Thoughtful About . . . Finding Your Place

With the ACFW Conference in Denver only a week away (woo hoo!), my thoughts have inevitably turned to the dual hope/fear of finding that perfect editor (or not) for the book I’ll be pitching.

Up until two days ago, I didn’t even know what I would pitch. I have a few books that were possibilities, but my agent systematically eliminated them all. “No historicals this year,” followed by “too sophisticated to break in with” followed by “needs work.” I sent her my ocean book, now titled Yesterday’s Tides thanks to y’all, with a cringe. As close as I feel to this book, I groaned at the very thought of getting another “Not the thing” on it. Not to mention it would leave me with nothing to try to sell. So you can imagine my relief and Joy when my agent sent me a series of emails with “One sheet is good. Interesting idea,” “Synopsis is good. I really like how you handle this story,” and “Yes, pitch this one. I’ll have it read by the time you get back, and we’ll make any tweaks necessary before sending it to the editors who request it.” Whew! Step one down.

Now for Step Two: finding an editor who loves this book as much as I (and my critique partners) do. Never a guarantee, obviously. In the two years since my last conference, I have sighed many a time over the fact that the editors out there haven’t jumped at the Victorian series that captured my agent’s attention. You just never know.

But said critique partners have done so much for me. Not just in critiquing my work, but in building me up. Stephanie said once, “You know why you’ll succeed? Because you keep writing new things, looking for that one that’ll break you in. You don’t sit back and wait. You keep coming up with new stuff, better stuff.” The twenty manuscripts on my computer prove the “you keep writing” part, lol. Then Mary said of Yesterday’s Tides that she had a threefold prayer for it: that it would sell soon, that it would be a bestseller, and that it would win a Christy. A dream for everyone, for sure. And it really touched me that Mary believed in this story enough to beseech the Lord for it in such a big way. And then Carole made me preen by saying I was becoming one of her favorite authors–a label she doesn’t give out easily. Could a writer have a better group of friends and encouragers?

On one of my loops, we’ve been talking about that place we all visit sometimes where the not-knowing-where-we’re-going gets so overwhelming. Where the fear outweighs the hope. Where you question your calling, your ability, your everything. Roseanna the Optimist doesn’t often dwell on that, but I wonder. I wonder if the encouraging news I got on two different projects last week will come to anything–and if it’ll come in time for conference. I wonder if all the work I’ve put into other projects will ever amount to anything or if they’ll molder on my computer for all time. I wonder if, when I finally do get published on a national level, I’ll have any readers. I wonder if the re-release of A Stray Drop of Blood will actually sell.

All things I can’t know. Things that could lead to those “Is this where you want me, Lord?” questions. But as I’m getting ready to head to Denver and pitch a project I love and believe in, I’m instead getting excited about what He might have in store. The fact that I will even be pitching this story, when I had assumed it off the table, is enough to excite me. I finished its rewrites a year ago, but everyone kept losing it, forgetting about it . . . it wasn’t it’s time. Now it seems to be. Will that result in the “perfect editor”? I don’t know. But it gives me hope.

Thoughtful About . . . Rewrites

Many, many moons ago I started writing a book. Well, it started as a short story, which pivoted around the crucifixion. As I went through college, I kept bringing it out over holidays and summer breaks, writing, writing, writing. I had a hard time writing it when class was in session, because both school and the story were so intense that I couldn’t hold both in my little brain;-) But because the first two years of my college focused on the era, I absorbed. Sponged. Took notes. I finally finished the book within a week of my college graduation.

Now, my hubby had spent the past for years working in printing and felt led to start a print shop of his own. Only, he didn’t want to print business cards. He wanted to published books. So naturally, we decided that I was the only possible person to use as a guinea pig, lol. Hence why A Stray Drop of Blood was the launching title of WhiteFire Publishing. He has since added other titles to the WFP lineup, learned a lot . . . and I’ve learned a lot about writing. So. My publisher and I (ahem) have decided it’s time to do Stray Drop justice and start over. (Okay, partly because we’re running out of hardbacks [woo hoo!] and don’t want it to go out of print, so have decided to release a paperback. And since that requires a new ISBN anyway, I might as well improve the book too!)

