It all started with a little tweet, like so:
#pitmad At 22 Kelsi lost her husband & maybe her mind. Is the dark haired man frm her dreams real? Y dz he look like her new neighbor?
— Barbara Garren (@bak229) May 28, 2013
From this little tweet, I received a request for partial (the first three chapters). From the first three chapters, about two weeks later; I received a request for the full manuscript. Uhhhh...
Yes, I had a completed manuscript. I would never pitch an incomplete story. The problem was, my CP hadn't finished critiquing it and I hadn't completed any of the edits. And oh, by the way, my CP was on vacation in Key West for the week. Perfect timing! Also, I was away from my computer for the week. What WAS I thinking? THANK GOD I always email myself the latest version of whatever I'm working on as a means of back up.
I fired off the most recent copy to CP, she did a wicked good chop on it and I was able to get it to Entranced by Friday. Working off an Iphone is a blast, folks. Just saying.
So, then the waiting begins, and it's like:
Sometimes you wait days. Sometimes you wait weeks. Sometimes, even, you have to wait months. Publishers, agents and others receive TONS of submissions. They try to give an honest evaluation to each of them. If you're lucky, you get something more than a form rejection. And you spend the time waiting for a reply like this:
And if you're really lucky, I mean Really, REALLY lucky, you get something like this:
And it comes to you three weeks after you submitted, while your at work, and you stare at the email. You read it again. You walk around your desk, reading it again. You clean your glasses, because you couldn't have read it correctly. You read it again. And then? Well, then you go all fangirl, bouncing around, biting your knuckles, trying not to scream. And you call your author friend, because you know she's the only person you can talk to who knows how you feel.
And she peels you off the ceiling, calms your ass down, tells you to breathe, lends you a mental shoulder to lean on and suggests you call the Man Behind The Curtain, because he really should be the next person to know.
And you call him. You call your Mom. You call your children. You call your CP and your best friend and your dentist and your hairdresser. You call every phone number you know or have with you, and when you get the pizza place down the street from you by accident, you tell them too, because hey! This is worth celebrating! Sort of like:
You celebrate the shit out of it! You drink Tequila (which you swore off of years ago when your father and God got you out of jail after too much of the stuff) and you drink beer and you dance on the patio and the Man Behind The Curtain puts you to bed where, thankfully, you sleep it all off and wake up hangover free.
You party the next day, because there are people to celebrate with that weren't available the day before, but you're a little smarter this time and you don't get drunk and you still can't sleep at night because you still can't believe it's real.
And then the publisher starts sending you documents to read and Cover Design Questionnaires and asks you for your bio and you get an email from your editor and see the timeline for getting the book ready for publication, all while your working on the second book, because you signed a THREE BOOK DEAL, and sometime while you're working on editing book two you'll have to write book three and it hits you. It really hits you.
You're no longer a writer. You are now an AUTHOR. And this is what happens next:
The names were changed in the writing of this blog to protect the innocent. No animals were harmed during production. Livers, however, were excluded from protection.