When I received news that my novel Roseflower Creek was to be published, I got overly excited. And when the day arrived for my first booksigning I was still pretty much flying high. Not even the article I read about booksignings being a lesson in humiliation could dampen my spirits. It said if you’re an unknown author, usually only two people attend your event: your mother and the person who booked it. I arrived at the book store early and spied the stack of my debut novels prominently placed near the front door. A desk and chair awaited me. I took my seat and quickly realized the article I’d read was most likely right. No line appeared in front of me. Then something exciting happened. A woman walked in the front door, spotted me sitting at the table and approached. She said she’d be delighted to purchase a copy. Since I wasn’t expecting many people to attend a booksigning for an unknown author, I’d brought along a book to read so I wouldn’t feel so foolish sitting there by my lonesome. It was a copy of Terry Kay’s Taking Lottie Home, which had just been released. Excited that I would be autographing a copy of my book for the very first time, I quickly opened the front cover and wrote: In honor of the written word, and signed my name. The women tucked the book under her arm and proceeded to the check-out line. Shortly thereafter she reappeared at my table and explained that she wanted a copy of Roseflower Creek and handed the book back to me.
Imagine how silly I felt when I realized I’d signed Terry Kay’s Taking Lottie Home! I learned my lesson. I no longer bring a book to read at my signings.
During my book tour the following month I was slated to appear at three stores in North Carolina that were in cities close enough to each other that I could stay at the same Hampton Inn. I’d be there two nights and three days as I had one signing set up per day. The first event was at a Barnes and Noble and everything went very well. I even managed to sell a dozen books. The next day I arrived at a Borders store and discovered I was not scheduled to sign that day at that location. The young girl at the information desk said she’d call the manager and see if he could sort out what had happened. It wasn’t hard to figure out. This was Wednesday. I was scheduled to sign on Thursday. I’d mixed up the stores. I arrived an hour late to the signing I was to be at in the first place and had to explain I’d gone to the wrong store. I told a small fib to cover my embarrassment, exclaiming that I’d been to so many book signings that month my head was swimming and to forgive my confusion. I learned to be more careful when reading my schedule and it never happened again.
Several years later at a book conference I was presenting at, I drew a nice crowd and was prepared to do my very best in presenting Bring Your Characters to Life. During a short introduction of my publishing history, I was interrupted by a conference staff member who had an announcement to make. She stepped up to the podium, a stack of papers in her hand, and explained that several of the remaining sessions had to be reassigned to different locations (she gave no reason and I didn’t ask.) and she would be passing out copies of the changes. She picked up the stack of papers she’d brought with her and made sure each attendee received one.
Now I was ready to begin my presentation. I looked down for my carefully typed notes that had all the information I would be sharing clearly spelled out. I needed those notes because I have trouble memorizing and it was the only way I’d be able to follow through with my presentation. But, my notes were nowhere in sight! I searched through my handouts that I planned to pass out later, but they weren’t there either. I panicked. I’d never be able to do the presentation without my notes to guide me. I apologized to the class, explaining my notes had disappeared and perhaps the woman who’d arrived to hand out the conference changes had picked them up by mistake. I went looking for her, catching up with her at another session. Sure enough, she had my notes tucked at the back of her stack of papers. Thankfully, she hadn’t them out by mistake or I would have had to kill myself. So far I’ve never lost track of my notes again when presenting at book conferences, but I always bring along an extra copy just to be sure I have a back-up plan in place.
Any other authors out there with embarrassing events to share? I’d love to hear them. I won’t feel so alone in my stupidity.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne, and All That’s True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
MY WRITING SCHEDULE
When I first started writing my creative energy announced itself at midnight. I woke each evening at the stroke of twelve like Cinderella, only she was on her way home and I was on my way to the keyboard. I wrote from twelve to five a.m. and tiptoed back to bed, so as not to disturb my husband, when I finished for the night. That schedule worked well. I finished my first two novels, “Roseflower Creek” and “Cold Rock River”.
Gradually, writing in the middle of the night didn’t sit too well with me. Mostly, I slept, slumped in the chair in front of my computer. I got over writing at that ungodly hour and graduated to writing from six a.m. to ten in the morning. Happily, I found I could be very productive during those hours, too. I finished my third book, “Divorcing Dwayne”.
