Staying Flexible; or Keep On Keepin' On

The other day at work I needed to get in a bottom drawer of the file cabinet. I squatted down next to the drawer, pulled it out, grabbed the papers I needed and stood back up. Now this doesn't sound like much - unless you've taken a look at the pictures in the sidebar and you know I'm somewhere on the shady side of 40 (very shady!) and rather round. Not a lithe physical specimen.

One of my office mates expressed admiration for my ability to do what amounted to a deep-knee-bend and stand up without pulling myself up on a chair. At the time I told her it was someting I had always done, so I was always able to do it. As long as I don't stop doing deep knee bends, at least occasionally, I will still be able to do them.

So tonight, when I was trying to figure out why the writing was going so slow, I made the connection: I am doing something I haven't done before.

Up until now, I've written single books. I've done a book in nine or ten weeks while working a full-time job. It isn't impossible. But I have never had multiple books back-to-back. I've always been able to take a few weeks off, or work at a more leisurely pace, between books. Yes, I've always had another project waiting for attention, but I didn't have to keep up the 10-week pace.

Then a three-book series came along. When I set my deadlines I figured 10-weeks, plus an extra couple weeks in case of emergencies, one week for an already-planned vacation, and an extra week for the holidays. What I didn't plan for was the lack of experience at maintaining that 10-week pace.

It was like trying to run a steeplechase based on my experience doing knee bends. Same basic anatomy, totally different skill set.

Or to strerch the running metaphor a little farther, what I naively set up was three back-to-back sprints. What I needed was a marathon. I knew I could do an all-out assault on the manuscript as I sprinted to the deadline. I'd done that before. I didn't know how to pace myself for a long-haul and set my goals accordingly. I didn't know how to run that writing marathon.

I need to learn the marathon skill set, and I'm taking this lesson to heart so I can plan better in the future.

And I'm starting to train for the marathon that helps defines a long-term writing career. Even though I may write in sprints in the future, I am learning that different projects require different skill sets.

Just like knee bends and hurdles.

Secret Identities

Months ago I posted about having a new identity as "Herbie's Mom." At the time, I said it would be cool to have a secret identity, and I still believe that.

Well, this month I got a temporary secret identity. It was fun to be undercover, but it's time to make it not-so-secret and to announce some cool news.

My cool new un-secret identity? Christy Evans, Mystery Writer.

And the news? I am currently writing the third book in Christy Evans's new series for Berkley Prime Crime. The first book of the Lady Plumber Mysteries, SINK TRAP, is already in production and will be released in October. Book two, LEAD PIPE CINCH is turned in, with a tentative release of February 2011, and CRAWL SPACE is due next month for release in June 2012.

This is a new genre for me to write, but it's actually taking me back to a genre I have loved all my life. SINK TRAP is dedicated to my Uncle Darrell, and his enabling my mystery addiction.

I can't remember a time when I couldn't read and always assumed my mother taught me in self defense. After all, you can only read The Little Engine That Could, or the latest Humpty Dumpty Magazine so many times before you run screaming. Teach your kid to read, you're spared many hours of the same story over and over.

Mom, however, refuses to take any responsibility. She says I taught myself when I was about three - not that she wasn't relieved, but she still blames me.

Anyway, there I was at three, four and five, devouring anything I could get my hands on. I quickly went through all the beginner books and started in on bigger and better things. In the process I discovered Nancy Drew and read every one of them in the course of a few months. (It was a long time ago, there weren't as many titles as there are now, okay?)

From Nancy Drew I moved on. I read the Walter Farley Black Stallion series before I knew what a series was, and sampled many others. We didn't have a school library, but the public library - a branch of the L.A. County system - was only a few blocks away and the teacher walked the entire class to the library every couple weeks. I of course went back several times in between.

By the age of ten I had finished with the children's section and was beginning to explore the adult section in an effort to feed my growing addiction for words, sentences, paragraphs, pages and chapters.

Uncle Darrell wasn't really my uncle - he was my mother's uncle. He was nearly fifty when I was born, a life-long bachelor who lived with his widowed father, my great-grandfather. We always visited Grandpa and Darrell after church on Sunday afternoon, and those are some of my favorite memories.

Darrell never treated me like a child. When he and his two sisters did the vocabulary quiz in the Reader's Digest I was allowed to join in. He encouraged me to play chess tournaments at his local club, and I don't think he ever said I couldn't do something because I was too young. Or because I was a girl. For obvious reasons, I adored Uncle Darrell.

I don't know if Perry Mason was an appropriate read for a ten-year-old girl, but Uncle Darrell thought it was. When I picked up a Perry Mason mystery one Sunday afternoon and started reading he offered to lend it to me since he was finished reading. He told me I could bring it back the next week.

