“No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently.”
—AGNES DE MILLE
I never get tired of listening to a writer’s journey.
At many of the Romance Writers of America conferences I attend, the keynote speakers are multipublished, best-selling authors. My favorite talks are the authors who detail their personal writing path, sharing what they learned along the way, their philosophies, and advice. I always leave feeling completely inspired and hopeful. Each of them faced many challenges—which is easy to identify with—and helps me believe I can one day reach the same level of success.
This is my journey and my lessons for you.
You can skip to the end of this chapter if you get bored. I promise this chapter is not just an ego trip down memory lane so I can gleefully expound on my success. I’ve had too many failures along the way to get cocky, and I’ve learned some things that I think you will find worthwhile. I also know my path will be completely different from yours. The publishing landscape has changed, but I still believe you’ll be able to relate to the obstacles I encountered.
Simply put, I was born to write. I never had to search to find the career I wanted, because I knew in my bones I was meant to be a writer. What I recognized early on was the difficulty of making writing a full-time, paying job to support myself.
I wrote my first book at twelve years old, and spent the next years holed up in my room, writing three more back-to-back. I was a misfit. I didn’t date. I was socially awkward. Thank goodness I had a group of friends who supported me and are still my best friends thirty years later. I got lucky. I was under the radar in school—not isolated enough to be bullied, but not interesting enough to be noticed. It was exactly where I wanted to be.
I entered a young adult writing contest, received my first rejection, and only became more motivated. Something told me that I was a real writer if I was writing. Being rejected meant I finished something and was gutsy enough to send it out. Writing after rejection meant I was fated to succeed, just because most aren’t brave enough to continue after being told no.
I made my first mistake because I didn’t know enough about the industry. I received a rejection letter from an agent I queried who told me my book had great potential but needed some work. She referred me to a manuscript-editing agency and said if I submitted to them, she’d take another look at my book.
I swiftly contacted the manuscript-editing agency. It would cost $500 for them to analyze the book. Back then, it might as well be $10,000, but I had been saving and decided to use my Christmas bonus toward the fee. I sent in the book and waited three months for feedback.
Finally, a letter came in the mail. It was three pages long. It detailed the summary of my manuscript, praised the characters, and gave me three suggestions. I had used “honey-colored” too much. My hero was a bit too alpha. And I had used “the fact is” five times too many.
That was it. Five hundred dollars later. Instead of getting nervous, I was weak with joy. I could fix those! And I’d resend to the agent, sign a contract, and be like a real writer!
I fixed the manuscript and resubmitted with the feedback from the agency. And was promptly rejected again.
Never pay for feedback, a critique, or anything that seems fishy. I went on to discover the wonderful Romance Writers of America and joined my local Hudson Valley RWA chapter. These women welcomed me with enthusiasm, gave me critique, feedback, and support. For free. They made me believe anything was possible, and I realized finding a community is absolutely critical for a writer. This is how we learn, how we share ideas, get opinions, and brainstorm. Yes, the writing is done alone, but we need to make sure we join others from our tribe. My tribe reminded me that I’m not clinically insane. I’m just another writer.
I went on to pen my second adult romance at twenty-three and submitted it to Harlequin. They were interested. I sent them the manuscript with dreams of glory playing in my head, but didn’t hear a peep for an entire year. When I finally summoned the courage to contact them—which I had been told to never, ever do—I learned the interested editor had left and they were sorry for the delay.
Three days later, I received a rejection from the new editor.
At this time, I wrote my third book and sent it through the rounds. I left no stone unturned. I also submitted articles and short stories to magazines, but couldn’t seem to break in. So I continued my daily grind working in insurance, because it was the only way to pay my rent. I wrote evenings and weekends nonstop.
Finally, I submitted my eventual first book to an unknown publisher, LionHearted. Some authors warned me about them, but I sent it anyway. The editor actually called me and said they were interested. As I tried not to have a heart attack on the phone, I listened to her chatter nonstop for over an hour, learning I had to make some changes before she’d consider publishing it. The main one was to add a villain.
Umm, okay? It was a straight contemporary romance, no suspense, but if she wanted a villain, I’d give her one.
I rewrote the whole book and added in a lawyer.
Smart move, right?