But as time rolled on, I discovered I was no longer an early riser. I would wake at eight a.m. if left on my own without an alarm clock and realized I’d missed two hours on my writing schedule. I adjusted the schedule to eight a.m. to noon, several cups of coffee at the ready. This worked out okay. I finished “All That’s True”, that debuted this past January.
I stayed on that schedule and completed my next novel “Summer Ridge” which is now in the consideration stage with my agent shopping it. “Summer Ridge” follows twelve-year-old Mary Alice Munford, who is struggling with the knowledge that her mother plans to marry her father, a man who abandoned them before she was born. It’s set in the seventies and is reminiscent of “Paper Moon”, for those of you who remember that movie. The movie was based on the book “Addie Prey”.
The opening to “Summer Ridge” begins with Mary Alice explaining her situation in life. She says:
When I was very little my mother would tell me stories about why my father wasn’t with us. First she said he was away in the war in Asia—Vietnam. Then she said he was healing from the wounds in his head that made him forget us. Now she says he’s in the Secret Service.
“Hogwash,” Granny Ruth says. “She’s filled your head with garbage.”
Back and forth, back and forth. They still can’t agree on anything. They can’t decide what bread to buy. They can’t decide on which church to go to. One thing’s for sure--they don’t agree on my father. My mother insists he’s perfect. Granny Ruth says, “And pigs can fly.”
Ours is not a happy household. There’s me, my mother, Granny Ruth and Aunt Josie, whose husband, my Uncle Earnest, fell under a combine when I was four, so I never got to know him good. The day he died, I climbed up on Aunt Josie’s lap and wouldn’t leave, even when it was time to go to bed. Mama tried to pick me up.
“You been sitting there all day, sweet thing.”
“Leave me lone, Mommie,” I said. “I’m helping Aunt Josie cry.”
Now that “Summer Ridge” is finished and in my agent’s hands, I find I’m in a writing dilemma. It’s hard for me to concentrate on a new work of fiction when I’m waiting to hear on how the most recent one is doing. I have to drag myself to the keyboard at the designated time in the morning, but mostly find that I am unproductive. I can’t seem to leave the last work behind and concentrate on a new one. It’s irritating, so mostly I force myself to sit and write no matter what falls onto the page.
Lately, I’m not too enamored with what I see and am trying to encourage myself to keep going. I often wonder if other writers have ever felt the way I do. Is my most recent book the last bit of creative writing that will fall onto the page? Do I have anything else left to say? Will the creative juices once again flow freely?
Let me know if any of you dear authors struggle with this. In the meantime I’m anxiously waiting to hear from my agent. I’m convinced the sale of “Summer Ridge” will once again get me going. I’m counting on it, so wish me luck!
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne, and All That’s True. Visit her website at www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Gradually, writing in the middle of the night didn’t sit too well with me. Mostly, I slept, slumped in the chair in front of my computer. I got over writing at that ungodly hour and graduated to writing from six a.m. to ten in the morning. Happily, I found I could be very productive during those hours, too. I finished my third book, “Divorcing Dwayne”.
But as time rolled on, I discovered I was no longer an early riser. I would wake at eight a.m. if left on my own without an alarm clock and realized I’d missed two hours on my writing schedule. I adjusted the schedule to eight a.m. to noon, several cups of coffee at the ready. This worked out okay. I finished “All That’s True”, that debuted this past January.
I stayed on that schedule and completed my next novel “Summer Ridge” which is now in the consideration stage with my agent shopping it. “Summer Ridge” follows twelve-year-old Mary Alice Munford, who is struggling with the knowledge that her mother plans to marry her father, a man who abandoned them before she was born. It’s set in the seventies and is reminiscent of “Paper Moon”, for those of you who remember that movie. The movie was based on the book “Addie Prey”.
The opening to “Summer Ridge” begins with Mary Alice explaining her situation in life. She says:
When I was very little my mother would tell me stories about why my father wasn’t with us. First she said he was away in the war in Asia—Vietnam. Then she said he was healing from the wounds in his head that made him forget us. Now she says he’s in the Secret Service.
