In the publishing industry, sales numbers are king. They rule the day. They determine whether you earn out your advance, whether you get any royalties, whether you get another contract. They determine what the advance on your next contract will be. Sales numbers are the measure by which a writer’s success in gauged.

Roseanna isn’t much of a success, LOL.

Now, I’m small press at this point, so expectations are different. We don’t expect to sell 50K in the first year. (Would like to, but . . .) We don’t expect to hit any charts. (Would like to, but . . .) We don’t expect to do much more than break even, so I’m not holding my breath on royalties. (Would like to, but . . .)

In a way, the fact that I can actually count my sales is humbling. I mean, other authors on one of my loops were talking about sales that must be in the tens-of-thousands category for our genre or they’re a flop. A friend of mine is dealing with needing to boost her sales in order to get another contract. Me, I don’t have to worry about my publisher, given that I’m married to him. 😉 But I do have to consider whether or not this book can be used as a stepping stone to contracts with bigger publishers, which is unlikely without those all-important numbers.

But you know, I had a realization yesterday. We got an email from the head of a book club who is interested in doing Stray Drop with her group and was inquiring about the discounts WhiteFire offers. And I got excited. Not just “Hey, that would be cool,” but giddy-excited. Because my numbers are small enough that each one counts, each one is important, and each one makes me praise the Lord. There’s something cool about that. About knowing that each book we ship out gets covered with praise, each one is sent with my love. Each reader is important to me.

Yes, I hope that someday I won’t actually be able to count all of my readers, I hope that I won’t have to jump up and down each time an order comes in. But I hope I never lose my excitement for the people that take an interest in my stories, that I never take readership for granted.

Sales matter in publishing, yes–and I’m so thankful for each individual one. =)

~*~

Have you ever paused to take account of your friends? Tried to categorize them? Mentally nudged a particular person from one category to the next? How do you rate them/think of them/judge them? Do you have friends like the ones we see in novels, that gal pal who’s always there to shed light on our darkest moments?

Yesterday I spent the day with one of my oldest friends. As our little girls ran around and played, Amber and I chatted about things like growth and development and homeschooling (things that come up often when you put two young mothers together, lol), our families, our husbands, our goals. And throughout this came a few memories–like the roller skating circuses we used to have in my basement, some of the old jokes that would have us laughing for hours. We yet again fielded questions of “Are you two sisters?” and answered, as we always did, with, “Yep,” even though we share no blood.

Amber is one of those “always” friends in my mind. Her family was in missions for most of her childhood, so while I was home living my normal life in my normal family, she was off in exotic locales being homeschooled while they ministered to gypsies and the underprivileged. Because of that, we only saw each other a few times a year and never talked on the phone. But when we got together–watch out! We had a ton of fun to make up for! In highschool Amber moved back to our area and attended my school, and our moms would be like, “Why don’t you call each other? Get together?” And we’d look at each other and be like, “Oh, I guess we could . . .” but it wasn’t the way we worked. Still, we always knew that we were “always” friends. You know?

I have other friends I used to be closer to, but who have drifted apart. A few of those I’ve had to nudge from the “best” category down to the “passing” category, some all the way into “used-to-be.” A few from back in the day I consider “low maintenance,” because we can go months at a time without talking and then just pick back up. Those are handy in this busy world.

I have my “highschool” friends. I feared falling into having “college” friends, but those remain “constant” even now. I have those friends I made in Annapolis, but I refuse to call them “Annapolis” friends. We might not see each other often, but they deserve the “constant” title too.

Then I started making “writing” friends. I have a ton of these now, and I’m thankful for each and every one. But the ones that moved from mere “writing” friends to critique partners are the dearest to me, because they’ve become real, true, genuine friends, above and beyond writing. Some of those writing friends, who were also just internet friends, I now talk to more than my local friends, more than my own mother in some cases (though I talk to my mom a lot!)

At which point I have to mention Stephanie. We started emailing about writing, but we were also both pregnant at the time, so we’d chat about that too. As the months passed and turned into years, our emails increased and we told each other every passing thought, it seemed, so that we realized simultaneously that this “writing” friend, this “internet” friend had become a “best.” When we met for the second time in September, we joked that we wouldn’t know how to talk without computers between us, but that was no problem. Together with Mary and Carole, our other awesome friends who round out our critique group, we had a fabulous time.

I’m sure I have a point to all this, but I think it’s mostly a reflection of the roles friends play in my life, and how grateful I am for each and every one. It seems like each one has a special place, ministers to me in her own way. And after spending the day with Amber, I just wanted to give a nod to friends old and new. No matter where we met or how much time goes by between chats, you’re all so dear to me. Thanks!

And while I’m reminding, don’t forget to check out giveaways of A Stray Drop of Blood on ICFW, A Fiction-Filled Life, and Mary’s Musings.

When David got his Jeep, it was only a few years old but had over a hundred thousand miles–it was a guy’s business vehicle, and he made a lot of trips with it. All highway miles, and it had been very well maintained. This was round about the time the Anastasia animated movie came out, which I adored. I promptly dubbed his Jeep Bartok, after the little white bat in the movie, which was by far my favorite character. (The Jeep’s green, but you know. Who cares about details like that?)

So, Bartok the Jeep underwent more commuting with David’s step-father, who drives for a living . . . and then went to college with us. College was 2.5 hours away, just close enough to mean we came home every other weekend or so. Far enough that those miles kept piling up on the odometer.

Bartok now has approximately 370,000 miles. Yes, you read that right. Three hundred seventy THOUSAND miles. (We’re doing all we can to get it to a million. Think the Jeep folks will give us some kind of prize for that??)

