Another Trip to Frewyn - The Blog Hop for Tales of Frewyn

Michelle Franklin takes us back to Frewyn! 

Join her as she tells us all about it!

The Haanta Series is the longest, ongoing, online romantic fantasy series. Thousands of readers visit the world of the Two Continents to enjoy the daily short stories featuring all their favorite characters from the Haanta Series novels. In between the business of the books, the commander, Rautu, Otenohi, Unghaahi, Leraa, Kai Linaa and Alasdair enjoy some time together in Diras Castle, but as the stories portray, mischief lies in every corner of the keep where spiders, chocolate pies, petulant giants and grouchy cooks abound.

 

From the short story “The Five-Second Rule”

There was a long-standing rule in the kingdom of Frewyn pertaining to food that had gained tolerable popularity, but while it was followed with decent devoutness, the exact stipulations of this rule had gone mostly unspoken: the Five-Second Rule, though a favourite with many a man in Frewyn, contended that any meal which had the unfortunate claim of falling to the ground might again be picked up if done within the boundaries of five seconds. There were other more precarious iterations of the practice that allowed for a period of ten seconds, but those who kept such a prolonged observance were certain to die from the disease that would latch onto the fallen article within the added time. It was generally unknown when this practice had begun or whence in the kingdom it came, and while it may have begun as a means of salvaging food during times of privation, the rule was soon a settled thing, ingrained into many a mind and practiced by young and old.

Men were the great champions at applying this rule, for those who took their daily feriation in the taverns asperged about the kingdom became well versed in the art of reclaiming a fallen slice or two during their bouts of mild insobriety. It became a sport, the finer points of which were discussed and remonstrated over pints of Mother Morlund and Go to the Wall. Rules within the rules were made: damp and dirty floors must never be eaten from, cooked meats and steamed foods must be left for the hounds, but anything that was somewhat dry and could be easily swept away might be taken up again and eaten with tolerable comfort.

Fallen food, once assessed by a discerning eye, could not be eaten with careless alacrity; it must first be subjected to the proper scrutiny, must be blown upon and turned over and blown upon again, must be examined for any excessive debris, must be burnished with a somewhat clean hand or polished with a corner of a sleeve, and then it might be passed round and subjected to a public assessment before it could be deemed eatable. All this, seemingly a waste of time and effort, while prized by many a Frewyn farmer, had been used to horrify the Den Asaan. Many time during the Galleisian War had he observed a cern or a captain reclaiming fallen provisions, and while to lose dried beef and cured pork was a terrible thing, it was far more terrible to see a sullied piece, knocked about by many a boot, taken up and eaten. The poor giant agonized over such a practice. He should starve rather than eat something that had been so bemired. His chief horror in the business was in seeing the cerns take up a fallen piece which had been kicked about and trod upon and eat it without any attempt to clean it. The giant's looks of horrified disdain garnered an explanation: the ground, though dirt itself, was not dirty, and indeed there was no time in a war to bother with cleanliness or epicurism. Disgusted by such an insalubrious practice, the Den Asaan had avowed never to understand it and swore never to accept such a ridiculous rule, but the imminent loss of a piece of Tyfferim Dark, forged by the hands of so skilled a chocolatier, soon changed his mind.

He stood at the kitchen table, unpacking a delivery made to him from Diras Delights, and as Betsiegh was in the secret of the giant's favourite treats, she had placed the large slab of Tyfferim Dark at the top of the parcel. Instantly, upon opening the box, did the giant attack the chocolate, tearing away the thick brown packing paper with all the fervency that his dependence could excite. His eagerness, however, had been his ruin: a small piece of chocolate broke from the bar as he finished unwrapping it, tumbling down and skittering across the ground, stopping at the foot of the table, waiting patiently to be picked up and admired and eaten. Consternation struck him most forcibly: what was he to do? He could not merely leave it derelict and forlorn, but taking it up only to throw it away should be an unbearable shame.

About the AuthorMichelle Franklin is a small woman of moderate consequence who writes many, many books about giants, romance, and chocolate.

Blog Tour Link: http://wp.me/p30w17-5w

Add the book to Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11162598-tales-from-frewyn

Buy links: Amazon (http://viewBook.at/B00BLGQJUM)  

Barnes and Noble (http://bit.ly/WXSeaB) 

 iTunes (http://bit.ly/Zn3fQh)  

Kobo (http://bit.ly/13nPhmh) 

Smashwords (http://bit.ly/YzMm4m)

Social media links:

Website (http://thehaanta.blogspot.ca/) 

Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Michelle-Franklin-and-the-Haanta-series/129616710425835) | 

Twitter (https://twitter.com/MrsDenAsaan)

Congrats, Clare Wilson!