She called me back and offered me a contract. A real, live contract. I was twenty-eight-years-old and had finally sold my first book.
I will never be able to properly describe how it feels to learn you have almost reached your dream. When I told my family, they were stunned. They were always supportive, but I knew they never expected me to actually publish a book. They figured I’d eventually grow tired and open up my own insurance agency. Suddenly, they looked at me with respect. I was barraged with questions. My phone rang off the hook. People couldn’t believe I had finally signed a contract.
It was a great time in my life. I received the contract and looked it over carefully.
There was no set date for the book to be published. There was no guaranteed advance. There was no real set royalty payout schedule.
I signed it anyway.
That was my second mistake. I signed a bad contract.
I kept writing, and waited for my book to be published. And waited. And waited some more. My fervor diminished and I began avoiding social gatherings where endless people asked, “So when is this so-called book actually going to be published?”
Four years later, my book was published.
Let me repeat that. Four years later, my book was published.
Yeah, it was still great. The books came in a big box and I held them to my chest, kissed the cover, and slept with one that night. The partying began again, the calls started, the excitement, and I waited for the sales to begin racking up.
But it wasn’t in bookstores. And books sold online fifteen years ago just weren’t that popular.
I sold fifty copies. Mostly to friends, family, and one stranger in a clothes store because she felt pressured and I had a copy with me.
I earned one hundred dollars.
I never sold another copy. A few years later, the company went bankrupt.
Meanwhile, life marched past and a new genre exploded into the market—erotic romance. Publishers like Kensington and Red Sage took over, crafting beautiful covers to be displayed in bookstores. I became addicted. I always loved writing a good sex scene, and my work always received feedback of a scorching heat level. It was like I was born to write in this genre.
I penned a romance novella about a secret masquerade ball and submitted to Red Sage. They published it.
My mother was hardly thrilled, and she had to explain my latest story to the family—who is Italian Catholic—but that didn’t diminish my joy of accomplishment. The story was packaged in an anthology with three other authors and issued in paperback format. It sold well, and they invited me to write another story for them. When I cashed my check for $3,000 I felt richer than Warren Buffett.
I worked on another erotic novella, but at this time, I also started writing a brand-new contemporary romance I titled, The Marriage Bargain. I was regularly submitting to Harlequin—still the big romance publisher in town—and receiving wonderful rejections. I felt like I was hovering, ready to begin steadily publishing, but was caught in this midlevel world where I couldn’t seem to break through.
A small publishing company in California contacted me about my digital rights to my first book. They said they received the author list from LionHearted and were republishing all their defunct authors. They sent me a standard contract that was pretty bad. I was so depressed at the time, I signed it, knowing nothing was going to happen with that book anyway, especially in digital.
My third mistake was the same as my second. I signed another bad contract.
For God’s sakes, don’t sign a bad contract. In the current marketplace, contracts that tie up your rights need to be carefully vetted. Look carefully at the publisher’s reputation, booklist, and financials. Look at the reversion clauses. Look at the royalty structure and delivery dates. If you don’t have an agent, ask around. Hire a literary lawyer to just look at the contract. Or contact the Author’s Guild. Don’t sign out of zeal and joy of having someone tell you your work is meaningful.
In the age of self-publishing, writers are being taken advantage of less often, but it’s still a good warning to heed. I’ve read multiple blog posts with fabulous information on noncompete clauses and what not to sign. Treat your rights like the bounty treasure they are, and do not give them away without understanding every single clause and what it means.
Life hit hard, mostly in good ways. I met my husband, got pregnant, married, bought a house, and rescued a dog. All in twelve months.
I changed jobs and commuted daily for an hour and a half, one way. I was thrust into the chaos of domestic life, with barely enough time to breath, let alone write. I had the baby, got pregnant again, rescued another dog, and began working on my master’s degree in English Literature with the goal of becoming an English or creative writing professor. Writing was not paying the bills. I had little time on my hands, and I was completely overwhelmed. The next few years were a complete blur.
At this time, the Internet exploded. Blogging became huge. So did digital books. While working on literary essays and research papers, three other authors and I began a mommy blog—The Four Bad Mommies. It seemed the only thing I could write about was my children and diapers and poop and Baby Einstein.
