The Real Story, Part 3

(Read Part 2 HERE.)

It took me three days to get my head around the edit suggestion.  Then I dug in and made the change, and it was the hardest edit I'd ever had to do.  Turns out, though, that Danielle and Josh were right--the story ended up so much stronger once I made the sex change.  (And Danielle and I still joke about it.)

In February, 2014, we went on submission with the YA science fiction.  This was our fourth attempt to sell a book, and by now my cynicism was fairly high.  Countless aspiring authors I'd met online had long since published their debuts, while I sat on the bench.  Sometimes it got really hard.  Sometimes I had to dig deep inside myself to find the words to continue to encourage other writers.

But God always gave me the grace to keep going.  And since the opposite of that is quitting, there was no other option for me.

I'm not a quitter.

On my birthday with Lucy, fairest kitty of all

The long writerly journey was taking a toll, though, and in August I decided to take an honest-to-goodness writing break, something I'd never done before.  By this time, my Authoress Edits business was thriving, so I had a ton of work from clients to wade through.  Between that and the upcoming Baker's Dozen, I was definitely busy.  But I did not write.  

Which gave me time to do other things.  Like prepare a Hobbit Dinner with my beloved daughter.

By September, I was already well into planning my next story, so the break obviously did me a lot of good. I had also done, by now, a complete reboot of my original YA dystopian (that Josh signed me on) as a straight-up sci/fi, at Danielle's suggestion.  (The dystopian market was still maxed out, so this was worth a shot.)  Honestly, I wasn't thoroughly in love with what I was doing, but it was one of those keep-on-keeping-on situations, so I did it.

The new story, though, had me fully engaged--and challenged.  I'd made the shift to YA fantasy, and by the time I started drafting, it was soon clear that, for whatever reason, this was my hardest undertaking yet.

Still, I was back in my sweet spot, writing daily.

Writing at The Factory in Franklin, November 2014

Fantasy has always been my first love.  I was reading Katherine Kurtz, Patricia McKillip,  and Terry Brooks when I was in seventh grade, and my love affair never stopped.  Interestingly, of all the novels I'd written to date, only 2 were fantasy.  The rest were all in the realms of science fiction (which is undoubtedly my second love).  This new project took me to a place I'd always been comfortable reading, but not necessarily writing.

And, like stories are wont to do, it tangled me to the point at which I had to begin again.  It was some of the most difficult plotting I've ever done, and I suspect this was evidence of my "notching it up" as a writer.  By February of 2015, this is what things looked like:

I do the majority of my work on my laptop, but this plot snarl called for a tactile approach.  (I cut out the outline of each scene and taped it to the correct chapter--and moved them around as necessary.) I'm happy to say it worked!  But ugh, it was painstaking.  I did a lot of staring.

That summer, I trekked to NYC once more to have lunch with Josh.  Over sushi and spring water, I threw out the suggestion that, perhaps, when my WIP was finished, I might give that project to Danielle.  I knew Josh didn't represent fantasy, and Danielle, on the other hand, not only loved it, but seemed to click with my work.  Josh was amenable, as I'd expected him to be.

Back at the office, it was a huge treat to meet Danielle.  It was her idea for me to hold up the face-over-my-face for the first picture, so I could share it on my blog.  The real picture was saved, of course, for such a time as this.

I'm so thankful for these two.

By December, I'd finished the manuscript, and Danielle and I made it official.  We were genuinely excited to work together, and Josh sent us off with his blessing.  Several months later, Danielle made the move to Nelson Literary, and I happily followed her (because I would probably follow her anywhere).  

We went on submission and I worked on a new YA fantasy.  Meanwhile, I continued to take ballet classes and pursue other interests.  Honestly, by this point of my writing journey, I had let go of my dreams and simply continued to press forward because it was the right thing to do.  And it was such a complete joy working with Danielle that she made it easy.

I knew I'd be able to keep on keeping on indefinitely.  So that's what I decided to do.

