Archive for Writing Life

Sample Chapter and Other Stuff

I know, I know. I’ve been absent again. The sequel to TOUCHED is due to my editor at the end of this month, and my first pass pages on IF I LIE are due on 2/1. Add my MFA creative thesis due at the end of the month, too, and you’ll understand why I’m hiding in a hole. These are great problems to have, though, so I’m not complaining. Instead, I’m putting my head down and trying to get through this month.

In the meantime, TOUCHED: Der Preis der Unsterblichkeit is out in Germany on February 17 from Thienemann Verlag. If you can read German, a sample of the first chapter is up on my publisher’s website. The cover is simply gorgeous. Sorry, US, peeps! You’ll have to wait until December.

Okay, now I’m diving back into my hole to get book 2 finished.

PS. I’m newly obsessed with this song. The video is so weird and hypnotic, and I’ve watched it 8 times.

PPS. I’m also obsessed with this video because I love random moments of strangers connecting.

YA Rebels: Tuesday Loves Up Scrivener

I thought I would share today’s YA Rebels vlog in which I walk you through how I’m using Scrivener. Feel free to ask me any questions you have! I’m not an expert, but I’ll do my best to answer. For those who don’t know, Scrivener is an amazing application for writers that takes you far beyond Word or other word processing apps.

A Desk I’m Thankful For

I have this inability to write at home. My desk is perfectly lovely. I might loathe my desk chair.

My Lovely Desk

The thing is, I hate sitting at that perfectly lovely desk to write. Most days, I’ve sat at another desk at the day job in another chair. I think my body simply protests the whole set up because it can’t stand more hours in the same position.

So when I do write at home, I’m usually on my bed or on my couch. The problem is that these don’t offer up a ton of comfort either. And then yesterday I traipsed off to IKEA to get a dresser, and I came across this.

Alve Laptop Table

It was love at first sight. I put this baby together today. It’s adjustable height makes it perfect for me to use from my bed or the couch. And it’s lightweight so I can move it about easily. I’m so happy I found this desk. I really hope it helps me to be more productive at home.

PS. Have a happy turkey day!!

What is the editing process really like?

Sharpie Gel Highlighters - They will change your world.

A few people have noticed that I’ve been conspicuously absent from both this blog and Twitter. For the last few months, I’ve been busy writing the sequel to TOUCHED. And intermittently, I’ve gone through two rounds of line edits and a round of copy edits on IF I LIE. Before I went through this process, I’d often heard of authors complaining about edits. From my position of (a) having not sold a book yet or (b) waiting, waiting, waiting on tenterhooks for my edits, I wanted to kick those whiners to Siberia. Now that I’m on the other side, my perspective has changed somewhat. I thought I would share what the process is like. Just know this differs for every author.

The Editorial Letter

Even though, I love my editor fiercely, as I waited on my letter, I was secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was pretty sure my editor, Annette Pollert, would ask me to cut a character, or to do something I hated. At which point, I would be faced with the dilemma of going with the flow and caving to the desire to be published or making a brilliant stand for my story with guns blazing (like I own a gun that doesn’t use water as ammo). I got antsy every time I thought about this and died inside a little more each time I contemplated how much my editor must want to renovate my book like it was the Extreme Makeover: Novel Edition. As you can see, I worked myself into quite a state, while barely managing to keep the crazy under wraps from Annette.

So the letter arrived in May. I held my breath and clicked on the email, expecting to find the ten-page, single-spaced letter I’d heard so much about from my Apocalypsie friends. I started reading. And then I started crying because Annette opened the letter by saying my novel had made her cry six separate times when she should have been immune from tears by then. Of course, with that opening, any criticism that followed felt like glowing praise. (Well done on you, Annette, you brilliant mastermind.)