Writing novels faded into the background. Being a mother became more important, emerging from the person I was before. It’s hard to describe how motherhood changed me, but as I struggled, my lifeline became writing blogs. I wrote about the ups and downs. I wrote funny and sarcastic stories, as well as my daily search for the woman I’d left behind. I built a wonderful, solid following in the motherhood community. And that helped me. My essays kept my writing sharp, and I began journaling again, a practice that always tethered me to Earth when I felt overwhelmed by depression.
I graduated from college with my master’s degree while my kids graduated from diapers. I realized I had to get back to my book, which I’d written a few years back, The Marriage Bargain. I edited, revised, and submitted again to the big publishers.
And I also decided to try my hand at another erotic novella. Three chapters in, I completely stalled out. Every time I sat down, my mind froze and I couldn’t move forward with the story. I was frustrated. When I wasn’t writing, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself I’d never replace. Writing was the essence of what made me who I was.
I spoke with my husband and asked if I could attend the National RWA conference that year. We had been saving for a new kitchen floor. He agreed that I needed to do something to get myself back on track and told me to go to the conference.
It was a turning point for me.
The conference was held in Orlando, Florida. I ended up meeting two writers who are now my very best friends in the community. I refilled my empty, sad well, which had been calling for me to write again. My creativity and enthusiasm exploded. I spoke with publishers and authors and took endless workshops. And one thing resonated with me over and over.
If I wanted to be a writer, I had to stop treating it like a hobby. I needed to treat it like a career. A serious career.
I returned home with a new motto and a clear focus. I made up a calendar and booked certain evenings where I would write and my husband would take care of dinner and the kids. I began plotting where I could find more time. I decided to dedicate my lunch hour for writing. I brainstormed during my commute. I went back into my office to my unfinished manuscript, deleted an entire chapter, and just started writing.
I had no more time for writer’s block. I was on a mission.
Already familiar with running a blog, I created my own website and used my contacts to build a following. I only had one published novella, and Heart of Steel originally with LionHearted, but I swore I’d be ready when publishers came calling.
I sold my new erotic novella to Red Sage Publishing. They agreed to publish it digitally. Upon signing the contract, I learned they wanted more from me, so I began on a second erotic novella.
I met with some fellow authors from the conference who had published successfully with another small company, Decadent Publishing. They had a line of short (15,000-word) erotic stories revolving around the concept of a one-night stand. I seemed to be doing quite well in the short erotic category, so I penned a quick story and submitted it to the editor. She contacted me a few hours later. She loved it and agreed to publish it. Then she asked me if I was interested in writing two additional short stories to create a series. I agreed, and sold them both.
I’d built my foundation. In the upcoming year, four works would be published. I had a website, good relationships with reviewers, and solid contacts with bloggers.
And during the conference, I’d learned about a new digital publishing company, Entangled. I thought I’d try one last time to submit The Marriage Bargain, which had been rejected almost twenty times by every big- and small-name publisher. I stubbornly kept at it. This book was special. I felt like it had a magic I couldn’t explain, and I was desperate to get it into the hands of readers.
This was 2011. Self-publishing was just beginning to rise in popularity and some self-published authors were becoming well-known. But I didn’t quite feel ready to dive into those waters with this book. I wanted the backing of a publishing company.
Now, at this time, my boss—a horrible man—was torturing me at my day job. He verbally abused me and sent me home crying every day. I couldn’t quit though, because we had bills to pay. Eventually, though, they laid me off.
Unemployment for a mom with two young kids is a bitch. I had a master’s degree, endless experience, excellent referrals, and I couldn’t find a damn job. So I got creative and did anything possible to make money. I sold lia sophia jewelry. I worked at my friend’s diner and made Rachel from Friends seem like an awesome waitress. I freelanced for editors. I tried teaching online. It was a scary time, but as I tirelessly searched for employment, I also wrote like a fiend.
I submitted The Marriage Bargain to Entangled. I received an e-mail back from the editor, who quickly scheduled a call with me. They wanted to buy the book and publish it on Valentine’s Day in 2012. They had a unique vision to compete with Harlequin on a digital scale and they wanted fresh, unique romance books. Their plan was to price them at $2.99 and release four per month.