For my husband, this decision is a lot of logistics, most of them nightmarish. For me, it means going back through a book I love and hacking it to pieces. I love it the way it is. I do. And if the only people to read it were readers, I’d leave it as it is. But I have a lot of writing friends now, and I’m totally embarrassed to let them read my headhopping and adverbs and . . . lol. So I’m going to take a few weeks and “correct” my manuscript. Trim it down. Make it tighter. And, please Lord, improve the story I still adore, which I believe in to the core of my being.

That said, I’m going to need endorsers (already have a few) and influencers (ditto), a new cover design (have a few ideas but lack the skill to do them), and time to work (don’t know where I’m gonna pull that from). If anyone is interested in taking on one of the first three slots (or play babysitter, lol), let me know! Cover designer will obviously be paid. Influencers and endorsers will receive a copy of the book and my eternal gratitude. 😉

You can see info on the book at my website to get an idea of what it’s about and if you’d find it interesting.

Thoughtful About . . . New Things

This has been a landmark week. For a family whose method of budgeting is usually “Don’t spend any money!” we’ve gone on a spending spree. A necessary one, granted. But still.

A goodly little while ago, our fridge started leaking. Leaking rusty water, that is. My solution? Put an old towel there to catch it, lol. Then a week ago I noticed that food was spoiling about four times faster than it should. So we finally bit the bullet and went fridge shopping. Found a fabulous deal in the scratch and dent section at Lowe’s (not that you can even see the ding), and my beautiful, black, side-by-side with dispenser fridge showed up on Tuesday.

This after a very successful shopping trip with my MIL on Monday. Only clothes (belated birthday shopping) but still exciting. Then yesterday we ordered a laptop to replace the one that died back in the fall. So many new things! Needless to say, I’m thrilled.

My daughter, on the other hand, stood there in the kitchen when we got the new fridge in and the old one out, and pouted. “I’m gonna miss our old fridge,” she said. “It was so beautiful.”

Now, the old fridge was far from beautiful. It had rust stains all over it, the finish was coming off the freezer, it didn’t seal right . . . the thing was undoubtedly older than I am. I asked her if she thought the new fridge was pretty too, and she said, “Yes, but I want the old one.”

Part of me thought, “Wow. This girl is so resistant to change–something I guess we all can be sometimes, even when the change is obviously good.” And then I had another thought. Aren’t we glad we have a God who loves us even when we’re old and ugly and not working right? When we’re rusty and spoiled and left to sit out in the elements? I think we all go through times in life when that describes us. And not only does the Lord still call us beautiful, He also loves us so much that He’ll painstakingly restore us–not just replace us with shinier model;-)

It’s been a few days, and my girl-o definitely likes the new fridge. But she’ll still look outside to where the old one is awaiting the return of the Lowe’s guys and say, “I miss the old fridge. It’s so beautiful.” And even while I think, “Not me!” I still smile at the sweet spirit of my little tyke and praise the Lord for that kind of love.

Thoughtful About . . . Angels

When I was very little (as in, from 2 to 4 1/2 years old) my family lived in a split-foyer house. There are things I remember about this house–my room. The kitchen with the breakfast bar separating it from the dining room.

The stairs.

Why, you ask, do I remember the stairs? Interesting and weird story. I have a few memories relating to this. The first few are of approaching the stairs, pausing to make sure no one else was looking, and then jumping. Three years old, mind you. Jumping down the stairs. Now that I have a 3-yr-old of my own, this is even more terrifying.

But I did it because for some reason, I knew I wouldn’t fall on those stairs. I knew–knew–that I could leap down that first flight to the landing and would just float along, landing oh-so-softly on my feet.

And I knew that if I tried it on the second flight down to the basement, I’d fall and hurt myself.

There were a few other things I knew. First, I couldn’t tell anyone about it or do it when they were watching. Second, I could only do it until my next birthday.

Had you asked me at the time how this was possible, I would have said, “Angels carry me down.” Another thing I just knew. And interestingly, my family didn’t attend church back then. I had no “religious upbringing” to-date. So how I knew this . . . Eyes of a child, I suppose.

But I was a stubborn child. (Who, me? Never! LOL.) On that birthday, in spite of knowing I couldn’t and shouldn’t, I checked to make sure no one was watching and then took a flying leap . . . and a giant tumble. My mom came running, and couldn’t understand why in the world I’d tried to jump down the stairs.

