This is repost of livejournal entry dated March 12, 2007.  I received a couple of questions regarding how we broke into print and it seemed like a good idea to repost it.  This post is also available on the website on ABOUT page.

My story to publication is long and cringe-worthy.  Very cringe-worthy.

First of all, I never wanted to be a writer. Never. I wanted to be a scientist*. Writing was a nice hobby, something I did for fun, on the side. It was certainly not serious work. More of an extension of reading.

When I had to drop out of college and found myself at home with first one child and then the second child and a computer, it seemed natural that I would steal an hour or two a day and type out the weird stuff in my head for the heck of it. But still, I didn’t want to be a writer. I was just suffering a minor setback on my way to becoming a SCIENTIST.

I had two novels written when I decided to query an agent. I’ve done no research. I wasn’t sure what an agent did. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. So I took my freshly completed novel #2 (novel #1 was a part of a trilogy and I didn’t want to query until I had everything written out) and sent it to this nice person I saw soliciting submissions on one of the message boards.

I was sure she would sign me up. Positive. One hundred percent. I had this super cool story about a girl and werewolves and vampires. It was awesome.

For two weeks I kept checking my mailbox. One fine morning the package came. I tore it open and rejection. Boom. Pow. Crash and Burn.

At this point most people would do some research. I am not normal people. My attitude was, “To hell with the agents! I’m going to go straight to the publisher!”

So I sent the manuscript to one of the New York Sci-fi/Fantasy publishers. It came back, stamped, “We don’t accept unsolicited submissions.” Not sure what unsolicited submission was, I still deciphered that as a no.

So I tried an electronic publisher, Hardshell. Six months later I had my first legibile feedback and I remember it very well, “Your novel is filled with grammatic and punctuation mistakes. These mistakes can be fixed, however, it’s just like Laurel Hamilton’s story and we don’t need another heroine just like Anita Blake.”

Who the hell is Laurel Hamilton?

Having inhaled the first couple of Laurel Hamilton’s books, I started to suspect that my novel and her novel were not similar enough to warrant the feedback. Yes, they were in the same genre; yes, they both had a female heroine; but my Vera Voron wasn’t really similar to Anita Blake. (Still, just like there is no such thing as a harmless one night stand, there is no such thing as a harmless editorial feedback. I’ve thought about that crit for weeks.)

At this point, I felt like beating my head on the wall. Nobody wanted my stuff. Suddenly this hobby became a source of a lot of stress. I wanted to know why nobody wanted it. What the hell was so wrong with it?

I had been making circles around OWW, trying to decide if it was a scam. I’ve been in a small email critiquing group for awhile, and it was sort of falling apart. Having decided that OWW probably wasn’t a scam and if it was, I’d be out $40 – no big deal, I joined OWW. And got my very first crit, “Your characters are like cartoon characters, like Homer Simpson, or something. Your writing is like cartoon writing. It just terrible.”**

Okay. I was about to drop OWW like a bad habit, when my husband, who by that point started writing with me, suggested we wait for more feedback. So I did, and the next crit was from Jeff Stanley, who liked it. He liked it a lot. The next crit was from Larry Payne, who promptly took a grammatic rake to it and rubbed my nose in all the smelly spots. I went and got a grammar book. And read it cover to cover.

Okay, so I didn’t totally suck. I started posting chunks of the new thing I was writing, titled “The Dog and the Wheel” and one day Charlie Finlay found it and recommended it for an Editor’s Choice. The EC crit was harsh, but by that point I was used to harsh.*** The Dog and the Wheel made it into the Gallery Competition, the winner of which would be published as an e-book by… I don’t remember. Baen? Daw? I didn’t win. I didn’t even get the second place prize, which was an armfull of books. I got feedback however, and it was priceless. The feedback amounted to “this is excellent, but you rely on standard staples of the genre too much.”

I kept poking at the Dog and the Wheel for awhile. I still couldn’t sell a short story. I was generally pretty miserable about the whole thing. One day I sat down and wrote an opening. It was like nothing I had written before, but it was also a lot like the doomed #2 novel. Gordon was walking by and stopped. Read over my shoulder. “What is this?” “Ahh, just stuff.” He read more. He read the whole thing. “You should post this.” I posted the opening and got a weird reaction: more. More now. I remember Nora said, “I didn’t know you could write like this.”*****

Okay. I could do more.