“Hogwash,” Granny Ruth says. “She’s filled your head with garbage.”
Back and forth, back and forth. They still can’t agree on anything. They can’t decide what bread to buy. They can’t decide on which church to go to. One thing’s for sure--they don’t agree on my father. My mother insists he’s perfect. Granny Ruth says, “And pigs can fly.”
Ours is not a happy household. There’s me, my mother, Granny Ruth and Aunt Josie, whose husband, my Uncle Earnest, fell under a combine when I was four, so I never got to know him good. The day he died, I climbed up on Aunt Josie’s lap and wouldn’t leave, even when it was time to go to bed. Mama tried to pick me up.
“You been sitting there all day, sweet thing.”
“Leave me lone, Mommie,” I said. “I’m helping Aunt Josie cry.”
Now that “Summer Ridge” is finished and in my agent’s hands, I find I’m in a writing dilemma. It’s hard for me to concentrate on a new work of fiction when I’m waiting to hear on how the most recent one is doing. I have to drag myself to the keyboard at the designated time in the morning, but mostly find that I am unproductive. I can’t seem to leave the last work behind and concentrate on a new one. It’s irritating, so mostly I force myself to sit and write no matter what falls onto the page.
Lately, I’m not too enamored with what I see and am trying to encourage myself to keep going. I often wonder if other writers have ever felt the way I do. Is my most recent book the last bit of creative writing that will fall onto the page? Do I have anything else left to say? Will the creative juices once again flow freely?
Let me know if any of you dear authors struggle with this. In the meantime I’m anxiously waiting to hear from my agent. I’m convinced the sale of “Summer Ridge” will once again get me going. I’m counting on it, so wish me luck!
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne, and All That’s True. Visit her website at www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
ALMOST CRAZY by Jackie Lee Miles
I’m not sure if my husband has ever considered that I might be a lunatic. He’s a quiet, loving man who never criticizes (Am I blessed, or what?). Even so, he may have questioned my sanity while I was writing Cold Rock River. I’d discovered the slave narratives and stayed camped out at the library for eight months. You couldn’t take the material out. What else could I do but return there daily? When he got really hungry he’d come over and find me, telling me I must be exhausted and should come home. Such a sweet man—I’m not even a good cook, yet he searched me out. Months later I was done with my research and back to a normal daily existence, if you call writing until three a.m. in the morning normal.
Then we moved. Once all of the furniture was transported and the boxes I’d so carefully packed delivered, my husband decided to take the kids fishing so I could have some time to myself to sort everything out. Perfect! There’d be no laundry and no meals to cook while I unpacked at least one-hundred boxes and put our new home in order. Once they left, I drove over to the deli to pick up a sandwich for my lunch. I’d need nourishment before beginning the laborious job of unpacking.
That’s when the trouble started. I parked the car and proceeded to the front door, quickly questioning what kind of neighborhood we’d moved into. Someone had deposited a pile of black hoses on our front door step. It was a bright summer day. The sun beating down caused the air above the ground to waffle, making it hard for me to make out what I was seeing. I set my lunch sack down and reached for the hoses, thoroughly disgusted that with all I had to do—now I had trash to dispose of.
As I reached out for the mass, it instantly uncoiled itself and slithered down the stairs and around the side of the house! It was a black racer, totally harmless, but what did I care? It was a snake. And at least eight feet long, I was sure of it, and bigger around than a giant tomato. I unlocked the front door and ran into the house, leaving my lunch parked on the front step. It didn’t matter. I’d totally lost my appetite. I leaned against the now closed front door and realized I was shaking all over like I had some kind of palsy.
I eyed all of the boxes stacked up in the living room. The shaking would have to wait. There was work to do. Visions of the snake slithering around outside my house would have to wait, too. Thinking he might be tempted by my lunched sitting on the step outside the front door, I decided to retrieve it. I opened the door, peeked out, and not seeing anything, snatched my lunch bag back into the house where it sat for the rest of the day on the dining room table.