Years later I finally told my mom about this, and she got this strange look on her face. “You flew down the stairs?” she asked. Then she shook her head. “I did the same thing when I was a kid. It was angels.”

Maybe my family’s just weird. Or maybe this a priori faith in the world beyond our vision is something inherent in children, something they understand the rules of . . . but something they grow out of.

Makes me wonder what my daughter sees when she looks out over a revival meeting and asks, “Why’s there an alligator on that man’s head?” Or when she looks to the corner of the room and smiles. I’m willing to grant imagination on a lot of things, but I also remember so clearly that certain knowledge that there were angels there, waiting to give me a ride . . . for a time. So long as I obeyed the rules.

In all my life I don’t remember ever seeing an angel–certainly not since I became a believer and grew up into adulthood. But I find it even more interesting that my one personal experience with them pre-dates my education in faith. Just goes to show you, I guess–there’s a lot we can teach kids about God.

And a lot they can teach us.

Thoughtful . . . About Romance

It’s a topic I’ve written about before. Romance in novels–what we expect from them, what we expect from life because of them. There are some people who have been adversely affected by them, drawn astray or given unrealistic expectations. There are others who had found inspiration and the draw of the Lord.

I firmly believe that the call of a Christian Romance writer is to try for that second option–we want to pain a picture of love and romance as God intends it to be. Maybe not perfect from the get-go, mind you, but with characters who are all messed up and find the one the Lord intends for them anyway.

We’ve been discussing this on one of the groups I belong to, and one thing that came up was how quickly things tend to happen in romances. Ignoring the disturbingly-fast tendency to jump into bed with each other in secular novels, even in CBA a story usually only covers a few weeks. Is that really enough time to fall in love? To know?

Yes and no. In my opinion, it’s plenty of time to feel that burst of love and know this is one God has in mind for you–it’s just not enough time to be ready for marriage (generally speaking). And in thinking about this, it occurs to me that in the majority of my manuscripts, I avoid this problem by having main characters who already know each other very well by the opening of the book.

In Fire Eyes, they grew up together. In Mafia Princess they grew up together. In Peculiar they grew up together. In Note to Self, the one I just finished on Tuesday (woo hoo!), they’d known each other for about five years. Sure, once in while I’ll write something where they don’t–but it’s an issue for them. One that requires certainty from the Lord and some serious prayer before they make any decisions.

This is a broad topic, and I might touch on other parts of it in later weeks. But for now, I’d love to hear other opinions on the pitfalls and virtues of the romance novel (Christian ones in particular) and how they should be handled–in writing and in life.

Thoughtful . . . On the Moon

My daughter has this thing. Instead of, you know, looking to see where I am, she’ll call out, “Mommy! Where are you?”

Now, usually I’m about two feet away, just behind her. So I’m obligated to give a silly answer, right? I mean, I can’t just say, “Right here.” That’s way too obvious for someone with my caliber of wit (ha. ha ha ha.). So I’ve taken to saying, “On the moon.”

Depending on her mood, she might ignore me, she might laugh, she might insist, “No, you’re not!” she might then pretend that the woman in the living room is someone else and talk about her mommy, who is currently on the moon . . . or she might pretend like she’s on the moon with me.

That’s the most fun–to see the imagination come to life in my toddler. I’m constantly amazed by her recall and the things she’ll put together. And I get a little flutter in my heart when she tells me she’s going to write books someday too. Yeah, she’s only three–chances are pretty darn good her goals will change a few times, lol. But still.

Yesterday she sat down at my computer, asked me to give her a blank page, and just sat there typing. Most of it looked like this:

asdfahghasduoijangaehrlausdfoivasrueioransdghosdb8ibf fsiorutawlktj

With the occasional “xoe” thrown in. =) But it was so cool for me, because my little girl’s sitting there trying to do what I do, saying as she does it that she’s writing it for me.

It’s those little things that make it all worthwhile. That get my imagination going. Because you just never know what you might discover when you’re on the moon with your little girl.

~*~

FYI, I just redesigned my website. If you’re curious, or want more of my breathtaking wit (ahem), hop over to www.RoseannaMWhite.com. And feel free to leave a note in the guestbook so that I feel special;-)