I ripped up the plot from the novel #2, taking only the basic ideas, and Gordon and I wrote a new draft, titled “Lost Dog”. Boom, another EC. From Nalo Hopkinson. The EC basically said, “You’re a good writer, but your story is mostly doing things wrong.”**** I read that feedback. I read it very carefully. And I decided to ignore it. I had my ideas, I knew what the book was about, and I was sorry it didn’t click with her, but I wasn’t going to change it.

I polished and cleaned my thing and then, prompted by an announcement from TOR, who were looking for new contemporary fantasies, I submitted it.

Fast forward a year and a half, filled with rejection slips for various short stories, and a lot of failed starts on different projects. Finally one of the stories took off and turned into In the Name of the Realm. And I got another EC from Jenni. And that EC was awesome. I understood the criticism and I felt I had earned the praise. It picked me up and carried me through the next three months. Still, by New Year I was ready to be done. I had sunk what felt like years into this hobby with no payoff. It was causing me no end of stress.

I was on the computer, deleting my writing files and picking out stray school papers that had accidentally gotten saved in there, when Pen Hardy Imed me to chat. Let it be said that Pen Hardy is the sole reason I didn’t delete the entirety of my writing folder. Because I was ready. Done. Kaput. Basta.

Unless you’ve been there for a couple of years, it’s hard to describe the exact feeling of submitting story after story and getting rejected. The only thing I can compare it to is looking for a job. Picture yourself looking for a job and not being hired. You keep getting envelopes in the mail, but you know they are rejections. At first you apply to your dream job, then to your second-choice job, then to any job that would pay you. But nobody hires. You come to anticipate the words of the rejection letter, because you’ve seen so many. And you do this month after month after month. You do it for years, again and again, hoping one day somebody will hire you. Eventually you start wondering if there is something fundamentally wrong with you or with your brain, because no sane person would be subjecting themselves to this silliness. I was done. But Pen somehow talked me out of it. I still wanted to delete it all, but I promised her I would wait a month or two.

Next week Gordon was checking the email and said, “You have an email from TOR.”

The email was from Liz Gorinsky. It said that she read the novel and loved it and would fight for it. I felt like I was walking on a cloud. For about ten minutes. And then the brakes kicked in. I knew how this dance went: everything is great and then I don’t win. So I emailed her back and thanked her and settled into waiting.

Three months passed. I emailed to Liz asking if there was any progress. She said that unfortunately there wasn’t. She suggested that I give her a reason to bring it up again: sell a story to Big Three, get an agent, do something to make myself visible.

Sell a story to Big Three, hahahahahaha!

Oh fine. I’ll go try for an agent. I remembered reading SFF Crow’s Nest that had an interview with agents in it. I googled it, found the interview, read it again, and decided to try for Jack Byrne and another agent. Jack Byrne was experienced. The other agent just started out but one of the OWW people had signed up with him, and he seemed okay.

I sent off my electronic query and prepared to wait. Two requests for partial within two hours. Jack beat out the other agent by 45 minutes. I apologized to agent #2 and sent my partial to Jack. Three days pass, request for full. I printed the full out, drove to the post office, sent it out. A week later, a phone call, “Would you like to shake on it?”

Gordon and I had an agent.

Jack went to work. A month later he called. Despite the fact that Liz loved the novel, TOR didn’t seem interested. Instead of keep trying there, Jack wanted to withdraw and go someplace else. I shrugged. Story of my life, yes? Do whatever you want with it.

My life was falling apart by that point. Savings were running out. Gordon spent months trying to find a job – and unlike people who say they are trying, my husband actually worked at it. Finding a job for him became full time employment. These problems were causing stress on our marriage. On top of everything we really hated Oklahoma. As soon as I finished my semester******, we would take what was left of the money and get the hell out of Lawton.

In my free time, I didn’t write. The Realm was finished and starting a new project seemed pointless. I sunk into an WOW instead. I can level a priest from 0 to 60 in less than three weeks. Escapism R Us.

I was in Strat Undead, healing people, when Jack called. Gordon put the phone to my ear. I was casting spells left and right, trying to keep this idiot group alive. He said, “Anne Sowards at Ace would like to buy ‘Lost Dog’. Congratulations.”