In August, Eric and I auditioned for, and were accepted into, the Nashville Symphony Chorus.  This was a huge turning point for me--I have a degree in music, and it is one of my first and deepest loves.  Life took different turns for me, with much joy along the way, but rediscovering my passion for music was soul-nourishing and life-giving.

View from the entrance to the choir loft at Schermerhorn Symphony Center in Nashville, TN

Smooching at the Schermerhorn after a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony

We celebrated Thanksgiving that year at the farm where our oldest son lives.  Dinner for 14 on the dock by the pond--wonderful family time!

In February, 2016, my Authoress Facebook page exploded when a certain photo went viral.  This must have gotten Facebook's attention, because they contacted me and told me that my name didn't seem real (oh, really?), and that I'd have to prove this was a name I actually went by, or they would shut down my account.  Thanks to the wise advice of one of my colleagues, I created an Authoress I.D. and sent a picture to Facebook.  They stopped bothering me after that.  

I'm not a traveller at heart, and 2016 was a "travel-heavy" year for me.  (If you travel regularly, you'll laugh at my lameness.)  In addition to two trips to Cape May (one with the entire family and one for just the two of us), Eric and I flew to Chicago to see Peter Gabriel and Sting.  It was my first time in Chicago, and, yes, the wind was a thing.  (Also the concert was fabulous.)

We started our second year with the Nashville Symphony Chorus that August, opening the season with Mahler's Second Symphony.

Because you can dress me in serious clothes, but that's not going to make me serious.

And sometimes we could be spotted listening to the Nashville Symphony instead of singing with them.

Yes, that's a glass of Chardonnay in my hand.

In January, 2017, I had one of the most fun musical experiences I've ever had--I was privileged to be one of twenty-four singers in the Nashville Symphony's screening of Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone.  The music was hard, the score was delicious, and I now know this movie so well that I could probably write the screenplay by heart.  (Not really.  But close.)

In March, something even better happened: my beloved sister and her family moved to Nashville.  Jamie and I hadn't lived in the same state since 1987, and though it was a difficult transition for her (she was plugged in to a large and loving community in Roanoke), we are both thrilled to be living life together now.  Instead of a seven-and-a-half hour drive away, she's just 17 minutes up the road!

Goodie bags for my niece and nephews

The Nashville Symphony opted for a synthesizer over live voices for their screening of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in May.  At first I was crushed, but then I rallied, bought myself a ticket, and attended a performance as Professor McGonagall.  And I won a prize (as did my little Hermione).

among the Muggles in downtown Nashville

And that pretty much brings us to to the present.  I'm still dancing, still writing, still singing.

And a couple months ago, I had the delight of meeting my longtime colleague, critique partner, and friend, Holly Bodger.  It was lovely to finally have her sign my copy of 5 to 1.  (And lovely to spend time with her in downtown Franklin, chatting our heads off.)

There you have it--my life for the past decade.  In truth, I've been very much myself on this blog, minus the details of my private life.  (Mostly my children.  It was admittedly most difficult to leave them out of my online narrative over the years; they're such a huge part of my life.)

Thank you for walking alongside me on this journey-toward-our-dreams.  Thank you for giving me a safe, kind, and supportive atmosphere for my big reveal.  I'll keep running this blog as "Authoress" for the sake of continuity--but you can call me Jill.

The Real Story, Part 2

(Read Part 1 HERE.)

In the wee hours of Christmas morning, I lost the baby.

More than anything, this experience showed me how amazing my children were.  When Eric and I got home from the ER around 10:00 (which is a good three hours later than our usual start to Christmas morning), the hot chocolate was made, the fireplace was crackling, the Christmas music was playing, and my oldest daughter had washed my (bloodied) Christmas jammy pants so I could put them back on.

It was a strange juxtaposition of sorrow and joy.

I grieved for a full month, and then I began to heal.  One of the happier moments of that winter was receiving a revise and resubmit request from an agent I adored.  My dear husband booked us a "writing weekend" at a nearby Marriott Courtyard so that I could focus on the revisions without distraction (well, except for him--but that was part of the package).

