The Kid started kindergarten and lost three teeth two weeks before Christmas. I think he grew about four inches, developed a serious fascination with art (and an artistic flair for drama), and discovered superheroes in a big, bad way.
5. My sister Leah got pregnant and is due in three months; my sister Hannah got her adoption paperwork approved. The Kid is ecstatic about forthcoming babies he can play with.
6. My husband’s company relocated ‘global headquarters’ to Philadelphia. We spent about a month wondering if that meant we would have to relocate, too. The answer appears to be no. For now.
7. Jake the Three Legged Wonder Weiner got older. He’s now on regular medications to keep his poor little three legs working. Beat the alternative, though.
8. Gater the Four Legged Mutt got mellow(er). Things get chewed in our house at a significantly reduced rate.

Yes, 2010 was a special kind of crazy. Will 2011 be any different? A Preview:

1. The Kid will struggle and resist learning to read and write. And after the hysterics have passed, he’ll demand I read him a story. He will also refuse to learn to tie his shoes or ride a bike without training wheels. No word on if he’ll figure out how to use his inside voice while actually inside. He will, however, master memorization and the use of gauche as a medium. He’s weird like that.
2. I’ll go to lots of baby showers and hopefully meet multiple babies. My sister Leah will also get married to a swell guy. The family parties will be loud and fun, and Thanksgiving next year will be a whole new world.
3. The whole family will load up in the car for a road-trip to New York City for a family vacation/RWA Conference. I hope, hope, hope to be a finalist in the Golden Heart Contest, which will give me the chance to wear my bridesmaid dress a second time (see #2 above).
4. I’ll write at least two more books for Stacy Boyd. Maybe three.

So, as you can see, 2011 will be its own special kind of crazy. Part of what makes it fun is people like you. I hope you’ll keep making this journey with me!

An Annual Christmas Tradition

It’s that time of year again, Loyal Readers–the time of year I’m too danged busy writing a new book, addressing Christmas cards with the wrong ZIP codes, and hiding presents from The Kid so well that I can’t find them either. 
Yes, that’s right–annual traditions abound! And what’s becoming one of my favorite annual traditions here at the ol’ Authorial Mom blog is “How to Wrap A Present in 29 Easy Steps.” I first posted it on Dec. 4th, 2008, and again on Dec. 17th last year. And I still think it’s just about the funniest thing I’ve written. And I don’t have anything else to blog about, so we’ll just go with the classics. After all, I’ve been watching Charlie Brown Christmas for decades now without complaint!
Without further ado (as if this hasn’t been enough ado!), I present “How to Wrap a Present in 29 Easy Steps” for your reading enjoyment!
In my capacity as Authorial Mom, I thought I would offer these 29 steps to easier, more beautiful presents. Just follow this easy program to achieve the same kind of Christmas Satisfaction that the Authorial Mom basks in practically year-round.
1. Buy awesome gifts that your child(ren) will love, like the aircraft carrier complete with die-cast planes and helicopters, real aircraft sounds, and a control tower.
Yeah, like that one.
2. Hide it in the garage and pray your child(ren) won’t notice it.
3. Assemble your wrapping supplies: Festive paper, sharp scissors, and clear tape.
4. Realize someone used your best scissors to mutilate crayons. Decide to forge ahead anyway.
5. Heft aircraft carrier out of garage. Realize that it’s 2 1/2 feet long and 9 inches tall at the tower. Not exactly regularly shaped. And because you bought it for a song at a thrift store, it did not come with in-store wrapping, or even a box. Its only covering is a garbage bag.
6. Begin frantically tearing through your insane stash of boxes accumulated over a lifetime of hording for something big enough to fit an aircraft carrier.
7. Repeat process with festive holiday bags. Again, come up short – literally.
8. Decide to make your own box, just like your father-in-law does.
9. Mutilate six boxes trying to find enough matching parts to encase an aircraft carrier.
10. Give up trying to match box sizes after giving yourself the mother of all paper cuts. Go get a glass of wine and a band-aid. Several band-aids.
11. Newly fortified, return to the battle scene. Begin taping box parts around aircraft carrier.
12. Realize control tower isn’t removable. Remove it anyway (using the tips of your ruined scissors) and tape it to the side.
13. Run out of tape.
14. Get another glass of wine while tearing the house apart for more tape. Settle on packing tape. It’s still clear, after all.
15. Return to the battle scene. Experience a pang of liberal guilt for giving innocent child a war toy for Christmas. Finish wine and get over it quickly.
16. Begin wrapping festive paper around jerry-rigged box-like covering.
17. Run out of festive paper, leaving a three inch gap between edges.
18. More wine as you debate how to cover the gap.
19. Settle on using different festive paper. Reason that Santa has to improvise, too.
20. Another paper cut.
21. The secret to beautifully wrapped presents is the crisp creases on the edges. Realize that there are no edges on your aircraft carrier you can crease the paper on without poking the tower out through the side.
22. Poke the tower out through the side.
23. Begin rooting around for Christmas ribbon to wrap over the hole the tower made.
24. Find acceptable ribbon. Begin wrapping around carrier.
25. Run out of ribbon.
26. Realize that all children like bows. Dump out whole bag of bows and apply liberally.
27. Stand back and, glass of wine in hand, admire your dedicated handiwork.
28. Overcome by holiday spirits, go lay down until Christmas is over.
There! Wasn’t that easy? And the true reward for all your hard work will come Christmas morning, when your child(ren) will rush down, see the highly festive package under the tree, demolish the whole thing in under three seconds, and spend the rest of the day building sheds for trains he already has out of the mutilated box parts and bows, leaving the aircraft carrier to collect dust in the corner. Finally arrive at:
29. Next year, all the presents will be in garbage bags. With a bow.
Update: The child ‘drives’ the air-craft carrier around the dining room, landing planes, trains, and occasionally automobiles on its deck. Despite the scars left from wrapping the damn thing, it was still the best five bucks I ever spent at a thrift store!
The Authorial Mom will be taking next week off and spending it with as many of the child’s grandparents as possible. So, let me take this moment to say, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
This entry was posted in Mom.