One of my oldest and best twitter author friends, Clare Wilson, is launching her second book, and my blog is part of the release celebration! Today Clare tells us about her experiences as a traditionally and self-published author. 

Congrats again, Clare! You've written another lovely book! How I wish I could be there for your launch party and get an autographed copy. Have a lot of fun! x

PS: And yes; you ARE an author!

Between a Rockin' Ebook and a Hardback Copy

There have been countless articles written on the merits and disadvantages of self publishing versus traditional. One thing is for certain, the world of publishing is going through its biggest change since the rise of the affordable paperback, and we as writers all need to roll with the punches.

As a young writer (relatively speaking), I have never been a part of the old-school publishing world. Any writer will tell you, the people getting lottery win advances are few and far between. Much to my frustration, most of these people tend to be celebrities either writing about their boring lives, or fulfilling their hidden dreams to pen fiction. How much of it is directly written by such people is another hot topic for debate, but as mere artists, ours is not to reason why...

Anyway, I wanted to talk a little bit about where I find myself in this mystifying new universe of books. I am not a self-publishing evangelist, nor, as I have said, am I a die hard traditional publishing stalwart. I strangely lie somewhere in a murky grey area betwixt the two.

My first book The Long Staff was published by Olida Publishing in October 2010, and the second book in this series The Ancient Exile is being officially released as of the start of May 2013. Olida is one of the many up and coming indie publishing houses, which are pushing the big boys to sit up and take notice. In my case, they are responsible for the hard copies of my Staff Wielder Books, and do not have the e-book publishing rights. While I don't know how common this is, it has given me a rather unique learning opportunity. I am responsible for self-publishing my book online, while my publisher has produced a fabulous hard copy of each title and also provides me with the benefits therein.

Since my book was released in 2010, my relationship with my publisher has allowed me to gain access to such organisations as The Society of Authors. I have visited a good number of schools as a 'published' author, and this has allowed me to reach out to an audience that wouldn't be more complicated to reach from behind my laptop.

I have also had my book appear at such prestigious events as The Edinburgh Book Festival and the Bologna Book Fair. Finally, a highlight for me was getting to appear on the official programme at The Wigtown Book Festival in 2012. 

Being affiliated to a publisher has also opened the doors to great organisations like The Scottish Book Trust, who have enabled me to perform at paid school events north or the border, something which greatly boosts a non-existent income. 

The one area which still eludes me is the bookstore... While I have had some great support from that rare breed, the independent bookstore, chain stores like Waterstones are much harder to crack. I don't come from a large publishing house, so getting in the door is extremely difficult, even with my publisher. 

Still, maybe as bookstores dwindle, this is something that doesn't matter to the same extent. There is a worldwide audience out there, and through the internet, no-one is unreachable any more, even if you need to be smart about where you look.

So, we come to my self-publishing experience. I find that I have learned a great deal, and also been given a great deal of freedom. The editions of the books which appear online are ones which I have been able to finally edit myself. Not only that, but I have control over the pricing of the books, and I can track sales figures at any time, rather than waiting for a statement from my publisher. I have been able to reach a great many new readers online through Twitter and Facebook, using my control over my ebook as a tremendous tool. 

Using KDP with my first book, I have been able to achieve more than double the figures in downloads than I have in hard copy sales, even if a lot of these were when my book was on special offer. 

So, in conclusion, where does this leave me? As I said, I am neither a self-published author, nor am I paid cash advances by a publisher with the clout to get me in shop windows or on TV book clubs. I am the little indie author who sits between the two worlds, belonging to neither, yet striving to succeed in both. I don't think traditional publishing is dead, but, like Professor X's new generation of humans, there are some super-smart writers out there, swimming upstream. They won't be ignored and they won't wait for an illusive deal with an agent or publisher.

Who am I? I write, therefore I am... I may not make a serious living yet, but I AM a writer.

Author – To Be Or Not To Be

A friend in the publishing industry just posted this question on Facebook:

"Just curious ... has being an author turned out to be what you expected? Or something completely different?"

She caught me at just right time and mood for a crabby, tired and uninspired response. 

This is what I said: 

 “It's more, and less. There's a hell of a lot more work involved, with all the promoting and marketing that is expected (even though I'm traditionally published), and a lot less money than I thought. 

It takes a lot more patience and good will than I expected too.

To sum it up, it's a job like any other, with ups and downs, bad days and good days, some perks, and then there are those moments when you want to throw everything in a corner. 

But it's also living a dream.”

There's really very little to add to this.

And yes, the question made me feel strangely crabby.

During the past four days I've written exactly three sentences on the novel that is due for submission in July. I have 50K words written, which is a little more than a third of the book, and time is running. I'm not a fast writer; 2000 words a day is my limit.