From that moment on I was hooked on mysteries. Where I had liked Nancy Drew, I loved Perry Mason. I didn't want to be Della Street when I grew up, I wanted to be Perry Mason. Every week I would trade Uncle Darrell the book I had finished for a new one, which I would eagerly dive into the minute I got my mitts on it and not come up for air until I reached the thrilling courtroom conclusion where the bad guys were trapped and Perry emerged victorious once again.

Nothing lasts forever, and eventually I ran out of Perry Mason. But by then I knew where the mystery section of the library was and I could find other writers. Earl Stanley Gardner is gone, and so is Uncle Darrell. But the love of mystery they instilled in that ten-year-old girl lives on.

And now, much to my delight, I get to write a mystery novel - actually three mystery novels! - and send them out into the world for other readers to share. I can only hope that someone, somewhere, will fall in love with my heroine, the way I did with Perry Mason.

The No-Hope Publishing Plan

Recently I read an article in the local paper profiling a woman who started a small press publishing company. She characterizes the venture as a “pay-to-publish” service. She doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that any author whose book she accepts will pay out of their own pocket for editorial and production services and costs. Distribution and promotion is the responsibility of the author, or those services are available for an additional fee.

I don’t have any problem with this. She’s straight-forward about what she’s doing. A writer goes in knowing it will cost them money. It’s a choice the writer must make. I don’t think it’s a good choice, and my husband, writer J. Steven York, has written about why on his blog http://york-multiplex.blogspot.com/2008/12/vanity-isnt-easy.html

What bothered me was the rationalizations she gave for why her service was a good alternative to traditional publishing. They are the same ones I see every time the subject of vanity presses comes up.

I call them the No-Hope Publishing Plan.

Why? Because they all hinge on the assertion that the writer has no hope of being published by a traditional publisher. You know, the kind that send you checks instead of the other way around.

And just what are these No-Hope “facts”?

“Nobody buys a book from a first-time writer.” Oooookay. This is impossible. If “nobody” buys a first book, there cannot be any books sold. Logically, every writer ever published sold a first book. Maybe not the first one they wrote, but that isn’t what the no-hope brigade claims. Stephen King sold CARRIE, Tony Hillerman sold THE BLESSING WAY, Stephanie Meyer sold TWILIGHT, and Nora Roberts sold IRISH THOROUGHBRED. Even J.K. Rowling sold HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER’S STONE. They were all first books.

“You can’t sell a book without an agent.” Really, No-Hope Brigade? I just sold three myself, and I know a lot of other writers who have managed similar things. You want an agent for a lot of other reasons, but it simply isn’t true that you can’t sell without an agent.

“You can’t get an agent if you haven’t sold a book.” Look around. There are agent blogs all over the ‘Net, and every one of them trumpets when they sign a new writer who has bowled them over with a fantastic book.

“Publishers only want books from best-sellers.” Walk into any bookstore in this country, even the tiny ones. There are a lot of shelves in there. Even a writer as prolific as Nora Roberts or Stephen King or James Patterson can’t fill all those shelves. Somebody else has to write some of those books.

“Writers can’t make any money. The publisher gets it all.” Traditional publishing contracts call for an advance against royalties. Royalties means the writer gets a percentage of every sale made. When that total exceeds the pre-payment (“advance”), the writer start getting checks. Checks that will continue to come as long as the book continues to sell. If you write a really good book, those checks keep coming for a long time – even after you die. The publisher absorbs all the up-front costs, including your advance, and doesn’t start making money until all those costs are recovered.

“The publisher can change your title.”
“The publisher can edit your book without your permission.”
“The publisher can put whatever cover they want on your book and you have no say, even if it’s awful.” These are all things that can happen. If you let them. Each of these, and many more, are subject to negotiation when you and the publisher work out the contract. This is where your agent really earns their commission, helping you negotiate the best possible contract terms. The No-Hope Brigade will tell you that you don’t have any control. Not true. The publisher can’t do any of these things without your permission in the form on a legal contract.

Every one of these arguments boils down to a single argument: You have no hope as a writer, and the only way you will ever see your book in print is to give me a pile of money.

Don’t believe them. Don’t let the No-Hope Brigade take your dreams – and your money.

You deserve better.

A Thumbnail Cover Gallery

Click on the picture for a larger version.

Hi, Chris's husband Steve here, bumping in because Chris hasn't posted in a while. (She's currently working on a three-book mystery contract for Berkley Prime Crime, so at least she now has an excuse). I originally did this post for my own blog, but decided that since it concerned Chris, I'd make it here too.

A while back I started collecting recent covers from books in which Chris and I were published and combined them into a single graphic to use as a backdrop for our oft-neglected web-page. I realized today that I hadn't updated it in a long time, so I wasted several hours this afternoon tracking down covers (new ones, and old ones that I hadn't included before), resizing, and editing them in.