Quite frankly, the letter felt completely manageable. Also, I’m ashamed to admit I felt a smidge smug. After all, my editorial letter was ONLY THREE PAGES. Holla. My changes mostly consisted of adding new scenes. I don’t mean to say this was a breeze. I had to reorder the beginning of the book, not an easy thing to do with the structure this novel chose. In the end, though, I had Scrivener and four weeks to make the changes. The scenes really made the book better. A thousand times better. I finally confronted my trust issues and decided I was stupid to doubt Annette. She has my best interests and those of the book’s best interests at heart. We’re a team, damn it.

Line Edits

I go to Italy for school for a couple of weeks in July and some traumatic crap happens back at home, turning my life upside down. I’m basically a wreck when I return. I can’t write. It makes me cry, and I’m tired of crying. I take some time off. I actually look forward to my line edits to ease me back into my work. But my trust issues have raised their bastard head again. A niggling doubt insists that here – in the line edits – is where Annette will have me sacrifice a character on the altar of my writerly ambition. Here is where I will be forced to take a stand with my water gun. I tell the doubt to shut up and stop overreacting. It sticks its tongue out at me.

In August, Annette emails me the marked-up manuscript. I have a little under a month to make the edits and return them. I open the document. And pretty nearly faint. Holy *bleep*! Scrawled notes are on EVERY SINGLE PAGE. I suddenly remember when Annette said that she LOVED line edits more than the edit letter. How could I have forgotten that? So much for my smugness at my short letter. I’m not even sure how to begin to tackle the beast.

So I do what I do best. I get organized. I buy some bitchin’ highlighters, and I take my butt to Starbucks. One page at a time, I tell myself. Except, I look up four hours later and I’ve only conquered 13 pages. And my ego feels battered into the ground and I wonder if my editor really liked my book after all. But, hey, my highlighters got a helluva workout. The pages are practically bleeding pink.

I don’t know what this process is like for others, but I felt a bit bruised. It’s not a reflection on Annette. Dude, the woman worked her pencil to a nub with those edits. She put so much time and heart into them, and I will ever be grateful. But as I was making the changes, my emotions were all over the place. One moment, I was angry that a line I loved had been suggested for deletion or alteration in a way I disliked. The next, I was abashed at things I’d missed. Then, I was euphoric as a change that felt so right. For the mont, I worked on those edits, I was all jagged edges and bitten fingernails (plus jacked up on caffeine).

I’m baring myself here to tell you I did not have the best attitude at all times. It’s really hard to let go of your ego, and see the bigger picture. When your book sells, it is no longer yours alone. When you start working with an editor, your book becomes a collaborative project. You may have final say, but another person is making decisions and directing you in ways that you may not want to go at first. That seems like an obvious statement, but day-um, it’s a difficult realization.

But when the light bulb went off, I wondered why I’d been fighting it. My freaking trust issues had raised their heads again. I tackled my chaotic emotions the best way I could – WITH A HIGHLIGHTING SYSTEM and a SENSE OF HUMOR. My code: pink for changes I’d made; orange for compliments (because Annette did make loads of fun comments, thereby keeping me from falling apart); and yellow, for things I might not want to change. I even sent a picture of one of my pages, bleeding in pink, to Annette for a laugh and we shared our deep and abiding love for office supplies.

To salve my ego, I allowed myself to save favorite lines in brilliant yellow. Except, I decided that when I finished the edits, when I felt less battered by all the changes, I would look at those yellow lines again. I wanted to ensure I wasn’t being too precious about things, but I needed to be in a mental/emotional space where I could accept the change a bit more graciously.

In the end, my wondrous editor, asked to see my edits before they were finished. I sent over the draft and had to explain my highlighting system. And do you know what she did? She helped me work on those yellowed lines, to fine tune them so that I didn’t have to sacrifice them. She really did get it.

In my defense, I will say I hid my skyrocketing emotions during this time, except from close friends and family. I want so bad to be one of those authors who works for the best of the book and doesn’t let ego get in the way. I believe I accomplished this. I think Annette would agree. But I’d be lying if I said it felt good all the time. Oh, but how wondrous it feels to be on the other side! When I read my book, I’m blown away by how tight it is now. Annette challenged me, I stretched myself, and I’ve grown as a writer.