The BEST Christmas Pageant EVER

So, a while back, The Kid–my baby!–was in his first every big-league theatrical production.

Okay, so it was my sister Leah’s high school show, but still. (Leah is the teacher/director, not a student.) Being on a big stage in front of a lot of seats with people sitting in them is not something that my boy has experienced before. I think the closest he’s gotten to performing for a crowd is the daycare Christmas parties, where the children would stand up as a group in front of their mommies and daddies in their normal daycare room and mumble their way through a three-song holiday medley.

Yes, it was as bad as it sounds. Of course, since that was my baby up there mumbling, it wasn’t bad–it was a priceless piece of performance art (read: awful).

But this was different. Rather than 17 other little children singing different songs at the same time, this was 25 teenagers performing lines that they’d memorized. While following stage directions. And navigating costume changes.

Let’s pause and take a moment to give thanks to my sister, Leah–a dedicated woman who manages to make directing plays look less like herding cats and more like the youth of today actually doing something productive and artistic with their time. How do I know? Not one of the cast members texted during the whole performance. Yes. I’m just as shocked as the next person.

Anyway, Leah decided to do The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, based on a movie with Loretta “Hot Lips” Swift back in 1983.

Yeah, that one.

Well, Leah needed shepherds and angels, and she didn’t have enough to go around. So she wooed The Kid with big talk of fame, fortune, and ice cream after the show, and he jumped on board. There were two other children, aged 5 and 7, who were also going to be in the play, so my boy wasn’t going to be all alone up there.

But here’s the catch–we live almost 3 hours away from Leah’s school, which is just a shade over two hours too long for commuting to practice. Leah told us to work on “Silent Night,” pack a bath robe, and get to the play as soon as possible on opening night.

Yes. My kid made his stage debut cold. NO practice. NO planning. NO idea what the second verse of “Silent Night” was. NO clue what was going on.

And you know what? It wasn’t awful. It bordered on cute–good, even.

Leah, as I may have mentioned, is a wonderful woman, and planned for this improv performance. The other two little kids had their parts down pat–all my boy had to do was stick with them. Leah also assigned The Kid a handler for each scene–a chorus member who was in charge of making sure my boy got where he needed to go.

