Waiting and waiting...FINALLY THE OFFER COMES!

Publishing is synonomous with waiting...and waiting. For example, I thought my cover for Mona Lisa's Room would never come. But when it did, I was thrilled with Rae Monet's work--as always. After another month-long wait, my final galley arrived. I found two errors, so we're back to square one in that department. Once it arrives again, and I sign off on it, I'll be given a release date. Until then, I'm waiting.

Just so you have some perspective, I sent my finished manuscript for this book to my agent the last week of April, 2011. We did two rounds of edits, using tract changes. She submitted it to TWRP the middle of June. A contract offer arrived 3 months later. My actual contract took a month to reach me, and I signed it the middle of October. Thus, the span of time from my typing "The End" to my signing the contract was 6 months.

Mona Lisa's Room, a romantic suspense, is book one of The Red Hand Conspiracy series.

Rain is a Love Song is book two of the romantic suspense series involving a group of terrorists, called The Red Hand. I sent the finished manuscript to my agent on the 19th of December. She submitted it to my editor on February 4th. My contract offer came May 1st. You'd think by now, I'd be an old hand at waiting. Sadly I'm not. I will say that when the offer, the call from my agent, came I was just as shocked, just as humbled. "Really? They want it?"

How does Rain is a Love Song start you, might ask. Well, there's this French government agent working undercover who eases his Harley to the curb in front of a cafe. He's wearing angel wings that drag on the pavement. No, he's not a real angel--not by any stretch of the imagination. The wings are simply part of his disguise as he prowls the sex district of Paris.

Couldn't happen, you say.

Oh, but it did.

When we were in Paris 7 years ago, having lunch at a cafe across the narrow street from the Pompadieu Museum, a bike slowly eased by, the rider's shoulder length hair blowing back in the wind (no helmets required in France, it seemed) and his alabaster feathered wings dragging across the pavement. What a sight, and I found just the place to insert that traveling memory.

JEAN-LUC LeFEVRE

Gwen Morningstar makes Jean-Luc nervous, and that's not easy for an ex-Maritime Commando, the French equivilent of our SEALS. Currently, he's an expert at interrogation tactics within the counterterrorism unit of the French government. She teases him and knocks him off his granite perch.

Her daughter, Rhiannon, well, she's wormed her way so deep into his heart, he's inclined to give her anything, including the puppy she wants. But first he has to keep the child and her headstrong Mother safe. Not an easy task when Gwen insists she can take care of herself--and she does.

GWEN MORNINGSTAR

A single Mom, Gwen and her little girl, Rhiannon, are visiting family in Paris. Still hurting from the death of her husband years earlier in Iraq, she wants no emotional attachments, even with a gorgeous agent whom she enjoys teasing. Besides her life is in North Carolina, where she is a crime scene photographer. She has enough stress dealing with a daughter who wants a daddy and a puppy, especially when Rhiannon knows exactly which man and which puppy she desires. Oh, how that little girl can scheme...

RHIANNON
SHE CLAIMS JEAN-LUC IS HER GUARDIAN ANGEL.
HE FEARS SHE'S HIS.

COMING SOON:  RAIN IS A LOVE SONG

MAKING A PURSE OUT OF A SOW'S EAR

Idle time for a writer is not a good thing, especially in my case. Bordom sets in. I've emailed my romantic suspense, Mona Lisa's Room, back to my agent with the first round of tract changes completed. We'll go through this process once more before she feels the manuscript is good enough to "shop out" to publishers. Keep your fingers crossed, folks. An editor at The Wild Rose Press has my short story--or novella, if you prefer that term--and will get back to me by July 5th on Waiting on a Dream. So, what do I do now as I wait?

Dawn Dowdle, my agent, suggested I dust off Indigo Blooms, my first novel. She loved the story and fell hard for Fae, the little girl who wanted a Mommy. I must admit Fae was my favorite character in the book, too.


Dawn said since my writing's so much stronger now, perhaps I could polish the book into a more marketable format. In Pennsylvania Dutch lingo, she's hoping I can make a purse out of a sow's ear--a sow being a female pig. Perhaps now you're getting a visual of what I'm facing.

I rewrote the entire first chapter. Changed a lot of the back story. One could say the plot has many holes. And, honestly, at times it reads like it's written in a different language. Gee, and I thought it was so perfect at the time...sigh... Passive language, point of view issues and characters that overreact. No wonder she couldn't sell the thing.

I'm not sure Wonder-Woman-Writer could salvage this story. Still, fool that I am, I'm trying. I think it's because I want you to meet Fae, the real heart-stealer in the book. Of course her veterinarian father, muscled hunk that he is, can make a woman's heart stutter at twenty paces. He's worth the trouble, too. The heroine, her heart locked in a protective vault, has no defenses established against the charms of an exuberant child--who does?