Growth hurts so good.

Copy Edits

On Friday I received my copy edits, and last night I finished them. A whole week early. I intend to do another read through because this is my last chance to make any big changes. This is the version that will become the galley. And now is the time when I have to turn in the dedication and acknowledgments. Compared to line edits, copy edits are like chewing gum – a total snap. I’m still learning. I have some tics that I’m aware of now and will work on.

There were two big surprises in this pass, though. First, I saw my copyright page. I wasn’t prepared for how it filled me with pride. I did it. I worked hard and created something from nothing. Awesome. Even better, though, is that I’m perfectly content with the story. I don’t have that anxious need to keep perfecting, to edit one more thing. Annette really is amazing. It may have felt overwhelming at the time, but those line edits tightened the story up so much, that it feels whole and complete to me.

See, I’m still learning to trust, but I made a huge leap in this round. I am in great hands at Simon Pulse. This is the best version of the book that it could be, and I can’t wait for you all to read it. For you writers, I hope you are lucky enough to work with an editor like Annette and the team at Pulse. I will forever bleed pink for them. The editing process can be completely brutal. It may break you a little, but only to build you back up as a better writer.

Blogiversary Winner!

Today concludes my Blogiversary celebration! I want to give a special thank you to all my guests for making this such a memorable anniversary. I believe your posts resonated with a lot of people and will continue to be visited for a long time. I saw a lot of comments here and on Twitter where people said, “YES. This is exactly what I needed to hear right now.” That can mean a lot on this journey to getting published.

And now, without further ado…the winner of the $20 Amazon gift card is Kelly Polark. She was lucky #42 chosen at random by Random.org. Email me to claim your gift!

Guest Post: Stephanie Kuehn on a Lesson Learned

I met Stephanie Kuehn last year when we drove to SCBWI together. She’s alternately deep and quirky, which makes her the perfect friend and crit partner. Plus, she’s a hugely talented writer that you will all read someday. She writes stories with plot twists that will simply blow your mind – trust me, you will be reading her books.  Read on to see what lesson Stephanie has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment below for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

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When Cory asked me to come up with a post about a writing lesson I’ve learned in the past year, I was stumped. I mean, I don’t have a publishing success story to share. No book of mine can be found on a shelf anywhere. I’m just…me. I write. I go to school. I like to watch football and bad reality television. I’ve got kids.

So what, right?

Well, it turns out So What actually is my lesson.

It’s a lesson I owe to my school advisor. See, he’s kind of our campus wild card, both
intimidating and eccentric. He rarely smiles. He repeats things. He likes cat memes and black
licorice. He’s also known for a particular question that he likes to ask during dissertation
defenses. According to school lore, after listening to a doctoral candidate present the research
they’ve toiled over for years, my advisor will sit back, clear his throat, and shout out:

“So what?”

Ack.

So What is a scary question! I’m okay with “how” and “when” and “where” and “who,” but So
What means “why did you even bother?” In academic research, this translates into transcending
theory and finding real-world relevance, but I think there’s a parallel process to be found in
writing. Stringing 75,000 pretty words together into something with a beginning, middle, and
end isn’t enough. It just isn’t. A story has to resonate. It has to matter. In some way, somehow, it
must be relevant.

Maybe this is obvious to everyone else, but it wasn’t for me. I have an analytical mind. I mean, I
have an undergraduate degree in theoretical linguistics, of all things. Clearly, I like to understand
things just for the sake of understanding them. And, in truth, I don’t always care about relevance.
I have no problem becoming thoroughly absorbed in the fanciness of…just saying stuff. But
writing a novel isn’t like finishing the New York Times crossword puzzle. It’s not just that you
did it, it’s what you did that counts.

Over the past twelve months, I’ve tried to embrace the So What spirit in my writing. I won’t
lie. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to push past my comfort zone. I’ve had to let go of fanciness
and allow my words become messy and painful and scary and uncontrolled. I’ve had to stop
worrying about how I’m going to clean up my own mess or who’ll want to read it or whether
it will make me look clever or smart. But the process has been invaluable, because somewhere
along the way…I found my voice.