This is what I came up with. It still isn't complete. For example, I can think of at least four anthologies that aren't included (with several more coming before the year is out), plus a computer game (yeah, there are already two computer games in the grid that I wrote for), and a non-fiction book. I'll add another row later this year if I think of it.

It's been my experience that if you write and publish enough, you quickly start to forget things that you did, even if they were only a few years ago. Having an "at a glance" cover gallery like this is a bit of an ego booster, and a reminder on the hard days that you have accomplished something.

(Now that I've posted this, I look over and see the cover for "Fantasy Gone Wrong," which I didn't include. So make that five anthologies. However, I also noticed that I had "Transformers Legends" in there twice, so I edited things so "Fantasy Gone Wrong" is in its place. Fix!)

-Steve

Overwhelmed!

Chris here, on the road, posting on Steve's account because I forgot my password.

I have now experienced a tiny fraction of the amazing thing called Comic-con. I ache from walking several miles. I know I saw very little of what was available. I still can't wrap my brain around the enormity and complexity of what I did manage to see.

And we went on a "slow" day!

Of course, the entire process was complicated by the simple fact that we are staying about 70 miles from the San Diego Convention Center. We drove about 90 minutes Thursday morning to Qualcomm Stadium, parked the car, caught the trolley for a 25 minute ride to the Convention Center, then walked the block or so to the Center. It is "across the street" from the trolley stop, but the "steet" is about eight lanes wide. We were fortunate enough to find the professional registration entrance line, where check-in was swift and relatively painless, thanks to the bar code confirmation that had been e-mailed to us.

Then we headed for the Exhibit Hall, literal acres of floor space, packed with vendor and exhibitor booths. It seemed like every major purveyor of pop culture was represented, and many minor ones.

We were accompanied by our son, and two-year-old granddaughter - due to a re-scheduled final exam, our daughter-in-law didn't get to go. A stroller is a fabulous way to corral the baby, and haul stuff, but it's a real pain to navigate in the crowd. You spend most of your time trying to avoid running over the feet of the people crowding around you, cutting in front of you, or crossing your path without looking. There were some areas we simply couldn't get to because the crowds were too thick to allow us through.

Did I mention we went on a "slow" day?

We saw the art show, which was a mixed bag, as are most art shows. Zoe loved the six-foot-tall, welded steel sculptures. She took one look, grinned, and said "monster." Then she said, "Mine." Her dad inspected the bid ticket, and told her she would have to choose between the monster and a college education. Unfortunately, dad and her grandparents out-voted her, and the monster did not accompany us on the trolley home.

One little bit of marketing we tried was to order buttons for the freebie table. The 750 or so that we took in Thursday morning disappeared in a flash, and I did spot one occasionally in the crowd. They are a simple black-and-white "EVIL IS NOT MY NATURE. EVIL IS JUST MY DAY JOB" with the Website for Steve's Web cartoon blog Minions at Work. Given that last year's attendance was in the neighborhood if 123,000, that 750 is a drop in the bucket. But it will be interesting to see if it drives any traffic to the Website.

We were pleasantly surprised at the food available in the Convention Center. It wasn't cheap (we didn't expect it to be), but the hot dogs ($4) were good quality, and large enough to provide a reasonable lunch. The other surprise was that there are apparently no restrictions on carrying in your own food, unlike many venues. And the line to buy said hot dogs was only 12 minutes long. I know this because one of the boys sharing our table (table space and chairs are at a premium), when asked how long the line was, answered, "Twelve minutes. I timed it." Make of that what you will. :-)

One of the strangest things in a crowd of that size - and, did I mention, we went on a "slow" day? - is running into people you know. Scott Edelman, fellow SF writer, editor, and all around good guy - took our picture, just to prove we were there. We also saw a couple old friends, and our daughter's ex-boyfriend (they're on good terms, no Jerry Springer fodder here), as well as several editors we know.

We left the Center about 5, to have a drink with the folks from Paradox Entertainment, the people behind the World of Conan. Steve wrote a trilogy for them a couple years ago, and they were kind enough to include us in their party. We had a wonderful time, and would have stayed longer, but we'd abandoned Zoe and her dad, so we left after a delightful 90 minutes. I have to say, Leigh and Frederick were absolutely delightful, Josh and Tom were super, and fellow writer (and Scribe nominee) Matt Forbeck is simply amazing! The Amazing Mr. Forbeck is in the same category as I am for Sunday's awards, and I have to admit to mixed feelings. I want to win, sure, but I want him to win, too. He's really that nice!

After the Paradox party, we retrieved the over-stimulated two-year-old (isn't that just a scary phrase?) and joined the mass exodus to the trolley. The ride back to the car was hot, crowded, and seemed to last forever. But we finally got back to the stadium, reclaimed the car, and headed home. Zoe was asleep in about five minutes, and I wished I could join her. It was one very long day, filled with more input than I have been able to process so far.