So yes, I feel the pressure. And I'm one of those writers with a hint of OCD: I deliver on time, which, for me, means I deliver a month before the deadline. This is something I'm proud of. No publisher will ever have to remind me of my deadlines. This I promise.

But here's the thing, and this is what made me crabby just now.

Once you're an author, a writer who has signed a book deal, you're also someone who works for a company. Don't fool yourselves: it's just that. A book deal is nothing more but a work contract. The moment a publisher accepts your first book, everything changes, and this is something you have to realize. 

This isn't a hobby anymore. You now work for someone, and they want to see profits.

An author friend (pretty recently signed, I want to add) told me the other day, "All I want is to be published."

Really, dear heart?

I tried explaining to her that "just being published" is not how this thing works. That a publisher acquires manuscripts to sell them, and the more the better. They don't offer contracts because they "just" want to publish a pretty story. They want to make money, and preferably a lot. 

Things are harder for authors these days. With self-publishing swamping the market with cheap or free books, it's harder than ever for publishers to place their books so they'll be noticed.

I know, because I'm there.

Publishers expect authors to pull their own weight, and rightly so. The book we sold, it's our product, isn't it? We created it, and like an engineer who developed a new car or plane, or a rocket that will take tourists to Mars, we have to stand before the customers and sell our product.

It’s not just about the book anymore.

If you want to be successful as an author, you have to be a pop star.

Do you know Neil Gaiman?

Look at him, and you know what I mean. He’s a pop star among authors.

So if you want to be an author and not stay “just” a writer—which is totally fine–but if you aim to get your stuff published, move your butt. Leave your writer’s den and the cozy silence of your home and shine.

Make people notice you, and if you can, make them like you. Make them curious about you, and they’ll start reading your books, too.

So, back to the crabby.

Yes, I’m crabby.

I’m crabby because I’m not getting any writing done, when I should be writing, because…

Here’s another thing. 

As an author, you have to think corporate. 

It’s not just you and your publisher.

It’s you, and your editor, your copyeditor, your fellow authors at that publishing house, and dozens more people who depend on YOU. You’re part of a corporation. You’re making money for others, and they are making money for you. 

One of your fellow authors has a promotion running?

Get out and help! Use your network to help sell their book, and when it’s your turn, they’ll help you. Hopefully. If they have the right attitude.

I’m helping a fellow author right now. That’s why I’m not getting any writing done, and that makes me crabby.

But it’s a good kind of crabby, because I know tomorrow my own promotion begins, and my publisher, my editor, and afore-mentioned fellow author will work their butts off to support me.

We are not alone.

We don’t have to be alone.

Okay. Now that I’ve gotten this off my chest I’m going back to recruiting twitter friends. I’m asking them to help me spread the word tomorrow, when my own giveaway starts. So far, everyone I’ve asked has gladly offered help, and I’m deeply grateful to them.

I think we’ll have a blast. 

So see you tomorrow on twitter, Pinterest, Google+ or Facebook, where you can grab a pretty neat present from my publisher and me!I 

I mean - haven't you always wanted to read one of my books and just never got a chance? ;)

Almost a Hobbit

It's funny how these blog hops change things.
Suddenly, I'm friends with so many more people, people I knew from Twitter but who seemed so far away in space and time that we never really got to talking.
One of these people is the wonderful Carrie Bailey, who lives in New Zealand. It's the other end of the world, for me.
When I asked her if she would participate in my blog hop for Under The Same Sun she agreed immediately, which is why New Zealand is reading about me and my books right now. Well – not all of New Zealand, of course. But some folks.
Here is one interesting snippet about Carrie: she was almost a hobbit.
When Peter Jackson went to New Zealand to film "Lord of the Rings" she almost applied to be an extra in the movies, as a hobbit. But she didn't. Which is why I can't point at the screen every time we watch those movies and say, "Do you see that hobbit girl with the tankards? That's my friend!"

So here is Carrie's guest blog. Welcome to Germany, Carrie!

A month ago I was watching television in my moldy little Wellington apartment with my kiwi (New Zealander) boyfriend when what might have been the single greatest opportunity of my life flashed across the screen. “Watch all your favorite shows at the same time as the Americans!” 

That struck a cord. I’ve always lived in strange and isolated areas and grew up out of range of cable broadcasting. I remember thinking as a kid living on the westernmost point of the Oregon coast, “Hey wait a minute! Those people in Eastern Standard Time get to see National Geographic before we do.” Such things leave one feeling somehow left out, don’t they?

Since moving to New Zealand, I’ve come to believe that time zone related resentment is an understudied phenomenon. I don't often watch television, but knowing I could have access to it at the same time as my family and friends do back home does make me feel very 21rst century. It’s a good feeling, like being part of a global community rather than dangling off the very edge of it. Did I mention we line dry our clothes here? Even when it’s raining, because clothes dryers are considered optional?