I can't tell you how many times I looked at this prototype selfie (taken on Photobooth) and imagined it was my author photo.  The revise and resubmit ultimately resulted in (yet another) rejection, but the weekend with Eric remains a treasured memory.

2010 was a busy year on the blog, with lots of in-house critique sessions and almost-monthly Secret Agent contests.  The biggest development was, of course, our very first Baker's Dozen Agent Auction, which I announced in October.  This was destined to be the blog's most popular and results-producing contest, running for 5 years before I finally hung up the gavel.

In the midst of reading all the entries and doing all the behind-the-scenes work that was required, I enjoyed a visit from my parents, who came for Thanksgiving that year.  Because life is far too dull unless you're doing something creative, I wrote a little screenplay for a short film, starring my dad (who isn't shy), called The Poet's Lost Words.  It was a collaborate family effort, with my then-11-year-old son taking the supporting lead and my teenaged daughter filming.  My mom played a cameo (and pretended to complain about it.)

Also?  THE RED HAT.

I really love my family.  Really, really, really love them. 

Among the agents who participated in the Baker's Dozen that year (and every subsequent year) was Josh Getzler.  It was a bit...strange, because earlier in the year he had requested a revise and resubmit on my YA dystopian, and while the Baker's Dozen was in the works, I was waiting to hear from him.

Imagine me, sending out emails to the agents as "Authoress" while waiting to hear from Josh as myself.  And keeping that line in place.

And twitching.  A lot.

On December 18, we made it official.  And here's a sort of goofy picture of me having that "I want to be your agent" phone call with Josh.

Now happily agented, I worked hard on my next novel while hoping, of course, for an amazing sale of the first one.  In June of 2011, our trip north to visit my parents included a week in Cape May (our favorite place on the planet and the setting of my then-WIP), and a day trip to NYC to schmooze with Josh.

Making plot notes at the very setting of the novel.

Doesn't he wear the hat well?

In August, I was in for yet another treat--Beth Revis, author extradordinare and of one of this blog's Success Story Authors, came to a book event at our local Borders.  Once again, I had to hide this exciting event from my blogging world, in the interest of keeping my identity a secret.  Now, at last, I can show you the photos that still make me smile!

So excited to see Beth!

With my writerly daughter Maggie -- it was standing room only!

This moment! 

Thankful for this gal's encouragement over the years!

Lest you think I spend all of my time at wineries and bookstores, here is a photo of my first spelunking experience, thanks to my eldest son, who is the most amazing outdoorsman/hunter/fisherman/naturalist I know.  Also, I didn't hurt myself.

In 2012, my second novel with Josh went on submission.  It was a blow, of course, to not have that first novel sell.  Nobody wants to believe they're going to be that author whose first agented book does a belly flop, right?  Yet there I was, having to let go of that "quick success" dream and push through.  

While accruing a collection of rejections on this second novel (alas), I was hard at work on my next story--but it was a dystopian, like my first had been, and the market was clearly already saturated.  (Thank you, Hunger Games!)  Josh and I had to have the "I'm not sure we can go out with this one" conversation.  Which, of course, I didn't want to hear.  I was in love with my WIP (aren't we all?), and I didn't like having to swallow this proverbial bitter pill.

I'm sure that's what must have inspired THIS BLOG POST, in which I bring up the question, "Do we follow the market? Or follow our hearts?"

I decided to finish my latest round of revisions on the new dystopian, while throwing out the idea to Josh that perhaps we could go out with a middle grade fantasy I'd written a few years earlier.   He agreed to take a look at it, and I was glad to have something else in the pipeline, since my book-on-submission wasn't looking too hopeful.

In September, my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.  They are a constant reminder to me of what it means to stay committed.  Also, they are the reason I love to laugh.

Shortly after, Gabrielle Harbowy invited me to submit a short story for consideration in Dragon Moon Press's upcoming anthology, When the Hero Comes Home 2.  So the end of 2012 was a mixture of working on the short, presenting our third Baker's Dozen, and hoping that my middle grade fantasy would find a home in the coming year.