And, did I mention, we went on a "slow" day?

We're going back to Sunday, for the awards ceremony, and my moment of fame as a panelist at the biggest pop-culture convention of the year. Then Monday morning we head home to Oregon, and back to our regularly-scheduled lives.

I think I'm looking forward to it!

Things That Make Me Happy

Several months ago, I posted about making a reputation, and getting into anthologies. Since then, I was invited to submit stories for a couple anthos, and I am happy to report that "To The Top" will appear in WITCH HIGH, and "Cupid's Crib" sold to ENCHANTMENT PLACE. Both books are edited by a very savvy woman named Denise Little, who is a true delight to work with - and who, of course, has exquisite taste, having bought both my stories.

It makes me happy to make a sale, and it gives me some outside validation, which a writer needs now and then. Face it, we sit alone in a room and make stuff up. Weeks - or months, or years - later, it appears in print, and you occasionally get feedback from a reader. But for the most part, you work completely alone, and a writer is most definitely NOT the best judge of her own work. In fact, you're usually the worst judge of your work. Which makes outside validation a very nice thing, indeed.

Which brings me to the other thing that made me happy recently. Just yesterday, in fact. This spring, I was a preliminary judge for the Rita, the RWA award for romance fiction. I received a box of several books, in a variety of categories, which I read and scored.

Among those books was ADIOS TO MY OLD LIFE, by Barbara Ferrer, writing as Caridad Ferrer, from MTV Books. I was planning to buy the book, so it was a nice surprise in my box. What's more, while I thought I'd like it, it made me happy to find that I LOVED it. Fast forward to the announcements of the finalists, and there's ADIOS, on the short list as Best Contemporary Single Title! That made me very happy.

Now, my happy feelings came from knowing that other people shared my opinion of ADIOS, a form of outside validation; the reassurance that I understood what made a "good" book.

The best part, though, came with the announcement, last night, of this year's Rita winners. And (if you haven't guessed by now) ADIOS won the Rita! It made me happy to know that my opinion was validated, but that wasn't the most important thing. For me, the best part was knowing that a book I loved, a writer whose work I admired, and who I felt truly deserved the recognition, got the award.

And if you haven't read this book yet, go get it. Now!

Read.

Enjoy.

Congratulations, Barbara!! A well-deserved award, and a fabulous book. I'll be looking for your next one.

No Joy?

Writing, like life, comes complete with "issues." Some large, some small. Some good, some bad. The one thing they have in common is that they disrupt your schedule, confuse your brain, and generally make you turn things upside down and look at the seamy underbelly of what you're doing.
So, when a friend commented that she had "lost the joy" in writing, I found myself pondering the implications of that statement.
Somewhere along the line, if you want to make writing your career, it becomes A Job. Now, if you want to make a living at writing, this is a good thing. Writing is your job, and you have to be disciplined and dedicated, and willing to devote the time and attention any career deserves.
But there is something else buried in the subconscious of many of us, probably the residue of a blue-collar work ethic, that says "Job" is not equal to "Joy."
For many of us, no one ever said, "Find something you love, and do it for the rest of your life." Instead, they told us to find something we were good at, something stable, with a good future. What you're good at, though, isn't always something you truly love.
Of course, the current Dilbert strips illustrate the downside of "do what you love," what with the guy who wants to be a billionaire, but doesn't want to actually do anything for it, and similar characters. But, if you go from the premise that you need to produce income to put food on the table, working at something you truly love is the optimum solution.
But we can take something we love, turn it into A Job, and suddenly our brains tell us that it is Work, it's drudgery, it's what we have to do, not what we want to do. And that's when the joy goes away.
There are a lot of business aspects to a writing career. You are essentially running a small - or not so small - business, with all the record-keeping, marketing, promotion, financial management, and long-term planning that every business needs to succeed. Those things are necessary if you are going to be successful at your business.
But I think we do ourselves a disservice when we let those things intrude into our basic attitude toward writing; when we make writing A Job, and allow those voices in our head to tell us it can't be fun, because it is Work.
It's a difficult problem, and one that requires a writer to develop two personalities - the writer, and the businessman. I know many writers who don't consider business issues when they write. They don't try to fit their work into a particular niche, or force a story to a specific length, or deliberately censor their themes and vocabulary. But in general, they talk about those considerations stifling their creativity.
For me, joy is a different animal. Joy comes in the rush you get when you create a scene, put dialog in the mouths of your characters, choreograph a tricky bit of action, or evoke a strong emotion just with your words. Joy is the pleasure that comes from bringing the pictures in your brain to life on the page.
I am working on keeping that joy in my writing. I don't always succeed, but when I do, I think the results are stronger and truer, and ultimately more successful.

I hope you can all find your joy.