And then, there’s the Internet access. A few years ago I would have thought that my New Zealand standard 40 GB per month Internet service might be the basis for a horror movie: The Country that Charged by the Gigabyte! But, hey, that’s the real New Zealand. 

There are no hobbits and all of that beautiful scenery from the Lord of the Rings is largely tucked away out of view on the South island. Geographical isolation has its benefits though. Take the kiwi bird for example. The steep New Zealand hills were full of oddly shaped flightless birds of all shapes and sizes. Isolation allows unique things to develop like a quasi-religious national obsession with their beefy rugby team, the All-Blacks who always perform the indigenous Maori war chant called a haka before games, or Peter Jackson’s movie industry, which sprung up from nowhere almost overnight to make The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. 

With such a small population, it seems nearly everyone participated to make things happen. I admit I almost went to the casting calls to be an extra for The Hobbit, but stopped short, because I feared I might end up remembered forever as female hobbit, scene five, holding the green mug. “Yes, I was bar wench hobbit standing behind Bilbo for two seconds about ten minutes in,” I would have to say over and over again to German tourists in my half-Oregonian half-kiwi accent. 

By the way, that kiwi boyfriend I mentioned earlier was one of the enormous mucous-covered, heavily muscled creatures from the invasion force in the second Lord of the Rings movie. Or, at least, he and half of Wellington helped provide the sound effects for the opening fight scene by loading into the stadium and stamping their feet in unison. So, in a way, he was. In a small-framed-high-fore-headed-accountant-looking sort of way. 

Unfortunately, I’ve never had any real interest in acting. I paint. I do graphic design and I write. I’m writing a dystopian novel set in New Zealand’s future. Though nearly indistinguishable from a fantasy novel set in ancient Babylon, there are considerably more flightless birds in my story. And while no New Zealand authors are household names, I’m not without hope. It is a major global oversight. This country has a unique region of immense biodiversity, isolated and peculiar in the most compelling ways. The largest insect in the world lives here. It’s like a grasshopper on steroids. If you want to see something different, something inspirational, here is good for that. If you want to watch streaming video? Maybe not so much. Fortunately, we’ve got this lovely little shop down the road with a thriving DVD rental business. 

It was The Country that Time Forgot, but for me, it’s the best writing environment I could imagine. And the time zone envy? I got over that once I discovered the DVD shop have a sizeable videocassette collection, too. No, really! I was even asked if I had a machine that played them once. When was the last time you saw one of those? 

Don’t be jealous. You come for the Hobbit premier and you can get the cassette as a souvenir. 

Carrie Bailey 

.

"Land of Hope" - a mosaic of voices

Today I have the honor of introducing Junying Kirk to you.
She's been an author friend for a long time, and I've watched her write this book with joy and anticipation. Here's my review of her latest novel.



Land of Hope Book Blurb

Every year, millions of illegal immigrants cross borders in search of wealth, happiness and a life of ease in the Land of Hope. Some succeed. Others suffer unimaginable hardships. 

When Jack Gordon, Inspector in the SCS (Serious Crime Squad) hires Pearl Zhang, a professional Chinese interpreter, they join forces to fight injustice in the corrupt underworld of international crime, human trafficking and sexual exploitation. 

Pearl is the voice of broken dreams, translating raw, deranged, and colorful tales of those who cannot speak for themselves. As Pearl gets more and more tangled in the lives of strangers, Jack becomes a welcome diversion, complicated by the fact that both are married. Their trans-continental roller-coaster ride derails when Pearl tumbles into the sinister world of her clients, a world full of secrets, lies, and unspeakable violence - only this time, it's directed at her. 

Can she depend on Jack? Find out in this third and final book of Junying Kirk's "Journey to the West" trilogy.   

Land Of Hope - a review

Land Of Hope by author Junying Kirk was not at all what I expected. 

What begins like a comfortable English TV crime show—much in the vein of Inspector Lewis or Midsomer Murders—soon spills over into a multi-layered tapestry of interwoven stories. 

Kirk, like her female protagonist, Pearl, is of Chinese origin,and an interpreter of Mandarin. She  too, is married, lives  in England, and works with the police and the courts, which makes her insights into their workings authentic, and at times bleak. As if to counterbalance this, she weaves a love story into her novel, one that seems as surprising to the characters, as it is to the reader. Pearl and Gordon just aren’t meant for each other, and we feel it right away. While around them the many layers of the mystery—that begins with the fire at the fruit packaging plant— unfolds, Pearl and DI Gordon take time out for a break from the reality of their problematic marriages and dreary work days.

Kirk’s language in the chapters dealing with Pearl and Gordon and the investigation is brisk, sometimes even male in its directness, but her real strength shows in the chapters told from the Chinese immigrants’ point of view.