He had an hour of prep time. Half of that time, he was learning stage direction while eating a hot dog. The highlights:

First Scene: The Kid is holding the little girl’s hand. When he gets to where he’s supposed to sit, she jerks him back into his seat and he lands with a plop. Five minutes later, everyone on stage is supposed to ‘agree’ and nod their heads ‘yes.’ The Kid misses the cue entirely, so the little girl reaches over and nods his head for him. Two minutes after that, everyone is supposed to freeze during a soliloquy. My boy sits up there and looks around, wondering what the heck everyone is doing until the lights go out.

Second Scene: All he has to do is walk onto stage, see the ‘bad guy,’ turn, and run the other way. He fails to do this–he’s too busy watching the bad guy stuff someone in a locker–so his handler jerks him off so hard he drops his pretend books–which works perfectly for the scene.

Third Scene: The children cower in pretend fear from the bad guys at the edge of the stage. My boy looks out, sees me in the front row, and gives me the smallest, cutest little wave. It’s the only time he broke the fourth wall all night.

Fourth Scene: He’s in his bathrobe now, and since all the other shepherds have crooks or canes or whatever, they’ve clearly scrambled to get something he can hold. Ergo, he’s walking around with a carpenter’s “L” square. There’s some running back and forth in this scene–and a lot more yanking and hauling that goes on.

Final Scene: All the other shepherds are so busy remembering where to go that they leave my boy behind. He wanders around the middle of the stage for a few moments until someone realizes he’s lost and come gets him. His lips appear to be moving in time with the song.

End: He bows out of rhythm–but smiles the whole time.

The second night was much smoother. He managed to nod at the right time, although he forgot to freeze for the soliloquy. All was well until the bad guys came out, dressed as Wise Men. These Wise Men come out like secret service guys, defending the baby Jesus with imaginary guns and bazookas. Well, The Kid decided that this gun thing looked more fun than being a shepherd, so he started firing at the audience with his “L” square. The other little shepherd saw this, hooked the “L” square with his cane, and yanked my boy clean off the stage.

So, to sum up, Leah’s cast and crew put on a heck of a fun show, The Kid will one day pay for my retirement will all of his movie paychecks, and everyone had a good time–especially my 95 1/2-year-old Gram, who giggled through the whole show–both nights.

Thanks to the Bayless Theater Company!

This entry was posted in Mom.

Thanks

Yes, this is a week early, but Thanksgiving week is kind of crazy around the ol’ Authorial Household, so HAPPY THANKSGIVING a week early!

Thanksgivings are a time of comfortable, familiar traditions. For instance, if you read my blog from last Thanksgiving here, or the one before it here, you’d know exactly what I am and continue to be thankful for.

This year, I’m going to flesh out the list of things I’m thankful for a little more:

1. Patience. Not so much in me, of course–patience is one of my revolving New Year’s Resolutions, something I always need to work on. No, I’m more thankful for other people’s patience. I’m thankful for my husband’s patience when I babble on about imaginary people’s lives at dinner. I’m thankful for the Lovely Mary’s (Grammar Goddess) patience to put up with me at work, and willingness to read every single book. I’m thankful for my family’s patience (and willingness to bite their tongues) when I do something they think is stupid–but they support me anyway. And I can’t begin to tell you how thankful I am that The Kid has a wise, patient kindergarten teacher. Patience. It’s a wonderful thing.

2. Those who are here. Gram is now officially 95 1/2. Every year we get with her is another year to be thankful for. Similarly, my great-aunt just broke her hip at age 90–but is improving every day. I didn’t go to a single funeral this year. In a time filled with war, terror, and random acts of violence, I’m thankful that my family has been spared from tragedy.

3. Those who aren’t. A large part of my free time (HA!) recently has been spent on my other grandmother’s manuscript. I never knew her, but she raised my father and his eight (count ’em) brothers and sisters. After living with her written words for so long, I feel closer to her now than I ever have. Similarly, I’ve been talking about Gram’s husband, my grandfather, to The Kid a lot recently (he likes the pictures of Grandpa holding all the fish on the wall). Even though these people and others have gone on before me, I’m thankful for them nonetheless. They make me more whole as a person.

4. Those who are coming. This upcoming year, I figure to be an aunt, twice over. The Kid is dying to be a ‘big brother,’ and cannot wait to meet his future ‘little bears.’ (We read a lot of Berenstein Bears.) He’s got big plans for those babies, just as soon as they can sit upright. I think racing Hot Wheels and trains figures prominently into his plans.