That’s a good feeling.

So when I reflect back on the year, I see many things that haven’t changed. I still go to school.
I’m still a mom. I still like to watch football and bad reality television. But I also see that I’ve
grown as a writer.

For that and for everything, I am humbled and grateful.

Guest Post: Matt Blackstone on a Lesson Learned

Matt Blackstone is one of our Bookanistos, one of two brave guys in a huge group of women. Matt is both funny and honest. If you get a chance, you should go read his blog. He’s written some great posts about obsession and the I Love Your Guts three-part series in which he revealed a lot about himself, His debut novel A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE, about a teen with OCD, just came out in July. Read on to see what lesson Matt has learned in the last year, and be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

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For years—three, maybe four, okay probably five—all I wanted was a book contract.

I would’ve  done anything to get it: put my soul on the open market, do cartwheels on flaming stones, eat a jar of mayo, denounce my love of the Phillies, accept bribes and teach my 10th graders that reading is for suckers, that Cheetos are healthier than carrots, that the principal is a rhinoceros, that true love is a bunch of hokey boloney unless it’s on The Bachelorette, that the economy has never looked so sexy, that cooties are real, that college is the devil, and that I am really a very manly woman.

If only I had a manuscript to edit.  An acceptance letter, however corny the story, to open and read and frame, instead of a mountain of rejection letters piled so high on my desk that if I breathe or cough or sigh with enough gusto the entire mountain will collapse on me like an avalanche and crush me and cover me in my own rejections and failures and nobody will hear me scream and I’ll die a slow and painful death, which newspapers will find fascinating and therefore report, on the front page in big bold lettering, “MAN DIES OF FAILURE; NOT HEART FAILURE, JUST FAILURE”—but since nobody reads newspapers anymore, nobody will hear about it until Comedy Central gets its hands on the story and Steven Colbert proclaims, with a wag of the finger, “Nation, I thought Bill O’Reilly was a loser, a real Loserasaurus [audience cheers]. . . I did, I really did, but then, Nation, [Colbert chuckles], but then I heard of Matt Blackstone,” as the audience, howling like hyenas, chants his name instead of mine: “Ste-ven. Ste-ven, Ste-ven . . .”

And then an agent finally said yes—at first I thought the email said, “jes,” as in Jessica, which isn’t my name—a few editors also said yes not jes, and I was spared the headline and the Steven Smackdown.  Still, it was hard to talk about.  It made me irritable, itchy, like red ants were crawling up my thigh.  I didn’t recognize my voice; no matter what I said, I sounded fancy—no, foncy—like I had a British accent, played a smashing game of Polo, and ate only “mixed greens,” and only with a salad fork.  I told myself, “Self, yeah you, you’re not British; tell them the truth: your favorite food is hot dogs, you own one pair of jeans, suffer (sometimes for weeks) from writer’s block, and like to sing “Poker Face” while washing your face in the shower.

But, I’ve learned, you have to talk about it.  You have to sell yourself, even if the self you’re selling isn’t Mr. Foncy Ponts.  This I realized early on in the process—and again a few months before my book came out and my book reading/signing schedule was . . . well, it wasn’t really a schedule, per say . . . it did say, “Matt’s Reading Schedule” at the top, but . . .

Cue the headline.  Cue Steven Colbert, adjusting his glasses, trying hard not laugh: “Nation, in the history of civilization, there are many men who rose above their circumstances and truly lived the American Dream—Abraham Lincoln; Jackie Robinson; John Boehner, saddled with an unfortunate last name, became the Speaker of the House [audience chuckles]—and then, Nation, there are those who saw the promised land, enjoyed the view, got this close [pinches the air] . . .  and failed miserably.  Like this guy.  Matt Blackstone.  [Cue my author photo].  Now, Nation, I may look like a cold-hearted newscaster, but underneath I am an emotional, vulnerable creature who weeps at sunsets and injured puppies and authors with ‘Matt’s Reading Schedule’ at the top of the paper [covers his smile with his arm] and nothing but naked paper underneath.  In the words of an ancient philosopher . . . ‘Whomp, Whomp.’  Nation, say it with me: ‘Whomp, Whomp.’  Everybody now: ‘Whomp, Whomp . . .’”