I’m not sure Kirk realizes her true potential lies here: even hardships in a Maoistic China sound lyrical, reminiscent of Pearl Buck, and are alluringly exotic to a European reader. The reason may be that she uses first-person narrative in these parts of the book, but there is also a fluent, comfortable flow to the language that is missing from the crime chapters.

Kirk is not afraid of using violence, and decribes these scenes in realistic detail.

Let me just say, her heroine Pearl is made of sterner stuff than most women.

Land Of Hope is a satisfying read, but since it’s the third in a trilogy, you may want to start with books one and two.

Junying Kirk is an author to watch, and I look forward to her giving us more insights into the culture of China in her future books.

                               Amazon.com

                               Amazon.co.uk
                               Smashwords

Author Bio: Junying Kirk grew up in the turbulent times of the Cultural Revolution. A British Council scholarship led her to study English Language Teaching at a top English University in 1988, followed by further postgraduate degrees at Glasgow and Leeds. She has worked as an academic, administrator, researcher, teacher, cultural consultant and professional interpreter. She loves reading and is the author of 'Journey to the West' trilogy, The Same MoonThe Same Moon,  Trials of Life and Land of Hope, and she blogs at http://www.junyingkirk.com. 

The blog hop goes on here: http://doreenmcgettigan.com Don't forget to check it out tomorrow!

A Picture, And One Thousand Words

This trip is turning out to be quite a lot about food.
Which doesn't mean that I didn't get good food, and plenty of it, last year, but this time around I'm playing at "lunching out", and that's a totally different thing.

See what I mean: lunch with PJ Kaiser on Monday.

There's this lovely bistro around the corner, right here in Jersey City.
You have to remember this place, because here I was introduced to... BANANA CREAM PIE!
Banana cream pie is a little piece of heaven that found a new home on Earth. It may even be a serious rival to cheesecake, and that's saying something.

Yep, I just remembered in time to take a photo of it, before it was all gone. Lucky me!

Yesterday I went to Manhattan. On my own. In a cab. All the way from Jersey City to Penn Station, to meet someone I hadn't ever met before.
Now you must know that most of my life I've never done anything on my own. Or rather, most of my life I didn't feel like doing anything on my own, because there is always my hubby to go with me. I don't even much enjoy going downtown alone on my own at home, let alone in NYC.
But I did.
I told the driver where to drop me off, got out of the cab, and went into Penn Station, expecting to be lost and calling Emily to come rescue me.
But, no.
I managed! My friend was waiting for me right where we had said we would meet, and we had no trouble at all recognizing each other.

Someone on Facebook said for me to go and visit the "Serendipity" restaurant. It was a lovely place with great food and somehow connected to a movie or other... and for want of better ideas that's where we went, Val and I.
How blasé can you get: two women in a NY cab, being whisked from Penn Station all the way up to 60th St., right past the United Nations buildings, talking about their road to being published authors.

I still don't know what the special thing about this place is, but it was really fun. The entrees were great, but the desserts were amazing. I mean, really, really amazing.
Here's Val, slurping here "Frozen Hot Chocolate".

And here's my cheesecake. I think this cheesecake is better than Junior's, and that's saying something. Seriously.

The hot fudge was divine, but the cheesecake itself was perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Leaving the place, we found this charming man sitting at a small table next to the entrance. He was signing books. When I picked one of them up to browse he informed me that he was the owner of Serendipity, and then went on to explain the images on the mugs they are selling to me. Needless to say, I'm one mug richer.
This journey will go into the annals as the mug-trip. Just wait and see.
I'm also two cook books richer. Not that I'll ever attempt to copy this cheesecake, but it feels good to have the recipe. And who knows. Maybe I just will.

Sorry, this photo is a little blurry, but I was still in this total state of cheesecake bliss. I'm sure you understand.

Times Square.
I know. A short while ago I said I'd be willing to live there in a tent, I loved it that much.
Uhm, no.
Either I've grown old within a year or I was delusional and utterly crazy last summer. Maybe it was because we just drove by, and it was nice and cool inside the car. But this summer, walking down Fashion Ave. in the humid, blistering heat of a July afternoon, it wasn't half as much fun as I'd thought it would be.
Still, here's the obligatory photo of a tourist in NYC. This is Val, btw. Not me.

It's hard to see from this pic that it was about (felt!) 110F, right?
Times Square on a July day: hot, humid, gritty, noisy, stinky and crowded.
Val said, "I wonder how many people would be left if they took away all the tourists? I think... like... six?"
I think she's right.

Oh, before I forget: I nearly, really NEARLY bought a purse. A $400 purse, and in lime green, too. I loved that purse. I wanted it. Badly. But I was good and didn't buy it. See, I can be frugal. Sort of.