So, remember–there’s a holiday that comes between Halloween and Christmas, and that holiday is called Thanksgiving. Make sure you stop and give thanks.

The Call

I got The Call! Here’s how it went down:

Thursday, approximately 1 p.m.: Laurie McLean emailed me to say that she had a phone appointment with Stacy Boyd, Senior Editor at Harlequin Desire, scheduled for Friday, and when would be a good time for Laurie to call me?

Thursday, approximately 1:15 p.m.: Screaming and dancing occurs. Gater participates with barking.

Approximately 1:17: I suddenly become paranoid that I’m counting my chickens before they hatch, and therefore jinxing the whole thing. Maybe Stacy just wants to say ‘hi’ to Laurie, check on the weather in San Fran.

1:19: I start emailing people. I call my mother. Various levels of screaming and dancing occur with me in the background yelling, “don’t jinx it!”

1:27: I email Laurie back that I’ll be home from work and picking up my son at 3:15.

Thursday Evening: I spend the rest of the night not counting my chickens, fighting a massive sinus infection, and trying not to panic.

Friday morning: Wake up going “Today’s the DAY!” Sing loudly until my head tries to explode. Spend rest of morning trying to get The Kid to STOP singing loudly. Fail.

Side Note: Sinus infections are a mixed blessing for those of us who are a little OCD. I spend the day getting really excited, really nervous–then getting really tired and puny for half an hour or so. Once I rest up a little bit, I get really excited, really nervous–and then puny again. This semi-vicious cycle goes on all day long.

Friday, 2:57 p.m.: Leave work, race to get The Kid from school.

3:02: Inform any mom within listening distance that Today’s the Day! The mother of one of my Kindergarten Mom friends goes home and tells her daughter (that would be my mom friend) that I’m “cute.”

3:07: Inform the kindergarten teacher that while I’d love to chat, I have to get home to get a call from my agent about one of my books. The lovely woman latches onto my arm, demands to know what I write, and when I tell her I’ve GOT to go for a call–The Call–she hugs me. That woman is getting a hell of a Christmas present.

3:09: Buckle in The Kid. Just as I get in the car, my cell phone rings. The Kid blithely informs me my phone is ringing. (You may well wonder why this matters–well, I’m a luddite who rarely uses my cell for anything. I don’t even text. The fact that it rang and scared the heck out of me was entertainment for a good five minutes for The Kid.)

It’s Laurie–but I’m driving. Here’s a ‘fun fact’ about me (and by ‘fun,’ I mean ‘weird’)–if I’m nervous and I have to talk on the phone, I simply must pace. Not operate a several-ton vehicle with my son in the backseat and a audio book blaring on the radio. I tell Laurie I must go home and will call her back.

3:11: Arrive home. Of course, I now have to let the jumpy dogs out, get The Kid a snack and get the heat going in his toy room so that he will leave me be for 20 minutes, and–this is important–change my shoes. I was still in my cowboy boots. No sane person paces on hardwood in cowboy boots. It’s just not done, darling.

3:14: Call Laurie back. Commence pacing.

Laurie has great news! Stacy Boyd is going to buy The Indian Princess! Plus, she’d like to build a career for me. She wants me to write four books a year–two for her in the Desire line, and maybe two for the Special Edition line.

I have to be honest–Laurie said a lot of stuff, but my brain and my mouth completely disconnected–I’m not sure what my ears were doing. All I said for maybe 15 minutes was, “O-okay. Um, o-okay. O-okay.” At some point, Laurie realized I’d apparently checked out and asked if I’d like her send a sum-up message. To which, of course, I said, “O-okay.”

3:27: Stand in stunned silence for a moment, until The Kid demands more pretzel sticks. Realize I need to do a load of laundry, and that the dishwasher is full. Do two minutes of mom stuff.

3:29: Commence calling people. My mom (Hi, Mom!) starts crying; I’m still in a stunned, non-functional moment. Pacing re-commences. Alternate between cell phone and land line. Drop land line when cell phone rings again. The Kid laughs. Again.

At some point, I start crying. I think I was on the phone with my husband at the moment.