How much do I keep? Dawn's already told me I need to take out two chapters that make the story "too dark," according to publishers she queried. So do I lighten up on the tension or just hit the delete key? What will I put in its place? Or do I simply start fresh with that section and go in a completely different direction? What to do...what to do...

Tell me, how do you revamp a weak story? How do YOU make a purse out of a sow's ear? 

FIRST DRAFT IS DONE

My first draft of Mona Lisa's Room is done. I'd barely typed the final period before self-doubt came knocking at my door. "Your ending sounds kinda lame," she stated, picking a piece of broccoli from her snaggle tooth. "I'd rethink it if I were you."

I can't stand that arrogant witch.

So, I laid awake last night, wondering...

I'd set up things for 3 possible endings, a tiny hint here, a little reference there. Why I chose the ending I did was simply based on what I'd felt at the time. Pantser that I am, I have no better reasoning process.

The writing of Mona Lisa's Room, as I've said before, was a stretch for me. I don't like horror movies or shows with a lot of blood and gore. I don't watch CSI or all those other crime shows. Why I chose to write about a terrorist group, I'd named the Red Hand, chasing my hero and heroine through the streets of Paris is beyond me. My gunfights sounded like two kids shooting water-pistols in the backyard, and my karate fights read like two bears doing the cha-cha.

Still, I wrote on, enjoying the learning process of stretching my boundaries. Writing romantic suspense and getting that delicate balance of romance and intrigue was a challenge. Whether I achieved that balance remains to be seen. No doubt Dawn Dowdle, my agent, will have much to say about that. Nothing much gets past her.

Writing the story was a fun process, revisiting the city I love so much. Paris is a delight. In less than four months I'd written over 90,000 words. In a few days, after I let the manuscript perculate on the back burner of my brain, I'll start editing it. I'll see then how many of those 90,000 are good words. By the time I get done paring and shifting and deleting, I might have 80,000 passable words. One never knows.

For now it's the ending that bothers me. I've been obsessing about it all day. Did I write a good one or not? Should I have chosen one of the other endings I'd so carefully set up? Truthfully, it seems like a Micky Mouse kinda ending.

GUEST BLOGGER -- RHIANNON ELLIS

My Guest Blogger today is Rhiannon Ellis. She is a writer of mainstream fiction, romance and women's fiction. We are both represented by the same agent, Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency.

Rhiannon lives in Wisconsin with her husband and their children. When she isn't writing, cleaning house or chasing her kids around, she can most often be found curled up with her e-reader, taking pleasure in the many genres she loves. Rhiannon and her husband enjoy visiting casinos, are avid followers of politics, and are devoted fans of Wisconsin's basketball team--the Milwaukee Bucks. You may visit her blog at www.rhiannonellis.blogspot.com. Welcome Rhiannnon!

Thank you so much, Vonnie, for inviting me to guest blog. Today, I'd like to talk a little about being a mother who also aspires to be a writer.


Vonnie was so sweet when she invited me to guest blog for her. She told me I could use one of my past posts from my own blog, understanding how little time a mom with two little ones has. This got me thinking...with all I have to do, with all the hats I already wear, why add a big job like writing to my already long and ever-growing list?


It's not for the money. I'm very blessed to have a husband who works hard so that I can stay home with our children. We're not rich; we're cozy. Besides, the mass majority of authors don't make enough money to quit their day jobs. It is not a get-rich-quick scheme.


It's not because I'm bored. Have I mentioned my children? At ages 5 and 2, boredom (and silence) evades me. My home is a continuum of "things to do."


It's not for fame. Don't get me wrong, I love to read and have my favorite authors. But I never hear of the paparazzi stalking writers. Their faces are not plastered all over billboards, magazines or commercials. They're not being paid millions to endorse the latest athletic gear or soft drink. They're not getting offers to pose for Playboy. No, I don't write for fame. Few do.


So why do I write, if not for fame, fortune, or hobby?


Like most moms, I'm pretty sure 99% of what I do in a day's time is for someone else. When I sit down to write, it's not for my husband, my kids, my friends or other family members. After all, writing doesn't lessen the amount of dishes I have in the sink; it doesn't shine my hardwood floors or read bedtime stories. And, last I checked, writing does not firm my butt or tighten my waistline.


So why, why, WHY write?


I write for ME. Nothing in my life revolves around me, except this one little thing. It's my quiet time, it's my own private entertainment. Writing is a reminder that I am capable of effectively using words that are beyond a toddler's scope of understanding. It's also a way for me to feel like I'm doing something beyond the norm--that being a mother does not mean I have to stop achieving my goals or dreams.


And...I enjoy it. I think, as a busy mom with only a speck of free time, that's all the reason I need.

No guest blogger today.

For those of you who stopped by to read a blog by someone else,  I'm afraid plans have changed. Due to writing schedules, Pam has asked to be rescheduled. She'll be here in two weeks.