Oh, since this is a blog about food, mostly: Here's my birthday dinner at Carnegie's. Yes, this is a pastrami sandwich. And yes, I know it's decadent, to say the least. But it was a fabulous birthday dinner, with much beloved friends.

And here's what the others had.

Tomorrow I'll go and visit the publisher. I'm very excited about that!
So expect a more "literary" blog post in a couple of days, ok?

And now excuse me while I go and get the left-over apple pie out of the fridge for breakfast.

The Day After, Part Three

My publisher - who, of course, as you all know by now, is MaryChris Bradley of Buddhapuss Ink - and I, we talk a lot. We talk about small things like the weather and the yearning for a muffin, a new movie, and we talk about the big things, like publishing dates, book covers, reading tours and what to have for lunch and where when we meet this summer. Sometimes we talk first thing in the day (HER day), to check if the other is doing ok, to toss a "good morning" at each other before we settle down to a day's work.
Just like last Sunday. Here is how it went.

Publisher: "Good morning. If I tell you something very very very nice, will you promise to NOT talk about it?"
Me: "Uhm, sure."
Publisher: "You won an IPPY Award!!!!"
Pause.
Me: "What's an IPPY?"
A looooong pause at the other end, and clearly audible breathing. Calming breathing, too. I could actually hear her count to ten.
Then: "YOU WON AN IPPY AWARD AND YOU CAN'T TALK ABOUT IT UNTIL IT'S ANNOUNCED OFFICIALLY BUT I THOUGHT I'D TELL YOU BECAUSE I JUST WANTED TO READ MY EMAIL AND THERE WAS THE MAIL FROM THE IPPY PEOPLE!"

Really, she said it like that. In one long phrase, without catching her breath. I swear!
I went to google "IPPY Awards" while she was busy not fainting at my stupidity.
We talked a bit more after that, virtually holding each other's hands and dancing through the room, she calling me an "award winning thing" and I telling her she was the going to be running a BIG publishing house before she knew it, and naming her "Miss Six".
We both wished we could hug each other for real right then, but, well, distance and the Atlantic and all that.
My family, as always, greeted these news with their usual stoic "Aha..." and went on with whatever they were doing. They are like that. I mean, MEN. ("Is it something I can eat? No? Then please carry on!")

So here I was, with these enormous news, with this huge glittering marble of news, and I had to keep it under my tongue, lodged between my molars. It rolled around in my mouth, tapped insistently against my teeth, but I managed to keep it there for the four days it had to stay this well-kept secret.
Well, almost. I told my Mom. She was even more clueless than I had been, so she didn't even know where to take that information, and all was well.

Tuesday morning, 2 am my time, the winning lists were released. That meant it was 8pm Monday night for the publisher. So... I called her.
Me: "CAN I SAY IT NOW, CAN I SAY IT NOW???"
Publisher: "Not yet. Let me get the press release out first. I'll do it first thing tomorrow."
Sigh. That was a restless night.
There I was, the award winning author, and there was nothing for me to do but stare at the dawning sky and wait for New York City to wake up, to lie there in my bed and marvel at what was happening to me.

Three years ago, I decided to write a book. My first one ever, too.
Just over a year ago, I signed that first book deal with Buddhapuss.
This January, "The Distant Shore" was published, and hit the bestseller lists within hours. It sold out within hours! At the same time, before "Distant Shore" was even released, the publisher sent me two new book deals. They believed that much in me! And now, only a few months later, I can return that faith by winning this award for my publisher.

Yesterday, the "day after", I woke up in a funk. Mopey. It broke my heart that I won't be able to go to the award ceremony and pick up my medal, enjoy that moment of glory, but it's not to be. There's just no way it can be done.
Also, I had what the publisher calls "Impostor Syndrome".
Why ME? Of all those who entered that award, why was my book picked to win a medal? There are so many out there who work and write and work and submit and promote, and who've been at it for so much longer. They should be getting awards, not me.
Publisher brushed it away, called me silly (she likes to do that), and told me to get back to work.

Which I'm doing. Back to writing it is for me, since I promised to finish the trilogy before my summer travels.
Clothes shopping it is for the publisher, since she will go to pick up my medal for me at the awards ceremony. NO black, I told her, DON'T wear black like all those NY publishers, stand out, wear RED.
After all, we have reason to celebrate.
Here's the proof:

IPPY Award 2012 Winners List




.

Insights. The Healthy And The Wise. Random.

You may have figured this out by now: I'm not the world's best blogger. I'm not even in the top fifty percent.
Blogging is awkward.
There is this deep anxiety of having to write something profound, something that will mean something to others, instead of blabbering about myself or my writing or whatever else I'm doing, or what I had for breakfast. Blogging, for me, means someone else should profit from it. 
And that's something I rarely can provide, because my life is so boring and slow, there's just nothing anyone else could learn from me.