It was a brilliant, unique idea, and I was on board. My book would be part of the launch.
The week my book launched, my unemployment was running out. At this point, I rarely slept, worried about my family’s future. I begged for a sign. I prayed and asked to be shown the way. At this point, as much as I loved writing, I’d have taken any job or done anything to keep my family afloat. I was terrified that we’d lose our house because we just couldn’t support ourselves on one income.
My book released. It was an exciting day to see the novel I’d written five years ago land in the hands of readers. Now, at this time, my boys had traded one of those wicked stomach viruses and I fell victim to it that evening. For twenty-four hours I was pinned to the bathroom floor, and then spent the following twenty-four hours recovering in bed. Two days later, I emerged from my cave, blinking and feeling like I’d been run over by a Mack Truck.
I went to my computer and checked my e-mail …
And learned that everything had exploded into chaos.
My book had reached the number one spot on the Barnes & Noble website. The Hunger Games was number two.
I called my husband over and told him the computer was broken. We powered it down, restarted, went back to the site, and saw the same thing. The phone began ringing. It was the most awe-inspiring, amazing feeling of my life. I laughed, cried, and screamed with my editors.
A week or two later, the book hit the top spot on Amazon, too. I’ll never forget the night I returned home from dinner with friends and my husband launched himself across the room, screaming for me to call my editor. When I did, I learned The Marriage Bargain had hit the USA Today best-seller list. One week later, it hit the New York Times.
We were awestruck.
Perhaps even more baffling was how this little romance novel stormed the charts and didn’t budge. We never expected it to hit an actual best-seller list, because this had never been done before. It was digital, after all. No one had ever heard of me. How had this happened?
It was the perfect storm, I think. You start with a great book, but the rest is a mix of luck, work, placement, faith, fate, and more work. It was the right price and the right idea at the right time. I’d released three other books back-to-back-to-back in a short amount of time, so reviewers were buzzing and promo was busily churning—it seemed natural to keep press and reviews churning for this book. Fifty Shades of Grey had hit epic proportions and readers flocked to The Marriage Bargain next. Multiple readers informed me The Marriage Bargain was the second book they read after Fifty Shades of Grey, and recommended it to all of their friends. The stars aligned perfectly, and I got swept up in the moment.
As the book stuck to the lists and refused to budge, the calls began to come. Agents. Publishers. Authors. At this point, I had no agent or other representation. Now, as publication offers poured in from every corner of the country, I needed some help.
I signed with an agent. Months passed, the book still sold like the next hot thing, and New York publishers approached us with interest in buying out the series. It was like a Lifetime movie of the week and I was the star. After being rejected by everyone, this book was now a must-have for every publisher.
Life has always been stranger than fiction.
Now, let me explain the difference between this book and other self-published authors who skyrocketed at this time. I only owned fifty percent of the book. Entangled Publishing owned the other half. My contract said the publisher could sell out, but as an individual, I could not. At this point, I wasn’t looking to leave Entangled or move on to a new publisher, but Entangled agreed I should meet with all the publishers in New York and give Entangled feedback. Entangled and I worked as a team and tried to come to a consensus for our final decision.
I listened to the New York publishers’ pitches and reported back. We teetered between letting the series go to auction and keeping it with Entangled. The main problem revolved around paperback issue. Since Entangled was strictly a digital publisher at that time, getting the book distributed in stores in mass paperback was an obstacle. Entangled made some contacts and found a distributer that was willing to get the books in stores. But it was a game of roulette. If the book sold well and went immediately to a second printing, Entangled may not have enough money to allow a second printing. But the book could also tank and we’d be out tons of money. Giving it over to an established New York publisher seemed to be the best bet, but I was still willing to gamble. Sure, I was entranced with heading over to the Big 5 (at the time), but I also felt loyalty toward Entangled, since they were the ones to take the chance on my book.
On my agent’s advice, Entangled and I decided to go to auction. When the final number rolled in, it was seven figures. We rejected the offer and decided to allow Entangled to publish the book on its own.
Between frantic calls, upset agents, and mass confusion, I wrote the second book of the series, placing my head in a vise full of pressure. I needed it to be as good as the first because everyone was counting on me, but we were still dealing with important decisions regarding The Marriage Bargain.