7:00: The Kid’s first Slumber Party (see last week’s blog) begins. Thankfully, The Kid’s guest, The Friend, his mom Leah and I go way back. Thankfully, I say, because this is the kind of emotional sort of day that can often overwhelm humans from Mars but that humans from Venus love. Spend the rest of the evening babbling at top speed (another side-effect of excitement).

8:40: Remember all that puny sinus stuff from earlier? It finally catches up to me, and I almost fall asleep standing up. Plug in a movie for The Kids and collapse.

So that’s it. That’s the whole story. The sinus infection has dampened my ability to celebrate, and, like all newly famous authors, I spent the whole weekend scrubbing very old, very stinky goo off of our bedroom floor so that we could walk around barefoot again.

But never fear, I’m going to celebrate today! A la Heather Snow, I’m going to go get a celebratory manicure and pedicure!

And then? Then I’m going to get to writing.

The Slumber Party

We’re going to do something fun and exciting around the Authorial household tomorrow. The Kid is having The Friend over–for the night.

The first sleepover. The Kid said to me, “He’s going to come over for a play date and to sleep–and playdate plus sleep equals sleepover!” He was real proud of this social math.

I have mixed feelings about this. I’ve been friends with The Friend’s mom since sophomore year of college, and we’ve gotten our boys together whenever we can. We always hold kid-friendly Super Bowl and New Year’s Eve parties–the kind of laid-back get-together where everyone understands that if it all goes south by the end of the first quarter and you have to bail, no one will hold it against you. The sleepover has only been a matter of time.

But that’s not why I have mixed feelings. This is why:

Photo: Paramount Pictures, Lucasfilm Studios

What? You don’t know what the heck that is or what it has to do with slumber parties? Well, this is my blog, so I’ll tell you.

I went to my first slumber party when I was in first grade–about a year older than The Kid. I think it was Jessica P.’s birthday party, but I’m not sure about that.

I was a sheltered little girl (okay, the ‘little’ part is debatable, as I was the tallest kid in my grade for a long time), one who spent a lot of time reading books that were four grade levels above 1st. My folks let me read almost anything I wanted, but I didn’t see a lot of movies or watch that much TV (except for Wheel of Fortune). Part of this had to do with my parents ‘weird’ ideas about parenting (most of which, sad to say, I’ve replicated with the kid–thereby completing the Circle of Parenting Life), but part of it undoubtedly was self-defense on my mother’s behalf. I would get nightmares from Donald Duck cartoons. Really. I still can’t watch suspense movies.

As the result of being a sort-of huge giant brainiac who liked to read, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I’m sure my mother felt this slight personally, which is why she probably let me go to the birthday/slumber party. I’d been invited, after all. I don’t remember much about the party until . . .

Photo: Paramount Pictures, Lucasfilm Studios

AHHHHHHH!

For some reason I’ve never fully grasped, Jessica’s (?) folks popped in a VHS of Indiana Jones and the Ark of the Covenant. At a first-grade girls’ slumber party. Really. Perhaps the ‘newness’ of the technology demanded that it be demonstrated–VHS players were still very expensive back then, and there had to be a “WOW” factor involved with having one in the house. (Yes, I’m old. Get over it.)

I don’t remember much of the movie–until people started melting. Sure, they were bad guys and all, but that didn’t change facts–they were melting.

Keep in mind that not only did I not have the ability to suspend disbelief–I was six–but that the imaginary world was shockingly real for me. I lived in make-believe worlds (and, surprisingly, still do). I had no concept that this was not real.

Everyone else at the party barely seemed to notice, making my terror that much more socially awkward. No one else was scared; therefore, I could not possibly admit to being horrified. And to have the parent on duty call my mommy to come get me? I already didn’t have a lot of friends. Even I knew that bailing on the party would be the equivalent of social death-by-melting.

Photo: Paramount Pictures, Lucasfilm Studios
Indeed. Ah, the memories!
So I spent the rest of the slumber party curled in a ball in my sleeping bag–not sleeping–and praying for morning. I think I did doze off close to dawn, only to have my head stepped on when everyone else got up all perky and happy. In other words, the only way it could have been worse would have been if I had wet the sleeping bag, so score one for not sleeping. 
Thus marked a turning point in my social development (or lack thereof) as a kid. Years later, when I finally watched The Ark of the Covenant again, I had to hide my eyes through the whole scene. At least now, no one steps on my head in the morning.
So now I’m an Authorial Mom faced with hosting my first sleepover. It’ll be loud, toys will be scattered to the four winds, but movies? Toy Story is as scary as it’s going to get around here. 
I don’t want to scar the kids for life!
This entry was posted in Mom.