Unpacking was painstakingly slow. I kept thinking of the snake and how could I live in a place that might have many more of them scooting through the lush foliage that surrounded our house. That’s when it hit me. The reason the snake was on the porch in the first place was because he was waiting for his mate to re-appear. She’d found her way into our house sometime yesterday all the while the doors were open for the movers to bring things in. I was convinced of it! That slithering black monster’s mate was in my house, God only knew where. I stopped unpacking and climbed up on the back of the sofa, eyeing each corner of the room. Nothing moved. I leaned over and looked under the sofa. Nothing there either. That didn’t mean anything. A snake could hide anywhere.
I got on the phone and called Arrow. Once I explained I had a killer snake in my house, they connected me to their wildlife division. They said they’d be out in three days. I assured them I’d be dead by then. They agreed to send someone as quickly as possible. True to their word, within the hour, a technician showed up at my front door. I walked across the top of the furniture to make it there and let him in. Thankfully, he had a snake hook in his hand. He’d have the errant mate in no time and return her to her companion.
Three hours later he’d scoured every inch of my house including the lid to the washer, which made me realize I could never again wash clothes without peaking inside and recoiling lest a snake be curled up inside. But when the technician lifted the lid to toilet I lost it. How would I ever be able to sit on the john in peace again? I pictured a snake coiling up to bite my butt. I dissolved in hysterics.
The guy from Arrow eventually calmed me down and assured me there were no snakes in the house, which by now was a mess. He’d gone through every box in the room. He left, but not without leaving an invoice on the dining room table next to my lunch. It was for $500.00. Obviously, the wildlife division was expensive. I curled up on top of the back of the sofa and waited for my husband and children to return. There would be comfort in numbers, so maybe I’d get to sleep that night after all.
They never did understand my panic. According to them, snakes were part of the landscape and a black racer was one of the most harmless of all. My husband paid the bill without saying a word. But I was sure he was watching me a little more closely now. Maybe he did think I was a lunatic, but was just to kind to mention it. There was the time I called the police to report a prowler in the middle of the night, which turned out to be my laundry basket toppling off of the dryer where it had been too precariously placed. And then there was the time I was driving home from Cape Canaveral and ended up in Pensacola instead of Atlanta when I was daydreaming about my next book. And what about when I locked myself out of the house in my nightgown (Don’t ask.), and the entire fire department showed up. For sure, my husband probably did think I was a lunatic.
Right now I am once again camped out in front of my computer in my nightgown. But I never go outside while I’m wearing it, so I’m safe and totally sane. My husband will just have to trust that I am.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the recently released All That's True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Then we moved. Once all of the furniture was transported and the boxes I’d so carefully packed delivered, my husband decided to take the kids fishing so I could have some time to myself to sort everything out. Perfect! There’d be no laundry and no meals to cook while I unpacked at least one-hundred boxes and put our new home in order. Once they left, I drove over to the deli to pick up a sandwich for my lunch. I’d need nourishment before beginning the laborious job of unpacking.
That’s when the trouble started. I parked the car and proceeded to the front door, quickly questioning what kind of neighborhood we’d moved into. Someone had deposited a pile of black hoses on our front door step. It was a bright summer day. The sun beating down caused the air above the ground to waffle, making it hard for me to make out what I was seeing. I set my lunch sack down and reached for the hoses, thoroughly disgusted that with all I had to do—now I had trash to dispose of.
As I reached out for the mass, it instantly uncoiled itself and slithered down the stairs and around the side of the house! It was a black racer, totally harmless, but what did I care? It was a snake. And at least eight feet long, I was sure of it, and bigger around than a giant tomato. I unlocked the front door and ran into the house, leaving my lunch parked on the front step. It didn’t matter. I’d totally lost my appetite. I leaned against the now closed front door and realized I was shaking all over like I had some kind of palsy.
I eyed all of the boxes stacked up in the living room. The shaking would have to wait. There was work to do. Visions of the snake slithering around outside my house would have to wait, too. Thinking he might be tempted by my lunched sitting on the step outside the front door, I decided to retrieve it. I opened the door, peeked out, and not seeing anything, snatched my lunch bag back into the house where it sat for the rest of the day on the dining room table.