I said, “That’s wonderful, Jack,” and typed “Get out of the fog! Get AWAY from the fog!” into the WOW window. We didn’t wipe, for which I take sole credit.

Then there was a phone call from Anne, and the editorial suggestions*#, and eventually the contract signing, and a little bit of money, of which we needed every cent. I will always be grateful to Liz Gorinsky. She is a wonderful person, who belived into the book when nobody else did. And I will always be grateful to Pen Hardy – that goes without saying. And to everyone who reviewed and critted and commisserated: my acknowledgments list in the book is a mile long.

I’m working on the sequel now. Believe me, you don’t even want me to go into problems I’m encountering there.

Magic Bites (Lost Dog title had to be changed since the dog was cut) will be out March 27. Will Gordon and I win or will we lose? It remains to be seen. If we lose, I don’t think I’ll become a scientist. I think we’ll change the pseudonym and try again.

UPDATE:

July 04, 2009

We’re now represented by Nancy Yost of Nancy Yost Literary Agency. Magic Bites was released in March 2007 to good reviews and decent sales. On April 20, 2008, its sequel, Magic Burns, placed #32 on NYT Extended Bestseller List.   In March 2009, Magic Strikes, the third book in the series, hit NYT Times printed list at #16 and USA Today Bestseller List at #109.

___________________________
* And I also thought I’d leave marriage and children to other, more patient, women. See how that turned out. O_o

** Yes, I remember that one pretty much word for word, too.

*** Six months on OWW, and you’ll smile in the face of most criticism and thank them for their opinion

**** Paraphrasing.

***** I’m sure by now you have figured out that I have memory like a stone tablet: it’s hard to get things in there, but once they are chiseled, they stay. Except for the names. I can’t recall people’s names for the life of me.

****** I had gone back to school to become a SCIENTIST.

*# Please cut this by one third.

Mirrored from One Crazy Dame. Comment here or there.

I know this will interested to 2.1 people in the whole world, but I figured out how to make wordpress have different backgrounds for different pages.

Lookit here:

http://ilona-andrews.com/

http://ilona-andrews.com/books/

I don’t know what to do with this new god-like power.

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Happy Holiday!

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M. asks

Do you have to publish short stories to break in?

You don’t have to.   I only sold one short story, to a semi-pro, and it came out after our first novel did, due to publication in a special issue.  All you need to get published is a good manuscript and an editor who likes it.

Having an agent who likes it will smooth the way and make things a lot easier. 

Mirrored from One Crazy Dame. Comment here or there.

Next,

Author’s note: the protagonist is twelve

Mesmerized by harsh, emerald eyes staring back at me, I didn’t notice his hand until it was sliding down my shoulder. Even then, I didn’t look down at it. He walked a few feet away and joined the other two boys. Disappointed, I realized my arm felt wet. I distractedly swiped my hand across my shoulder and looked at. There was blood on my fingers. Yelping, I looked down and saw a red smear going down the length of my arm. Attempting not to scream, I looked at it more closely and almost fainted right there.

This is good.  Let’s tweak it a bit:

I didn’t notice his hand until it was sliding

Until it slid – it reads a bit more active.

I distractedly swiped my hand

We don’t really need this adverb right here.  We know she’s still watching him walking away and is distracted.

I swiped my hand across my shoulder and looked at. There was blood on my fingers.

We know she looked at it – because she sees blood in the next sentence.

There was blood on my fingers.

Let’s make this a bit active.  Any time there is/there was is employed, there is usually a way to make it sound a bit less passive.  How about:

Blood stained my fingers.

Next,

Yelping, I looked down and saw a red smear going down the length of my arm.

I have a bit of a problem with this.  Awhile ago I wrote a post on stimulus> reaction sequence. I can’t find it.  (Argh.)  But basically I made a point that our reactions actually happen in stages.  The stages that take the least time/effort happen first.  That’s why physical reactions almost always precede anything that requires brain power.

Stimulus: flame of a candle.

Stage one – involuntary response.  We jerk our hand away.   It takes almost no time for our body to process it and it happens immediately.  This is usually a purely “muscular” response.

Stage two – brain processes pain and comes with a simplest mental response.  We yell, “Ow!”