I wasn’t okay with that.  I had to get my book out there.  I believed in its message (I wrote A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE for the outcast teens I teach).  I believed that teenagers would enjoy and benefit from the story.  I believed in my ability to present it.  And I was tired of Colbert mocking me.  I wasn’t going to be a Loserasaurus.

So I sat my butt in a white chair at the end of June and I emailed.  I called.  I visited stores.  I stopped by libraries.  I wrote letters.  I contacted schools (and all their English teachers).  I emailed the state of California.  And half of New Jersey.  I skipped breakfast, and then lunch.  I called principals, superintendants.  I mailed letters and books and flyers (Linda, at the local post office, thanked me for keeping her in business).  I reached out to my friends, and their friends, and friends of their friends and their Facebook friends, and spent entire days on Gmail.  I slept when I could no longer see.  I ate dinner at my desk.  I don’t know for sure how much time elapsed, as days blended quickly but passed slowly, but I was told it was more than six weeks.

My wife staged an intervention.  Threw me in the shower.  Reacquainted me with washing machines and deodorant.  Escorted me outdoors. Showed me the sunshine.  Introduced me to the sound of birds.  The taste of strawberries.  The satisfaction of sleep.

Now, as I write this article, I am two weeks from the start of school.  My precious teacher summer is almost over.  But I learned an important lesson about self-promotion and hard work.  And what it takes.

My Fall schedule now includes visits to 15 stores, 11 schools, 6 libraries, and 3 festivals.

A total of 35 events.  Can’t even keep a poker face.  The number makes me smile.

Links:

http://www.MattBlackstoneBooks.com

Twitter:@MattBlackstone

List of appearances: http://www.mattblackstonebooks.com/appearances/

Seventeen Magazine

Book Info:

Rene, an obsessive-compulsive fourteen year old, smells his hands and wears a Batman cape when he’s nervous. If he picks up a face-down coin, moves a muscle when the time adds up to thirteen (7:42 is bad luck because 7 + 4 + 2 = 13), or washes his body parts in the wrong order, Rene or someone close to him will break a bone, contract a deadly virus, and/or die a slow and painful death like someone in a scary scene in scary movie. Rene’s new and only friend tutors him in the art of playing it cool, but that’s not as easy as Gio makes it sound.

Go buy your copy of A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE now!

Guest Post: Kate Hart on a Lesson Learned

Kate Hart was my first beta reader, and the first friend I found on Absolute Write. I’m betting a lot of you already know her from her Field Trip Fridays over at YAHighway.com, plus there’s the Twitter companion version at her site. Or maybe you know her from Help Write Now, the auction she organized that raised $21,047 for Southern communities hit hard by storms. Kate has an ability to scour the internet and somehow cull the nonsensical and hilarious. And one day soon you are going to all be as lucky as I’ve been, and have the chance to read one of her books. Read on to see what lesson Kate has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment below for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

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I did a lot of creative writing in high school. I did much less in college, and after graduation I stopped completely. But lots of people knew I’d aspired to be an author, and periodically the question would pop up: “So are you still writing?”

No.

“Why not?”

I don’t have anything to say.

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My senior year of college, I got a B in a seminar taught by multiple professors. I flipped out– not only was it literally costing me scholarship money, it meant I wouldn’t graduate summa cum laude. The reason? One of the teachers gave me a C for pulling in outside resources for a paper. Not for plagiarism, not for failing to cite my sources, but for using sources at all.

I had cited outside sources on every other paper that trimester. I was a history major. Citing sources is kind of our thing. So I contested the grade, and won. But I also had an alarming realization.

Without outside sources to inspire and back my argument, I had very little to say.