Everyone seemed to have a different opinion on the best route for the book. Relationships became strained. Eventually, The Marriage Bargain went to a second auction and Simon & Schuster won, along with the second and third book in the series.
I can only try to explain how this hurricane of events affected me while I spoke at writing conferences, toiled on the third book in the series, and pretended everything was perfect. The Marriage Bargain had now spent twenty-seven weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. Simon & Schuster distributed the book everywhere. I met with my new editor, who’d work with me on the final book in the series.
As soon as the book published, it reflected the new digital price of $7.99.
The book immediately dropped off the New York Times list and never made its way back.
Yes, success is very, very sweet. I remember an article detailing the top five books left behind in hotel rooms around the country. Fifty Shades of Grey was number one.
The Marriage Bargain was number two.
Don’t undervalue yourself. We want people to love us. We desire validation. But sometimes certain offers are too good to be true. Don’t let the excitement of success lure you to make impulsive decisions. Look at all your options before deciding. Be brave and think big. If you value yourself and your work, you won’t get caught short.
I wonder if anyone is truly prepared for the chaos that can sometimes come with success. I think you need to be strong within yourself and attempt to suppress your ego. You need to remember that the fanfare will eventually die, someone else will grab the spotlight, and you will have only the memories. But you’ll have your books. The focus needs to remain on writing, and writing your best story, or you will lose your way.
By fall, I had two lawyers, an accountant, an assistant, and a new agent. Rumors circulated about my breakup with Entangled and heading to Simon & Schuster without a look back. People who wouldn’t give me the time of day suddenly wanted to be my best friend. I was asked for endless blurbs. I had to be careful of what I said, who I trusted, and how everyone perceived me.
I’d like to quickly go back to remind you of that last bad contract I signed for my first book, Heart of Steel. Remember that? The one that was published in digital format, that I figured nothing would ever happen with, and that I just forgot about?
Well, when readers discovered Bargain, they quickly foraged my backlist. There wasn’t much there, other than Heart of Steel. It shot up the charts and made a lot of money. When I initially tried to contact my publisher regarding the book, I was ignored. They never called back. They swept it under the carpet.
But now, this small publisher was shocked at the profit rolling in. They decided to put the book in print, dump money into editing, secure a new cover, and begin actual promotion. The publisher enlisted my help, and I spent a few months revising the book, approving covers, edits, and marketing materials.
After endless effort, correspondence, and phone calls, they published my book in print. Then they pulled it and decided to do a different cover. They went through three editors. It was a mess that I should’ve been wary about, but I had signed the contract without doing my research.
The publisher owed me over $50,000 by the time royalties were due. I received $2,000. Then $3,000.
Then, nothing.
The publisher dodged my phone calls and whined about income flow to his company. Getting nervous over the huge amount of money I was owed, counted on, and wasn’t receiving, I hired a lawyer. I’ll spare you the details. After a year of legal work, I didn’t see another dime. The publisher ran off and claimed bankruptcy.
Goodbye $50,000.
Hello, valuable lesson.
By the time all three of my books in the Marriage to a Billionaire series were published, I’d completed my own growth arc. I’d been involved with two lawsuits, hired a team of people to help me, began speaking engagements (which is my number one all time fear—worse than spiders), and written several more books. I had my trust completely broken, but I dealt with it and put myself back together. I became stronger.
People will break your heart when you achieve success. It’s human nature. I’m not trying to be a negative Nelly, but I’ve seen the greed firsthand. The viciousness of social media tearing apart successful authors or planting bad reviews is part of this world. The way to combat all of this is stay true to yourself. You won’t have any regrets if your intentions are good, and you do your best to avoid hurting anyone. I lost a lot of money, opportunities, and sleep along the way, but I don’t regret any of it, because it taught me to hang in and not to compromise.
People will heal your heart when you achieve success. There are so many authors and friends who stood by me—no questions asked—even when rumors flew. They believed in me. The people who should be in your life for the long-term will stand by you. The people who don’t were only meant to visit for a short time.
Once I reached that shattering pinnacle of success, my other demons appeared. The market began to change. Many readers didn’t want to pay more for my e-book than they had in the past. I was new to the print market and trying to earn a good reputation with readers who had no experience with digital. I’d received a hefty advance along with enormous expectations of what I should sell and produce.