In February, 2013, I received the news from Gabrielle that my short story, Beginning, would be published in the anthology.  A huge pick-me-up, since my second on-submission novel was now dead in the water.  In early spring, we went on submission with the middle grade fantasy, while I was busy working on a mission suggested by my agent--to write a straight-up YA science fiction.  I rolled up my sleeves and dug in.

I was also devoted to my ballet classes, which I loved despite the fact that dancing is one thing I seem completely incapable of doing well.  If anything, it kept me moving, and gave me a happy place outside of my writing.

Life at home, though, took an unexpectedly dark turn.  My fourth child, then 14, began to exhibit increasingly disturbing behavior that turned out to be OCD.

He's doing well now--a freshman in college, majoring in communications (he wants to be a sports broadcaster, and trust me, he's got the voice for it!).  But then?  It was scary.

Truly scary.

Our lives were consumed by his inability to function.  He was unable to do anything, frozen by obsessions the OCD was hammering into his brain. 

Life as we knew it stopped. It was truly the most difficult season of parenting we'd ever walked through.

And because of it, I no longer throw around the term "OCD" lightly.  I don't find OCD jokes funny any more.  It is what it is, and I'm so grateful that my son is living a full, happy life.  But this experience has left an indelible mark on me.  On all of us.

So through the Secret Agent contests and Baker's Dozen for the rest of 2013, that's what my life looked like.  The release of When the Hero Comes Home 2 in November was the brightest spot of a very dark season.

Despite the hardship, I was able to complete a decent draft of my YA science fiction novel.  By this time, Josh had brought Danielle Burby on board as his assistant, and she was actively involved in reading and critiquing this project.

Imagine my horror when I learned that she felt--and Josh agreed--that one of my main characters should actually be a girl instead of a boy.

If I'd ever hit a point at which I felt, utterly and completely, that there was NO WAY I could do what was asked of me, this was it.

...to be continued

The Real Story, Part 1

When I wrote the first post for Miss Snark’s First Victim in April, 2008, this little pumpkin was taking up the majority of my time:

She's 10 now.

I'd already been writing for a while, but the lion's share of my time went to raising--and homeschooling--my kids.  One of the beauties of writing, though, is that it blends beautifully with motherhood.  And because I've always been hardcore about things like scheduled naps and consistent bedtimes, I could always carve writing into my days.  Even before my littlest was born, I had adopted the habit of hanging the following sign on my door when I was working:

MOMMY IS WRITING.  DO NOT DISTURB UNLESS SOMETHING IS ON FIRE OR SOMEONE IS BLEEDING FROM THE HEAD.

Yes, it worked.  (Boundaries are good.)

The blog, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, was a complete whim.  I had the sudden idea to start an anonymous blog for writers.  I was already 2 years into the querying process, and of course I had no idea--NO EARTHLY OR ALIEN IDEA--that my journey would go on and on...and on.  And on.

So I started the blog and jumped right in with our first ARE YOU HOOKED? CRITIQUE ROUND, followed by the inaugural SECRET AGENT CONTEST with the lovely Holly Root, who read through a whopping 114 entries without flinching--and this with wonky internet because she was somewhere in the wilderness.  After that, I knew I had to limit the number of entries (or I'd scare away any future agents).

One month after the contest, Eric -- a.k.a. Mr. A -- and I celebrated our 20th anniversary.  Which sort of felt like a big deal.

(This is actually an outtake.  I like it better than the smiling ones.)

By 2009, I was deep into my fourth novel.  It was a YA dystopian--which was interesting because I didn't even know what a dystopian was.  I just knew I had this vision for a bleak world I felt I had something to say about. 

Eric (Mr. A) and I started spending a lot of time at Arrington Vineyards, Nashville's local winery owned by Kix Brooks (yes, that Kix), on "working dates".  During this phase of my writerly development, Eric was very involved in walking me through edits.  Basically, I'd give him chapters to read, and he'd make notes.