Stage three – brain recognizes the stupidity of touching the candle by forming appropriate thoughts.

Stage four – we vocalize.  “Who the hell put this candle right here?”

We’re wired that way, because it helps us to survive.  If the reactions were reversed, we’d burn all the meat off our fingers.

Let’s do another one.

Stimulus: a growl behind our back on a deserted road.

Stage one – freeze.  Muscular response to immediate threat.  Ever notice that you typically can’t think for a second or two when startled?  It’s mother’s nature fail safe.  Given a chance, we’ll think ourselves to death, instead of running for our lives.

Stage two – thinking.  It’s a dog.  It has to be a dog, what else it could be?

Stage three – slow turning around.

Stage four – recognition of a threat.

Stage five – response.  “Hi, Curran.  Fancy meeting you here.”

Now let’s go back to our example.

Stimulus: wet hand

Stage one – yelp.

Stage two – look.

Do you see how we’ve got reversed here?  Looking takes less energy than yelping.  Let’s put the reactions in the right order.

I looked down and saw a red smear going down the length of my arm. I yelped.

Better.

(This is a personal preference right here.  If it was me, I’d isolate the smear, but the paragraph reads perfectly well without it.

I looked down.  A red smear ran down the length of my arm.  I yelped.

Stimulus>reaction, stimulus> reaction.)

Why is this toy useful?  Besides making the reactions more believable, it also helps with the creepy.  If you look at the previous paragraph (#29) you will see the author quite skillfully fold several hours away.  The time wasn’t important, only the end result was, and so she just glossed over the time.

There are times when every second is important.  The more detailed you make something, the more attention the reader will pay to it.  Scary, creepy moments get detail by detail treatment.  Confrontations with villains.  Preludes to sex, etc.  You can really ratchet the tension up if you take it one step at a time.’

Let’s see where we are if we put it all together.

I swiped my hand across my shoulder.  Blood stained my fingers. I looked down.  A red smear ran down the length of my arm.  I yelped.  Attempting not to scream, I looked at it more closely and almost fainted right there.

That yelped just kind of sticks out and conflicts with the fact that she doesn’t want to scream.  I’d kill it.

I think we also have too many “look” in the paragraph, so I would replace one with synonyms in the final version.

Before:

Mesmerized by harsh, emerald eyes staring back at me, I didn’t notice his hand until it was sliding down my shoulder. Even then, I didn’t look down at it. He walked a few feet away and joined the other two boys. Disappointed, I realized my arm felt wet. I distractedly swiped my hand across my shoulder and looked at. There was blood on my fingers. Yelping, I looked down and saw a red smear going down the length of my arm. Attempting not to scream, I looked at it more closely and almost fainted right there.

After:

Mesmerized by harsh, emerald eyes staring back at me, I didn’t notice his hand until it slid down my shoulder. Even then, I didn’t look down at it. He walked a few feet away and joined the other two boys. Disappointed, I realized my arm felt wet. I swiped my hand across my shoulder.  Blood stained my fingers. I glanced down and saw a red smear going down the length of my arm. Attempting not to scream, I looked at it more closely and almost fainted right there.

Good job on the paragraph.  Just need to tweak the details. 

Mirrored from One Crazy Dame. Comment here or there.

Happy Friday,

The power of attraction between them had quadrupled since they’d last met and they escaped the restaurant separately as discreetly as The Ivy’s entrance, circled by paparazzi, would permit. A text message and two black cab rides later, they were reunited in his flat, snogging like hormones-driven teenagers, carelessly tearing off articles of clothing, groping blindingly at every bit of revealed skin. The bed groaned, pleaded, begged for mercy but none was given. It had been way too long.

I am torn.  On one hand, look at this paragraph: it’s all had been and was verb.  But, and this trumps everything, it reads well.  The touch of passive verbs makes it seem as if the attraction between the couple has taken them over and they’re no longer in control. It reads fast.

It’s also a very nicely done time summary.  Look, the couple is moved from the restaraunt to the apartment, from dinner through sex and we’re clued in.

It works.  Carry one.

PS.  I’d change hormones-driven to hormon-driven.

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The moderators at the forum asked for a snippet. 