Unpacking was painstakingly slow. I kept thinking of the snake and how could I live in a place that might have many more of them scooting through the lush foliage that surrounded our house. That’s when it hit me. The reason the snake was on the porch in the first place was because he was waiting for his mate to re-appear. She’d found her way into our house sometime yesterday all the while the doors were open for the movers to bring things in. I was convinced of it! That slithering black monster’s mate was in my house, God only knew where. I stopped unpacking and climbed up on the back of the sofa, eyeing each corner of the room. Nothing moved. I leaned over and looked under the sofa. Nothing there either. That didn’t mean anything. A snake could hide anywhere.
I got on the phone and called Arrow. Once I explained I had a killer snake in my house, they connected me to their wildlife division. They said they’d be out in three days. I assured them I’d be dead by then. They agreed to send someone as quickly as possible. True to their word, within the hour, a technician showed up at my front door. I walked across the top of the furniture to make it there and let him in. Thankfully, he had a snake hook in his hand. He’d have the errant mate in no time and return her to her companion.
Three hours later he’d scoured every inch of my house including the lid to the washer, which made me realize I could never again wash clothes without peaking inside and recoiling lest a snake be curled up inside. But when the technician lifted the lid to toilet I lost it. How would I ever be able to sit on the john in peace again? I pictured a snake coiling up to bite my butt. I dissolved in hysterics.
The guy from Arrow eventually calmed me down and assured me there were no snakes in the house, which by now was a mess. He’d gone through every box in the room. He left, but not without leaving an invoice on the dining room table next to my lunch. It was for $500.00. Obviously, the wildlife division was expensive. I curled up on top of the back of the sofa and waited for my husband and children to return. There would be comfort in numbers, so maybe I’d get to sleep that night after all.
They never did understand my panic. According to them, snakes were part of the landscape and a black racer was one of the most harmless of all. My husband paid the bill without saying a word. But I was sure he was watching me a little more closely now. Maybe he did think I was a lunatic, but was just to kind to mention it. There was the time I called the police to report a prowler in the middle of the night, which turned out to be my laundry basket toppling off of the dryer where it had been too precariously placed. And then there was the time I was driving home from Cape Canaveral and ended up in Pensacola instead of Atlanta when I was daydreaming about my next book. And what about when I locked myself out of the house in my nightgown (Don’t ask.), and the entire fire department showed up. For sure, my husband probably did think I was a lunatic.
Right now I am once again camped out in front of my computer in my nightgown. But I never go outside while I’m wearing it, so I’m safe and totally sane. My husband will just have to trust that I am.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the recently released All That's True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
JOBS I COVET
I was asked by a reader what jobs I covet other than that of a writer.
That was an easy question to answer. I want to be a marketing genius or a computer wizard. That way I could promote my books with great expertise, instead of laboring as to what to do to “get one out there.”
My inadequacies as a marketing professional go back to my childhood. At the age of seven, I convinced my mother I was destined to make lots of money selling Kool-aid if she would only provide it. I set up shop on a card table in front of our sidewalk. My mother brought out a pitcher of cherry Kool-aid. The sides of the container were dripping with moisture, so I wrapped my hands around the sides just to make sure. Yes, it was ice cold and ready for serving. My heart soared. I couldn’t wait for my first customer.
Unfortunately, we lived at the end of a very long street and didn’t receive much foot traffic in that area of the neighborhood. The only customers I managed to capture were my playmates that offered a penny for a cup of the delicious drink, when the asking price was five cents.
Deciding I would not let the problem of money discourage me, I persevered, waiting for the drivers of the droves of cars driving by to stop and replenish themselves. One man did and gave me a quarter. I rewarded him with not one glass but two, which he kindly drank and proceeded on his way. To this day I keep hoping he’s won the lottery.
My entire take for the day was thirty-two cents, which included the quarter I received from the kind man driving the car who stopped, along with five playmates who eagerly offered a penny for their drink, and a contribution from my best male friend, Eddie Schaeffer, who bought one cup, then coughed up another penny to get an extra serving.
The following morning my older sister Sandi, age nine, set up her own stand. She stated everything I had done was wrong, including giving my product away for a penny when I could have “had them walking up and down the block with signs pointing to your stand!”