Take the writing. 
What do you want to learn from my path to being published? Nothing.
One morning three years ago I woke up, and while I was lying there in bed, staring at the early spring sky and the geese passing by outside my window on their way back home, way up in the North, I decided I'd get up, make coffee, and start writing a book.
Just like that. And that's what I did. I got up, made coffee, opened my new laptop, and began writing, and I didn't finish until the book was finished.
Then, when that was done, on another random morning, I posted a page of it on this blog. Hours later, I was talking to my publisher, and weeks later I had a book deal.
End of story. Boring. 
By now, I have two more books written, signed, and on the way to being published, and a new project is looming on the horizon.
It's a job. I work for Buddhapuss Ink. 
I get up in the morning (as before) make coffee (also, as before), start writing, and stop when it's time to stop. It's a fun job, and I do it with a passion, but it's a job and pays my bills.


So if this counts as an insight, I'm fine with it.


My husband is sick.
Not mortally sick, not invalid sick, he just has what many men of his age have who like their food and drink too much and don't go for regular checkups: the famous "metabolic syndrome". In normal speak: high blood sugar, blood pressure and cholesterol. 
Last Sunday, he had to be taken to the ER in an ambulance because we thought he had a stroke, but no, it's only a paralysis in an eye muscle, thank you, diabetes. It was a huge, loud, cannon ball shot of a warning, and I'm quite certain he'll take all those pills and stick to a sensible diet and all those things.
But.
For a while there, while I was waiting for the first results at the ER, all by myself, I was wondering how our life was about to change.
It COULD have been a stroke. An aneurism. A tumor. All those were real possibilities. 
This Sunday could have changed our lives forever. 
He'll have to change his diet and lose some weight. He'll have to learn that a meal without meat is still a meal, and that a bowl of fruit for dinner is enough, you don't need a pastrami sammie to feel full.


The insights I've won from this week for myself, though, are wonderful. 
I've learned that whatever happens, I'll never be alone.
Even while I was waiting at the ER until my kids arrived, my publisher messaged me and asked if there was anything I needed.
The darling woman, I wonder what she'd have done if I'd replied, "Come here! Come here NOW! I need you here!!!"
But anyway, that would have been mean, and I know what she meant  - she was there for me. 
As were all the others. My Facebook friends, my Twitter friends, those I've met in person, those I'm going to meet this year, even those in places I'll never go to, people I'll always only know through the internet, they were ALL there, virtually holding my and my husband's hands, praying, sending good thoughts, asking how it was going, offering support. Quite a lot of them messaged me their phone numbers, asked me to call them if I needed someone to talk to, a couple of doctors offered medical advice.


Just so you know: the first thing I did when my hubby had his diagnosis and I saw him there in his hospital bed was to slap his arm, and hard.
He smiled at me and called me "darling". He knew I did it because I was so relieved to see him well.
He's home now.
After the Easter holidays, on Tuesday, he'll have to go and see our own doctor for his medication, and from now on,  go for regular visits to the lab. It's a small price to pay for a big, big scare.
We are still a family.
I am grateful today.
And that is the most important insight of all: don't take your loved ones for granted. 
Never, for a moment, believe you'll have them forever. Tell them that you love them, every day, all the time. Show them you love them, by caring about them.
Because, you see, there may come one Sunday when you look into their eyes and see something is wrong, just like I did.
Only maybe you'll not be as lucky as I was.
It may just be too late then.










.

Author For A Year

Today, I'm going to make a list.
A list of the things that have changed, and of those that have not, in the year since I signed my first book deal with Buddhapuss Ink and turned from writer to author.
I'm not good at "meta-writing". At analyzing the why and wherefore of writing, and sharing it. I get impatient with people who ask "how do you do it?" because I have no idea, and no intention of figuring it out.
Thing is, I just do. I open the writing file every morning, imagine what my characters may be up to, and drift into the writing without thinking too much about it, and after a few months the story is told, and - end of story. That's really pretty much it. Really. Honestly.
On the way toward the end courage fails me sometimes, but then I'm lucky, and I have friends who read along as I write, and they understand my stories better than I do, and tell me, yes, everything is fine, just go on, more, more, we're waiting! And so... I go back and write more.
Until it's done and the publisher rips the new novel from my hands, eager, waiting.
They've done it twice now, and they keep asking for book number 3. Gluttons. All of them.


So... that's basically it.
And since we're at it, and I know many want to hear how someone else managed to write book and land a deal, here's my only advice for you: write. If you think you have a story in you, write. Don't think about publishing it, don't worry about agents and royalties, just write the damn thing already.
End of story.




But we were talking about things that change - or not - once you have that elusive deal, right?