So you'll be reading no "other worldly" tales today, although I do have some news that's out of this world. My agent contacted me last night with news that my manuscript she started "shopping out" a week ago has a contract offer. Gasp! "So soon?" I asked. "Are you kidding me?" A second publisher has asked we wait two weeks before signing with the first publisher to give them time to read and decide, too. This is surreal, folks.

I wrote this romance in three months. Books I've labored over for a year or more are ignored by publishers. Go figure!

I'm grateful for my agent's efforts, her belief in Storm's Interlude and her aggressive agenting skills. Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary is the best.

When I finally turned the lights off last night, it was four-thirty this morning. Then at nine I was awakened by  someone chanting, "OMG! OMG!" Ooops! That would be me!

Too much of a good thing can be overwhelming!

Things have been crazy here at our house this week. Every action, thought, conversation has centered around writing.

The lady, who designs book covers at Second Wind, emailed Calvin with a list of needs: a brief bio, a book blurb for the back cover, a photo and any ideas we had for the cover design. This request set off a flurry of activity--and male grumbling. "I do not want my picture on the cover." When I told him he did, Calvin's chin got that mulish set to it. Few men are as unpretentious as he.

I recieved word that my short story, "To Love and Lose," won honorable mention in a Writer's Journal contest. My first win; I was shocked, believe me.

My agent, Dawn Dowdle, read my manuscript. Bless her, she'd send me updates via email and texts. "I'm loving it," she'd say, which, of course, only added to my angst over whether it would be good enough. "I've laughed out loud at several unexpected places. Good work!" I yearned to be in her office, leaning over her shoulder to see and hear her reactions. When I opened her email that asked for a synopsis, I groaned. I'd been putting it off. I mean, I had a five page boring-as-watching-paint-dry synopsis, but she wanted it whittled down to two pages. Not an easy task for a wordy person.

For me, writing a synopsis is akin to removing a hemorrhoid by putting a pair of tweezers in my mouth and forging a path through my gizzard. It's painful. How can one possibly capture the essence of a three-hundred page manuscript in two?

I'd no sooner emailed her that infernal synopsis, when she emailed me the manuscript with tract changes. Now folks, this is a new skill for this old bird--tract changes. But with Dawn's guidance, I was able to whiz through all her corrections and suggestions in two days, accepting or refusing each one with a click of the mouse. I admit to being "comma challenged." In my estimation, Dawn removed every comma I had in my manuscript and put commas in places I'd never think about putting them.

Of course, hovering over me was another email from her. She wanted additional information needed to "shop-out" my manuscript to publishers. I nearly bawled when I read the first one: a ONE sentence tagline to entice your readers. "One...one sentence?" I gasped, reaching for the bottle of antacids that had gotten me through the horrors of whittling my synopsis down to two pages. Next on her list was one to three paragraphs to interest readers (more weeping and gnashing of teeth). She asked for a bio (would "I live. I love. I write." qualify?) My marketing plans with specifics (I reached for the tissues and smelling salts). Marketing plans? I'm a writer, not a marketing guru! And a list of similar books and authors (if there are books already out there like mine, why would someone buy the one I've labored over? I asked myself, my eyes scanning the titles on my crammed bookshelves). I've relegated this project to when I'm half-watching, half-listening to the football games this weekend.

I'll also be catching up on homework. You see, I'm taking an online course through Florida Romance Writers on "How to create sexual tension." I wonder if I could develop a course on "How to handle the tension of life as a writer"?

Still, life moves on. I'm going shopping this afternoon and then stopping by to see a friend. I need a break. I need chocolate!!!

Oh, and wait till you see the handsome picture of Calvin on the back cover of The Phantom Lady of Paris.

It came to me in a dream...

Paul McCartney said in an interview that his song, Yesterday, came to him in a dream--both the words and the music. Wow! Yet our minds often work best in our "off hours," when the distractions of life aren't stiffling our creative thoughts.


I'd been in a funk all weekend feeling lost without a writing project. Really, I should have been celebrating that my manuscript was off my hands for a while and in Dawn's, but for some reason I wasn't. What am I going to do now, I kept asking myself. Honest folks, it was akin to that "empty nest" feeling.


So I kept asking myself, do I revamp and do a major rewrite to a finished manuscript or do I finish the one I'd abandoned to write Storm's Interlude? I cried on my agent's shoulder, who patiently said, "It'll come to you. Relax." I imagined her doing an eye roll as she replied to my instant message.


She was right; it came to me--in a dream. Mercy, I'm just like Paul McCartney!!! Okay, maybe not. But I woke up from a sound sleep around 3:20 with the first paragraph of my next novel racing through my brain, along with a rough blurb about the book. How wierd is that? Uh hunh, about as wierd as I am, you say. Okay, I can see I'll get no respect from you. Just remember, Paul McCartney and I are on the same dream-wave-length...and with that thought, I'll take "Wings" and fly.