Mostly, though, he made fun of my bad dialogue.

I credit him with singlehandedly teaching me how to stop writing B-movie grade dialogue.  By using silly voices and accentuating the overwriting/melodrama/unnatural/stupid in my characters' speech, he gently trained me to listen to the words, to make sure they sounded the way normal people sound when they talk.

It's funny, because he's not a writer.  What he is, though, is a musician (with a great ear) and an avid movie fan.  He knows what bad acting/bad scriptwriting sounds like, so he transferred that insight to my manuscripts.

Brilliant, yes?

More than anything, he made me laugh.  And laughter is a far better teacher than criticism, yes?

It wasn't all work at the vineyards, of course.  It was wine and nibbles.  And smooches.

Naturally, smooches can sometimes lead to more-than-smooches, and in early autumn we found out we were expecting our sixth child.

I know, right?

I was thrilled, though, because our littlest was so many years behind the rest of our crew (my next-youngest child was eight when she was born), and I thought it would be lovely for her to have a sibling closer to her own age.  And so began another season of writing-while-pregnant.

Earlier that year (some time between the vineyard smooches and the discovery that I was pregnant), I experienced the shock of having my anonymity dismantled by a clever and sneaky sleuth.  Jodi Meadows and I met on Twitter and forged a fast writerly friendship.  Imagine how stunned I was when she announced one day that she was fairly certain she knew who I was.

My stomach dropped right through the floor.

Turns out I'd left a trail that she (or perhaps her superpower) was able to follow.  Basically, I'd clicked on a link she'd shared on Twitter, and she found the location of my IP address.  Then, because she knew I'd queried her twice (she was then reading submissions for an agent who is no longer an agent), she searched for the city and state and, using what she knew about my novel, found me.  (That is the short version. The actual sleuthing that went on was remarkable.  And a little scary.)

Jodi kept my secret without once wavering.  I'm forever grateful.

The second half of the year was filled with rejections that came singing into my inbox for the YA dystopian.  (Yes, I still have them.  Doesn't everyone save their rejection letters?)  I pressed on, slowing down perhaps as the first trimester sleepies hit, but continuing to write nonetheless.

That December, I hosted a Writerly Christmas Lyrics Contest, which made me feel a bit left out--so I wrote my own lyrics and posted them after the contest, along with a recording that my dear husband was kind enough to put together for me.  If you're an old-timer, you'll remember this.  If you haven't heard this before, well, enjoy!

Lyrics:

Snark! The Haggard Agents Sing 
(Hark! The Herald Angels Sing)

Snark! The haggard agents sing, 
"Email die, and phone, don't ring! 
No more queries sent from hell, 
No more stories I can't sell.

Give me eggnog, rum, and cookies, 
Save me from these writing rookies, 
I've rejected forty-four 
thousand and six, and maybe more."

Snark! The haggard agents sing, 
"Email die, and phone don't ring!"

"Contracts, royalties, and tears, 
Fill the weeks and months and years. 
Weary, now, I shut my door, 
Screaming, as I go, 'NO MORE!'

Editors, I'm tired of waiting, 
On my last nerve you've been grating. 
Thanks to you, I soon will be 
Paying for clients' therapy."

Snark! The haggard agents sing, 
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!"

"Give me sand and surf and sun, 
I'm in desperate need of fun. 
Farewell partial, full, and ARC, 
I have had my fill of snark.

Lock the door and turn the light off; 
Can't remember my last night off. 
Toss the books and pass the gin! 
Let the holiday begin!"

Snark! The haggard agents sing, 
"Email die, and phone, don't ring!" 

The fun we had recording that silly little song was tempered by the fact that, at 11 weeks along, I had started spotting.  I spent untold days scouring the Internet for articles on "when spotting is normal", and crying out to God for the safety of my baby.  All while transitioning into maternity clothes and baking my final batches of Christmas cookies.

But as Christmas Eve day progressed, I worried that my worst fears would come true.


...to be continued

(Read Part 2 HERE)