Double-Finalist

So, a while back, I decided that, in addition to entering The Indian Princess into a couple of contests, I was going to trot out the latest book I’d finished, The Wannabe Cowboy. It had only been through my mom (Hi, Mom!), Mary the Grammar Goddess, and my critique partner, the Lovely Laurel–no one else had read it. But hey, it’s contest season, and I wanted to see if it got enough positive feedback that I could feel good about entering it into the granddaddy of all contests, the Golden Heart (more on that later).

When I first started this crazy journey, I entered a whole bunch of contests without a whole lot of thought. (This, if you’re just joining this career in process, is how I pretty much went about everything back at the beginning–the throw a bunch of stuff against a wall and see if it sticks method.) And I got a whole lot of helpful comments–and a whole lot of really bad scores. But those contests were good for me–all those judges who suffered through that first book of mine really helped me see where the (major) holes in my work were.

I didn’t enter another contest for a year, and when I did, I took second in the Chicago-North RWA’s Fire and Ice contest for a book no one actually liked, Warrior, Lawyer. (It’s on a shelf somewhere, gathering serious dust.) They were so nice to me that I wound up joining their chapter.

I then got it into my head that I was going to sell a book VERY SOON–and stopped entering contests for another year and a half. I also didn’t sell a book in that year and a half.

Which brings us back to the present. I decided I needed some independent readers, and hey–being able to say “Finalist” wouldn’t hurt, either. This time, however, there was a method to my madness. This time, I’ve learned the secret to entering contests. It’s not the contest so much, but who’s judging it.

As you may (or may not) remember, The Indian Princess was a finalist in the Golden Rose contest a few weeks back. I entered the Golden Rose because the judge is an editor for Special Edition–one of possibly four lines where my books would fit at Harlequin. I’ve already entered Princess in the Golden Heart–and had an editor express interest in it.

I picked the Hot Prospect contest from the Valley of the Sun RWA chapter because the judge is an editor for Harlequin American, which specializes in American-set stories–and features a lot of good-looking men in cowboy hats on the covers. So when Linda Andrews from Valley of the Sun called and told me I’d finalled, I assumed she meant Princess.

But I was wrong. She meant both.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I must now go forth and dance around the house with The Kid and the dogs (Gater loves to dance!) and then do a little bit of revision before I send Wannabe back for the finalist judges–and off to the Golden Heart.

I’m feeling lucky.

All At Once

Wow.

So, on Monday, I received a phone call from a lovely lady named Paula Gill, who was with the Rose City Romance Writers (up yonder in Portland). In a delightful conversation, Paula informed me that my book Indian Princess had been named a finalist in the series category in their writing contest, the Golden Rose.

I have to tell you, it’s been months, if not longer, since the last bit of Authorial Good News. But suddenly, I’m a finalist with a decent shot of not only winning a one-of-a-kind handcrafted rose pendant for being first in my category, but also winning a real gilded rose if I’m the top scorer. Top it off–an editor for Harlequin will read my entry.

Needless to say (but I shall say it anyway), I was thrilled. Hyper thrilled. Dancing around the house with The Kid thrilled. After a long, demoralizing drought of nothing happening–the kind of drought that makes a girl question what she’s doing and why she’s doing it and if maybe she wouldn’t be better off doing something else–I suddenly felt Authorial again. I am a real author, and I write real books. People–three judges, to be specific–said so. One judge, God bless the woman, gave me a 149 out of 150 and her comment was that the book was “ready for the bookshelf!” I love that woman, whoever judge #16 was. LOVE HER.

So that was exciting. I felt better about the world and my Authorial place in it. Then, unexpectedly on Tuesday, I got an email from Laurie McLean of Larsen/Pomada. She’d gotten Indian Princess in front of an editor–and miracles of miracles, this editor loved it. She totally got my story.