Well, when a fifteen year-old Jeep has that many miles, you just have to assume it’s going to be even quirkier than I am. That weird jingle? Yeah, that’s been there for years. The vibration in the dash? Get used to it.

But sometimes Bartok goes beyond quirky and into growl-inducing. Yes, it’s to be expected. But when the thing follows up weird noises and fritzed-out dash lights/blinkers/heaters with not restarting? Not. Cool. Luckily, this happened the other day when we were at the Library, so had it not started back up, we would have at least been stranded with limitless reading material. =)

For those curious, my hubby managed to jiggle wires in the steering column until the key would turn and we could get home, but still. I had to give Bartok a pat and say something like, “Poor old boy. We’ll get you fixed up.”

Because you just can’t abandon a work horse that will gladly travel over chunks of ice, puddles of slush, barrels of mud, and feet of snow. A machine that keeps going and going as that half-mil mark draws ever closer on its odometer. A member of the family that will probably outlast the more stylish and luxurious Xander, who lives in the garage bay beside it.

So here’s to Bartok. You deserve a toast, baby. We’ll get you all fixed up with a new relay or whatever in no time. (And will have that rust fixed soon too!) Three cheers to you, ol’ boy!

~*~

~*~

Yesterday morning, I received what every author dreads: a rejection. And this isn’t your run-of-the-mill, “Thanks, but after reading the proposal, it’s not what we’re looking for.” This comes after a year of encouragement, of high praise, and of a statement that they wanted it and would have a letter of intent to me “soon.”

“Soon” somehow became, “sorry.” Which makes Roseanna go “sigh” and “sniffle” and even a short “sob” before I get a grip on myself.

I’m an old friend with rejection. I’ve been submitting manuscripts since I was fourteen years old, so I’ve obviously gotten my fair share. Everything from the boiler-plate “thanks but no thanks” letters to some very personal, very encouraging apologies. That’s what this one was. The editor loved the story and wants to work with me, but their line’s going in a different direction. I understand that. Really I do. And I appreciate that she offered to talk with me about coming up with another idea.

But that doesn’t make it any easier, you know? For a year, my hopes have been so high on this project. I really, truly believed that this was my “given,” that the encouragement meant I could count on it. But when an optimist like me gets news like this . . . well, there’s some deflation. There’s a headache. There’s some glumness in a royal shade of blue.

And there’s a question of, “What was the point of this, Lord? I know You have a purpose for me, for every bump, for every bruise. I know there’s a reason this was dragged out so long only to end in a disheartening ‘no.’ So if You could just let me know what that is . . . ?”

There’s no magic cure for disappointment, no Band-aid you can put on it, no steps you can follow to put it neatly behind you and keep plugging away. But still, I woke up today feeling okay. Happy, even. Because yesterday I saw the true mettle of the people I love. My friends not only rallied around me with cheer and encouragement and lots of, “You’re too talented not to get picked up soon by a big house!” they had me laughing. They had the optimist in me quickly resurging.

My hubby and I ended up going out for a much-needed date last night, too, and talking to him is always a balm on my soul. I ended my day yesterday knowing that even if life makes us cry now and then, we serve a God who dries our tears. So thank you, Lord, for wrapping your arms around me. And thank you, my awesome friends, for being those arms.

~*~

It strikes me at least once a week that my world is pretty much wrapped up in the internet. Especially when I get to church and someone says something about talking to strangers that you come across each day in an attempt to let Jesus shine through you.

Um . . . there are many days that go by without me seeing anyone other than my family. We’ve started doing The Master’s Way DVD stuff about evangelizing, and one of the challenges is to talk to 5 people each day. To approach strangers, even to offer them a smile. For someone who doesn’t see 5 people a day, this seemed like a monumental challenge.

Then it hit me. I may not see people face-to-face every day, but our world really is online these days. I mean, I’ve only met my best friend in person twice. We’ve only spoken on the phone a couple handfuls of times. But we email constantly. I’m talking at least 2, as many as 18 (if I recall our ludicrous record) times a day. And that’s just Stephanie. I email many, many other people each day too. I comment on Facebook. On blogs. I answer questions on the ACFW loop. So you know . . . I really do talk to strangers each day and offer them virtual smiles.

The Master’s Way is going to be leading us up to witnessing to these total strangers, so naturally one of the first things they ask is, “Do you share your faith regularly?” After the obligatory questions of “What do you mean by ‘regularly’? And what do you mean by ‘share’?” (I mean, come on. Do you want to know if I do street ministry? If I’m just open to talking about it? What??), I realized that yes, in fact I do share my faith regularly. I blog about my challenges and realizations. I talk to people online about faith and how it fits in my life, how it leads me.

I’m not sure what Kirk Cameron (who put out The Master’s Way) was thinking about this type of ministry when he pointed out that we’re all called to minister, but I think it’s perfectly valid in this day and age. And more, I think it’s critical that we acknowledge it. I think it’s important that all those other people out there like me, who spend most of their days at home in front of their computers, realize that they’re touching people. Reaching people. Talking to people, ministering to people through their keyboards, their typed words. Their blogs, their Facebook posts, the Loop emails.

We’re in an E-world . . . and you know what? That’s a pretty awesome thing for the Kingdom of God. I may not be pounding the streets every day with Bible in hand, but I’m pounding Cyberspace with BibleGateway.com up in one of my tabs. And that’s not just okay–that’s really stinking cool.

The Master has a lot of ways of reaching people. Which one of them is the one that works for you?