The first chapter is available here: http://ilona-andrews.com/the-edge/on-the-edge/

Short Synopsis:

Rose Drayton lives on the Edge, between the world of the Broken (where people drive cars, shop at Wal-Mart, and magic is a fairy tale) and the Weird (where blueblood aristocrats rule, changelings roam, and the strength of your magic can change your destiny). Only Edgers like Rose can easily travel from one world to the next, but they never truly belong in either.

Rose thought if she practiced her magic, she could build a better life for herself. But things didn’t turn out how she planned, and now she works a minimum wage, off the books job in the Broken just to survive. Then Declan Camarine, a blueblood noble straight out of the deepest part of the Weird, comes into her life, determined to have her (and her power).

But when a terrible danger invades the Edge from the Weird, a flood of creatures hungry for magic, Declan and Rose must work together to destroy them—or they’ll devour the Edge and everyone in it . . .

Wednesday rolled around way too fast.

A white truck sped by her, its horn blaring. Rose didn’t even spare a glance. The needle on her fuel gauge had rolled to the left of the yellow “E.”

“Just make it to the Edge,” she murmured. “That’s all I ask.”

Here is an example of the dossier feature for the LSB.  I just threw one up as an example.

I like it – convenient.

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This software comes from Black Obelisk.  I bought it on a whim.  These are my first impressions.

The LSB has an elaborate structure, but most of the actual writing occurs in chapters.  Right now I’m keeping my menu to the right and my chapters to the left.    It looks like this:

I like not having Word’s basic blue behind the document, and changing the background is easy as pie. Right click anywhere on the background. Select new image. Add image. With the image open, click Change Wallpaper.

Look – a Dragon Lady.

You can also change colors of everything on the fly – as you can see I like when the background of the documents is not 100% white, but a bit off-white. Easier on the eyes.

And here we come to an interesting part. Lookit here. This is why this software is from the devil.

The first number is the word count.   The second is the version word count.  Technically “Versions refer to individual days.  No matter how many times you open Liquid Story Binder in a single day, the version number only changes with the date. ”

Practically, it ends up being  how many  words you’ve written since the program was running. And because the cursed thing is telling you the time too, you can actually get your hourly statistics.

Do you know how bad this is?  I’m extremely competitive.  I like to beat my own productivity average.  I am obsessing over it now.  Del the Fear-inducing doberman puked on the carpet today and my first thought was, “God Damn it, there goes my productivity average.”  (You can pause the statistics, but it’s cheating.)

I can’t even check email while writing anymore.  It’s like having a chain.  It makes it nearly impossible to goof off.  The only reason I am on here, is because Gordon is reading two versions of the short story to tell me which sucks the least.

I am so keeping this thing.

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Who is moving, which means she will no longer travbel down to Savannah to have lunch at the King and I with me.

#

“Holy Jesus.”  Robert clutched at his shotgun.

“Stay calm.  Watch him.”  I crossed to the door and leaned out.

Empty hallway.  Nothing but electric lights reflecting on the floor.

I stepped out, padded over the tile to the main hallway and looked around the corner.

Nothing.

I stood very still.  Silence reigned.  The mausoleum was quiet as the tomb it was meant to be.  A long minute passed.  I barely breathed.  Another.  If I could, I would’ve sprouted roots and blended into the stonework.

A small noise came from the left.  It was a hesitant, slow clicking, as if some creature slunk in the distance, slowly putting one foot before the other.

Click. Claws touching the stone tiles.

Click.

Click.

Closer and closer.

Fear skittered down my spine.  Fear was good.  It would keep me sharp.  I kept still.

A dark shape shifted into view, peeking around the corner from the gateway to the chapel.  It hugged the ground, doing the animal version of a low crawl.  Shadows pooled in the doorway of the chapel and I could barely make it out.

My breath came out in a slow soundless puff.

The creature raised its head, growing bolder.  About twenty-twenty three inches tall at the shoulder like a mid-sized dog.   Slanted green eyes stared at me, glowing with pale luminescence.  I looked into them and saw madness.
Not good.  Not good at all.

The creature trotted forward.

Click-click-click.  Click-click.  Click.

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http://daily-deals.iconico.com/software/liquid-story-binder/

Hmmm.  Hmmmm.  Is it worth $20?