After a year and a half of searching and sending and hoping and praying, an editor gets it. I had to call the neighbors and apologize for all the screaming coming out of the house.

Nothing is set in stone right now–nothing. The editor wants me to make a few changes–nothing so major as killing a character or moving the sex scene to page two or anything–but she wants to see how I handle the revisions, both personally and in terms of writing. Then, if she likes what she sees, she’ll present my book to a senior editor with the intent of selling it–and maybe more. Laurie is handling this negotiation, obviously.

So, right now, I’m revising (and I mean that in a literal, time-based sense). This offer could fall through; it could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Part of what happens next depends on me and my ability to revise and handle myself in a professional manner (which means, basically, that I have to stop jumping around and yelling at the top of my lungs long enough to do some rewriting). Part of it is out of my control–the senior editor could pass. (But I hope she doesn’t.)

It was, hands down, one of the more insane, eventful, action-packed 18 hours of my life.

Now, I know–this is Thursday, where I normally blog about the Mom part of the Authorial Mom, so to tide you all over until my head comes down out of the clouds, I am including a photo of Pooh Bear, wearing his Halloween costume–he’s dressed as ‘Alvin the Munk’–while he plays battleship with The Kid:

There. That’s better!

“World’s Finest Chocolate”

I’d like to offer my many thanks and simultaneous apologies to all the friends, family, and neighbors who graciously took part in our school fundraiser these last few weeks. By purchasing some “World’s Finest Chocolates,” you helped my kid get the bribe–er, prize–of a free ticket to a magic show while scoring some supplies for our favorite kindergarten teacher. Trust me, that wonderful woman needs all the help she can get.

Did you notice the quote marks in that title? In case you didn’t, I’ll repeat it. “World’s Finest Chocolate.” Yep. Normally, misplaced and misused quote marks are my major grammatical pet peeve. (Yes, I’m dorky enough to have a grammatical pet peeve.) Here, the only people being quoted here are cynical marketing people who were charged with test-marketing brand names. This chocolate is, in fact, not only not the world’s finest chocolate, I’d hazard to say that it’s not even in the top twenty.

Frankly, I’m surprised to discover that it’s even made with actual, real chocolate. I thought for sure that it would be made with “chocolatey favored” ingredients. Yes, it’s just that “good.” (Who am I quoting? That’s marketing for you!)

Why “World’s Finest Chocolate”? I get a flower catalog that advertises bulbs for school fundraisers. I could sell the HELL out of bulbs. I would personally buy enough bulbs–300-500 bulbs every fall–to win that kid every prize they had. But no. “World’s Finest Chocolate.” At least we got caramel. That seemed to help.

This school fundraiser has been a challenge for me. A long time ago, in a place far, far away–Missouri–my mother (Hi, MOM!) was president of the PTA. And she got it into her noggin that, as PTA president, she needed her adorable children to be the top-sellers of fundraising merchandise. Not that I, personally, sold any of the junk. Mom was all about twisting the arm of everyone in the world. And she got results. I won a bike. And a year later, my sisters split the top prize. While I loved that bike, the pressure Mom put on herself wasn’t a lot of fun.

The Kid’s school had a lot of cool prizes The Kid could win for selling “World’s Finest Chocolate.” I had to break it to him that he wasn’t going to win the remote-controlled cars or any of the other fun toys, because I’m not going to spend two weeks of life pushing subpar chocolate onto the world. But if he sells one box, he gets a free ticket to a magic show. (Parents must purchase their own, so we’re still out). So we sold a box.

But we had an unexpected ethical dilemma crop up. Two wonderful people–my sister Hannah and our neighbor Donna–bought large amounts of chocolate–$7 and $5, respectively–and then refused to take their chocolate. They told us to keep it for our own uses. Which is sweet and thoughtful–or it would be if the chocolate were really worth eating. The Kid, ever resourceful, wanted to resell the chocolate at a direct profit. Perhaps we should stop telling him bedtime stories about Warren Buffet and Daddy Warbucks. But, ethically and morally, that’s kinda wrong. So we aren’t. If we have any of it left by Halloween, some “lucky” trick-or-treater will get some “World’s Finest Chocolate” in their treat bag.

I may have missed my “calling” in marketing.

This entry was posted in Mom.