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When I got back into writing, I relied heavily on other bloggers for my prompts, or compiled links on various topics, or gathered funny stuff from around the internet. Then I joined YA Highway, and Field Trip Friday was born. A few months later, the Twitter companion started on my blog.

I was learning a lot and reading a lot and it made me bold, so I took a risk. I wrote a book that was like smashing my heart between the pages, a book that said some things about girls and boys and sexism and sex. It got me an agent. But after multiple close calls, it didn’t sell. I couldn’t talk about that on my blog, and I sure didn’t feel qualified to give advice, so I started making graphs based on publishing data.

Because I had nothing to say.

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But a curious thing happened. I compiled links about a few controversies, and realized I couldn’t lay the information out there without some elaboration. I started getting overwhelmed with links, and realized culling the extraneous is inherently a statement of importance. I started a few graphs that were supposed to be silly, but turned into rather damning statements on various parts of the industry.

I was saying things. And I didn’t mean to.

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Suddenly I realized not only had I been giving a speech unawares– I’d been doing so naked.

It was yet another alarming realization.

But it was also freeing, as getting naked tends to be. Everyone’s already seen my opinions, so what does it matter if I put a bathing suit over them? Maybe I’ll give them a tie or some killer boots. This blog post here needs some tassels. You! Work-in-progress! You get a cowboy hat!

Sure, people will comment on the color and cut and style, and some will like them, and some will hate them, but the body underneath is solid. It has muscles made stronger by exercises in rejection and bones made of research and teeth sharpened with facts.

It’s already out there. It’s too late to hide. Especially when it was never really hidden in the first place.

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A fact finding mission with no goal is pointless. Historians don’t research just for the hell of it– they’re trying to support a thesis. But sometimes, sources disprove your theories. Sometimes what you find isn’t what you expected.

And sometimes, you find you had plenty to say all along.

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“Are you still writing?”

Yes. Let me tell you all about it.

Guest Post: Myra McEntire on a Lesson Learned

Myra McEntire is freaking hilarious. I followed her on Twitter long before I had my book deals, and she was one of those kind authors who would tweet back at me when I made some inane comment. She was one of the masterminds behind last year’s “Do the Write Thing for Nashville” auction that raised a whopping $53,000 to support flood victims in Tennessee. And I don’t think anyone was surprised by her generosity. She’s just that kind of person, and I’m glad I’ve had the chance to get to know her better these last months. Her book HOURGLASS came out this year and it’s filled with hot boys, a strong heroine, and lots of plot twists. Read on to see what lesson Myra has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

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I never thought the biggest lesson I’d learn this past year would be about kindness.
And I really never thought the lesson would be driven home by Alex Pettyfer’s mole.

The situation:

My debut novel, HOURGLASS, came out this summer. Even though I was warned not
to, I set Google alerts with my name and the book’s name, scanned Goodreads for
reviews, and checked blogs of reviewers who I knew were reading.

I prepared myself for the outcomes of these searches. I was actively looking, so I
was asking for trouble, right? Not every book is for every person. Taste is subjective.
Reviews are full of opinions. I knew being hurt at some point was inevitable.

What I wasn’t prepared for was what I came across by accident. Do you know you
can search Twitter?

I wish I didn’t.

I stumbled my way into a conversation about my book, my plot choices, and my
complete lack of writing talent. I believe the words “ZZZZZZ” and “snooze fest” were
used. One participant asked, “I mean really, how many times can the heroine throw
the hero over her shoulder?” (In HOURGLASS, only once, and he totally deserved it.)

As I watched the conversation in real time, my stomach turned, my face got hot, and
I did that weird thing where you shape your lips into a smile, but they don’t really
stay. They shake, and get rubbery, and then the point comes where you can’t tell the
drool from your tears. That’s when I screen capped the whole thing and sent it to my
closest friends to garner support. I also showed it to my husband.

He was shocked. “How can they say those things about you? And some of the stuff
they’re saying about your story, they aren’t right, are they?” They weren’t right. And
the very best part was that only one of the three had actually read the book.