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Courtesy of the Hurog Board:

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Winners for livejournal:

Here are your random numbers:

3	7	1

Timestamp: 2009-06-30 00:26:11 UTC

Winners for the blog:

Here are your random numbers:

44	28	24	18

Timestamp: 2009-06-30 00:28:29 UTC

Would the following people please email me with your address:

Alexa, Atzimba, Allison, Yvonne, Anaquana, Kjway, Bhadrasvapna

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Kid 1’s room is repainted.  It’s black.  Her furniture is black.  Her curtains are black.  Her cat is black.  The inside of her closet is black.  Her clothes are black.

Nobody is going to buy a house with a  black room.  I threw a big fit.  I was going to get my way, but his Lordship put his foot down (and announced it by saying, “I’m putting my foot down”) and my gothic knucklehead got the room she always wanted, because it makes her happy.

Still pale silvery grey would have been better.  Pictures tomorrow.

My feet are killing me.

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Luka Brazi, called Pooki by Kid 1, is a good dog.  

As you can see, he is full of dignity and likes to pose. He bays in deep baritone, warning intruders that he is a vicious killer, who weighs over 70 lbs now, and he bosses the older dog around.

All around tough guy.

But Luka, like all mastiffs, is also incredibly sensitive.  I don’t know if that’s because he is descended form the Roman dogs of war who have been in human company a lot longer than other breeds, or if it’s something specific to his personality, but Luka knows when he is trouble and doesn’t like it.  He is never smacked and is never bullied, yet when he doesn’t listen and you put a bit of harshness in your voice, he transforms from Luka the tough guy into this:

In case you’re wondering, this was the result of saying, “Sit pretty for the camera, Luka.”  He wasn’t really pouting, but it’s a really good shot.  He is so sad.  Oh, the tragedy.

We’re all making a point to tone down the tone of voice when speaking to him, to make sure he doesn’t feel abused.  I have a feeling he’s milking it for all he’s got.

For the record, Del the scary Doberman shows absolutely no inclination to Luka’s pouting tendencies.

#

In other news, as I was hemming the curtains, Kid 2 was playing with scraps of fabric.  Somehow one of them ended up on Duchess’s head.

Me: Oh she looks funny.

Kid 2: She is like a mafia widow at a funeral.

Me:  O_o

Kid 2: Oh I am so sad.  I will kill all of you for killing my husband.  Where is the camera?

May I present, Duchess, the Mafia Widow.

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I am a lazy ho.

:does lazy ho dance:  Wooo, wiggle, wiggle, woo!

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LOL.

Actually the choice was prompted by several factors.

1) School system – very nice.

2) Sunshine.  I am firmly convinced that I would love Canadian and West Coast forests. Right up my alley.   However, my husband requires sunshine.  In fact, he drags me outside every day for at least a couple of hours to broil myself.  He isn’t happy until he is the color of weathered leather.  For a month it rained, he couldn’t go outside, and I thought he’d wither.  So.  We need a sunny spot.  Also they grow grapes there.  Mmm grapes.   It will almost like home – we grew grapes in our garden in Russia and made homemade wine.

3) Snow.  I loves snow.  Snow is my favorite.

4) Taxes.  In words of the financial goddess Jill Myles:

Texas

Tennessee

Florida

New Hampshire

Nevada

Washington State

Alaska

Wyoming

South Dakota

No income tax, baby! Instantly less stress on the money front.

The fact that Patti lives there is wonderful, but I am not really stalking her. 

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I want to move here.

Now all I need is a supergiant bestseller.  :nods:

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Kid 2, after sniping at Kid 1: Oh, oh, was that coffee I served you too hot?

Me: ?

Kid 2: It’s the saying I made up.  When you get somebody like that, that’s what I say.

Gordon: She is convinced it will catch on.

Kid1: eye roll

Kid 2: It will!

Me: Well, I could put it in a book, if you’d like.

Kid 2: Do it, Mom!

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Guys,

Please, I’m begging you, no more emails about Bitten Polls.

First of all, they have a poll every week.  The first one was fun, but I can’t really bribe you for every poll.

Second, it puts me into a difficult position.  Many bloggers run polls and include material from Kate books in them and some of them email me, expecting me to pimp it.  I either have to promote every poll or promote none of them.  I can’t promote every poll.  I just don’t have time and you would get bored.  Which means I either have to stop promoting Bitten polls or risk offending other bloggers.

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