Let’s just say that combination wasn’t too great for my temperamental, cranky muse.
She disappeared. I’d signed a nice, fat three-book contract and began the first book in a new series. The months that followed featured a lot of crying to my husband and kids, who didn’t really understand what was going on. I was paralyzed with fear and decided if I didn’t hit the best-seller list, it was all over. My career would be over.
Writing that book was painful—for everyone. My editor coached me through it, and the only way the story emerged was by developing blisters on my ass from sitting for hours. Not writing. Just staring. And worrying. And cursing.
I embraced the pain, gritted my teeth, and eventually I wrote that book. I still hold very strong emotions for Searching for Someday. It reminds me of when my second son’s birthday comes around. He gave me a hard time during labor, as I reached pinnacles of pain that shouldn’t exist. At one point, I’d leapt from the bed and put my husband in a chokehold, telling him in a vicious whisper to get the drugs now. Today I look at that kid with such pride, joy, and love, but on his birthday, I wince a bit at the memory of that pain.
Someday was this book for me.
The book hit the USA Today list but not the Times. I went to bed and admitted to myself I’d failed. Yeah, I know, the unpublished writers are now throwing this book at a wall and cursing me. The published writers who experienced this are nodding their heads with complete understanding.
See, the game had changed for me from writing a great book to selling a book. Once your mind makes that change, writing becomes different. It’s like getting into bed and having the entire neighborhood with you, throwing out comments and the occasional insult while you wonder what they’re doing there.
I became crippled by the idea that I’d let important people down. People who believed in me. My publisher, my editor, agent, reviewers, and readers. They were all in the bed with me, and you can’t write your best when you’ve got an audience.
The second book in my series, Searching for Perfect, tanked. I believe it was one of my best books, and readers seemed to embrace and adore it. But the sales just weren’t there.
At this time, my publisher decided we’d made a grievous error in branding the covers. As much as I loved the art, nothing told the reader it was a spin-off from the popular Marriage to a Billionaire series. They didn’t seem to fit anywhere and didn’t pop on the shelves. My publisher was savvy enough not to give up on me, redesigning the covers for the next books, which sold better and garnered some of my highest and critically acclaimed reviews.
But they still didn’t hit the Times. And I had to live with it.
I wonder if writers who have penned over a hundred books still feel unbalanced, and afraid of letting their team down, when they sit down to write. I bet they do. The beauty of self-publishing is the knowledge that if my book doesn’t sell, I’ve only let myself down. I can live with that so much easier. It gives me a chance to take a breath and experiment, because I don’t have an advance or expectations to worry about—it’s just me and my readers.
Of course, when you’re full-time indie, there’s no advance, so you do worry about sales because it may make the difference between eating and not eating. No matter what kind of writer you are—traditional, indie, or hybrid—there are always concerns.
When I think of how ridiculous hitting a New York Times list sounds as a component for failure, I’m embarrassed. There was a time in my life where I just craved having an audience. Or a single reader. So I consistently remind myself not to get so caught up in the writing business that I lose sight of the power of the product.
There is a wonderful teen movie called Center Stage. It’s about a group of ballerinas studying together, hoping to make it big. One of the ballerinas is a real badass—she’s talented, but her fear and inner demons seem to come out at the wrong times. In one scene, the teacher finds her practicing ballet alone, and her raw talent and beautiful dance stuns the teacher. She walks over to the ballerina and tells her that life is a mess, obstacles are everywhere, and we are all searching for something. Something important. Something that makes sense. Something that feeds our soul and soothes our heart.
“It’s not out there,” she says softly. Then she touches the ballet barre. “It’s here.”
See, when things don’t make sense, go back to the barre.
The barre, guys. Not the bar.
When you get too confused over your writing career, go back to the page. That’s where the answers will always be.
Think about a time in your life when writing was really hard. DId you think about quitting? Changing careers? How did you manage to keep going? Connect with a personal moment when you doubted your writing. Examine where you are now, and where you want to be. What actions can you take to keep writing? What fills up and empties your creative well? Target one positive change you can institute in your writing life to help you write, or lessen your doubts. Commit to that change.