That’s when I removed the search for my name and my book from my Twitter feed. I
also turned off my Google alerts. I deleted the screen caps and tried to put the whole
thing behind me.

The object lesson:

A few days later, I was discussing Alex Pettyfer with someone I’d just met. I was
pissed off at Alex’s complete lack of enthusiasm about the opportunity to play Jace
Wayland in The Mortal Instruments movies. The Internet and most fandoms were
behind him 100%, but he remained non-committal and acted kind of bored/insulted
by the whole thing.

So I poked fun at his mole. The one between his nose and his lip.

It was an offhand comment, and was intended only for the ears of the person I was
talking to. No one was around to hear it. Saying it was “safe.”

Except, two weeks later, I was driving down the road, and the comment came back
to me. It bounced off the walls of my brain, became a lump in my throat, and settled
somewhere in my heart region.

How was what I said about Alex Pettyfer any different from what the girls on
Twitter said about me? I don’t know him – he could be perfectly lovely. I might not
care for his mole, but there are likely thousands of women out there who would
probably lick it off his face.

It doesn’t matter if I said it about Alex P. or someone I saw in the grocery store
parking lot. What I said was ugly. It didn’t lift anyone up, or bring anyone joy. It
made me look petty and mean, and what’s most important, it made me feel petty and
mean. Because it was petty and mean.

Anything that touches me like that and sticks around deserves consideration,
so I took a big step back and reevaluated some things. Asked myself some hard
questions.

1) What kind of person did I want to be on the inside, where it counts?
2) When I went to bed at night, did I want to feel shame about being funny or
amusing at the expense of someone else, or did I want to feel happy because
I’d loved someone well that day?
3) In the grand scheme of life, what matters more – what people think of my
book, or what people think of me? What others think of me, or what I think of
me?

Ultimately, I’m glad I came across that Twitter conversation that night. I’m glad I
made an ignorant comment about Alex Pettyfer’s mole a few days later. And I’m
really glad, for whatever reason, that those two things connected themselves in my
wee brain.

The lesson:

Kindness matters. And if that’s all I learned in the past year, then every single
second of sadness and shame was worth it.

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Remember, HOURGLASS is available now. Go get your copy now!

Guest Post: Elana Johnson on a Lesson Learned

Elana Johnson is a fellow Bookanista. She’s thoughtful and funny and one helluva dancer. And when I got my first book deal earlier this year, she generously offered me a lot of advice. She did this at a time when I didn’t even know what questions to ask, and I’m so in her debt. All I can do is pay it forward to the next clueless author getting a deal – and I know Elana would appreciate that. That’s the kind of person she is.  Her debut novel POSSESSION is out in stores now so go get it! Read on to see what lesson Elana has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

The Greatest Lesson I Learned:

Okay, so Cory asked me to talk about the biggest lesson I’ve learned over this past year. I wish I could say it was patience. See, there are so many things to be patient about in the publishing industry. You wait on query letters you have out. You wait to hear back. You wait for your cover. Your edits. Everything.

Unfortunately, I’m still waiting, and it’s still one of the hardest things ever. So I haven’t learned all the patience I need. Hopefully, you have, but if not, don’t worry. There’s always something to wait for in publishing. You’ll have your shot to learn this lesson.

Here’s what I learned that I wish everyone would hear and know and tell themselves over and over while they wait: There is no “last” in the publishing industry, because it’s not a race.

I used to suffer through every book release, wondering if June 7 would ever really come. *insert whiny voice* I was last. And it was awful.

Once I realized it wasn’t a race, I stopped dreading every Tuesday. I’ve learned that “last” doesn’t exist. There will always be an industry for good storytelling and stellar stories, either this fall or in December or next summer, or beyond.

So take off those running shorts, and toss the cross-trainers in the trash. Publishing is not a race. Just because someone else “crosses the finish line” before you, doesn’t mean you won’t get there. Just focus on writing the best story you can, and you’ll eventually see your book on the shelves.

Go buy your copy of POSSESSION now!