So here's my list.


Things that DO NOT change:


1. You are not instantly rich and famous. Forget it. One book won't make you rich and famous, unless a miracle happens, and it very rarely does.


2. Even though YOU know you just won the lottery, the general public won't. They have no idea how incredibly lucky you were, to get to sign a book contract. There are a million talented writers out there, but YOU caught someone's attention. Don't wonder why. Sign. Be happy. And ignore the puzzled stares of strangers when you dance down the street. They don't know.


3. You still have to clean the bathroom and feed the kids.




Things that DO change:


1. You are instantly rich and famous. I don't mean money-rich, but rich in a way you never thought you'd be. Let me spell VALIDATION for you. All those stolen hours, all the guilt? REDEEMED! In a moment, the one moment when you put your name on that dotted line of the contract, you are a free person, an author, someone with the License To Write. Awesome.
You can hand out your brand-new business cards and say, "I'm an author. Yes, I write books." And then watch the expression in people's faces change, take on that slightly suspicious look as they ask themselves, "Do I know her?" Ha!


2. You DID win the lottery. Let no one fool you.


3. All of a sudden, the guilty hobby isn't a hobby anymore. There are real people out there who think they can make real money with you, and they don't have time for foolishness. You have a job now, and you better do it, and do it well. And... fast.


4. If you get really lucky (like me!) someone else will clean the bathroom from now on. And get takeout lunch from time to time. Just because they are proud of you. Because you are an author. Because you did something many dream of doing, and never do.


5. and last: it is never too late to live your dream. Never. Do it.




See? I wrote a blog post about being an author. Hope my publisher sees this, too. Hope they see that YES I AM BLOGGING and getting in the swing for the next blog hop, coming up in September, for my new book, "Under The Same Sun".


Please feel free to add to the list!














.

Dancing On Tables, Nekkie.

You know how it is... when the Cat isn't around, the mice dance on the table.
Naked. With abandon. Loud music, drinks and spicy snacks. Congas and whistles.
There may be a furtive glance or so to check if the Boss is coming back early, but the party goes on.


Yeah, so my publisher is taking a break, and I could be one of the mice. I could pretend I'm not an author, don't have deadlines, don't have to promote "Distant Shore", just... do what I want. For a few days.
Seriously.
I bought knitting yarn. And a DVD set of "Criminal Minds".
I fluffed up my couch cushions, made a lot of coffee, and settled down for a couple of comfy days.
Sounds good, eh?


Only... instead of picking up the needles and the yarn I opened the MacBook - first mistake.
Then I checked my emails - second mistake. I had a look at Facebook - bloody stupid mistake.


Isn't it amazing how much you can come to rely on seeing someone every day, talking to them, working with them? How much a part of your life they have become, and how much you WANT them to be there?


So, what I did I do?


Instead of lazing around I opened the book file and stared at the last chapter I'd written.
Made some corrections. Added a few lines. Deleted a couple of sentences.
Typed, "Chapter 17". Idly. As if it meant nothing. Wiped the computer screen with my sleeve.
Wrote a first sentence for that chapter, which went:

The plates were huge, the arrangements fanciful, but the portions so small, they made Naomi want to weep.

And since that sentence seemed to sit well, I went on with:

Dolefully she stared at the minuscule steak and the three tiny potatoes before her, and wished she had not wanted to see the place where the New York publishing world hung out for lunch. 

The drinks, she had noticed, were not small. And they were carried past their table often, actually more often than food.

That sounded good enough, and about 3500 words later the chapter was finished.

As always, I sent it off to the publisher, knowing well no one would read it this weekend. And yet, it seemed like the right thing to do.

And since the writing was flowing I went to get some more coffee and then typed:

"Chapter 18"

Made that one begin with,

Olaf had sent people from the hotel to do the Christmas decorations, saying that she probably didn’t have anything at hand, and he knew how much she loved to have everything perfect and up in time.

Worked, too, and I had another 3K words down before the weekend was over.

Then Johanna Harness reminded me that I was scheduled for a guest blog on #amwriting for today. 

Oh, Ok. Forget about that one.

Write about the Blog Hop, she said, and my insides drew together like quince juice on an unsuspecting tongue.

But I did that, too. In fact, it was easier than I thought, and the Blog Hop not as terrible as I like to pretend.

So... after having spent the entire weekend writing (like a good little mousie!) I called my publisher today. It was good to hear her voice, good to laugh and chat. 

And it was even better to be able to say  – quite  coolly – oh, I'm fine. Nothing new here. Just the same old stuff. Writing. Promoting "Distant Shore". Blogging. Nah, I was fine without you. Yeah. Talk tomorrow! Take care. Bye Bye. Love you.

So... who wants some nekkie dancing on tables now? I'm free to do some partying!














.