She made signs on card board, that my daddy provided, that offered “Cool refreshments for 5 cents a cup”, and glued them to paint stir sticks.” She then invited all of my playmates who had so eagerly purchased my drinks for a penny a cup to walk the sidewalks from one end to the other for payment of two servings of her Kool-aid, which consisted of not one flavor (I had cherry the day before), but two, grape and cherry.
Her efforts were rewarded. She made two dollars and forty cents by the time she ran out of her third batch of Kool-aid. I’d been out-marketed.
Which brings me to where I am now: fresh out of ideas and amazed with what others are doing to get their books noticed. I am in awe of author friend Nicole Seitz’s remarkable interactive website, promoting her upcoming novel, The Inheritance of Beauty. She expounds on not only where she will be featured next, but offers any number of ways to win free books. That shouldn’t be hard for me to do, so I’ve written that option down in order to promote my latest novel All That's True. It’s the story of thirteen-year-old Andi St. James (I love young protagonists), who’s entire life is turned upside down during the first Desert Storm War when she discovers her father is having an affair with her best friend’s step-mother. To make matters worse, her brother has been killed in a freak hazing accident, which causes her mother to start drinking, all the while her sister is planning the Atlanta wedding of the year and is determined that Andi will be a junior bridesmaid.
Here’s the hype from the publisher posted on the back cover:
Andi St. James’ privileged Atlanta life is turned upside down after her brother’s tragic death. As the relationships around her crumble, Andi embarks on a poignant and sometimes laugh-out-loud journey of self-discovery, where she learns the devastating consequences of deception and realizes that making the most of what you’ve got is a big part of all that’s true.
I’m sitting here contemplating ways I can promote this book. If I were a marketing genius, or a computer wizard, my desk would be loaded with ideas, so many I wouldn’t know where to start. Not so.
Thankfully, my publicist has sent me an e-vite in honor of my first official appearance for ALL THAT’S TRUE (which is being released today, January 11th.) The e-vite is to announce that I will be featured at The Georgia Center for The Book on Wednesday, January 26th, 2011 at 7:15 PM with appetizers to be served by CHOPstix Restaurant. It’s all spelled out neatly on the card with a delightful rendering of the book cover and a not-too-bad photo of me.
CHOPstix is supplying the food because they are featured in the book during one poignant scene when Andi finds out what else her father is up to. I called the restaurant and pointed this out and announced that I would be reading from that portion of the book during my presentation and they were happy to provide food in honor of being mentioned. What a blessing. Maybe I’m getting the hang of this marketing thing, afterall.
But, sending out the e-vites is what has me worried. During the promotion for my last novel COLD ROCK RIVER, I eagerly sent out scads of emails which featured the cover and an invitation to visit with me the day it debuted at a local Barnes & Noble store. I sent this on-line invite to everybody in my address book. Two days later I was completely locked out of receiving and sending emails.
It took me a week to find out that the host considered me a spammer and it took selling my grand-children to get them to believe I was only an author trying to contact all of the people in my address book that had given me their emails addresses themselves to begin with.
This time I will send out only ten at a time. In the event you are in the Atlanta area on Wednesday, January 26th, please join me at The Decatur Center for The Book (Decatur Library on Sycamore Street, downtown Decatur, Georgia), for some great food from CHOPstix, along with a reading and some trivia on why I wrote this book to begin with.
I would love to see you! And it will encourage this frustrated author to continue to find ways to promote the written word, as I’m determined that this is the year I will step out of my comfort zone and go for it. Wish me well, and be sure and tell me if you’ve struggled with marketing and promotion. It’d be nice to know I’m not alone.
All great best,
Jackie Lee Miles
Author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the newly released All That's True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com/. Write the author at http://www.blogger.com/jackie@jlmiles.com.
That was an easy question to answer. I want to be a marketing genius or a computer wizard. That way I could promote my books with great expertise, instead of laboring as to what to do to “get one out there.”
My inadequacies as a marketing professional go back to my childhood. At the age of seven, I convinced my mother I was destined to make lots of money selling Kool-aid if she would only provide it. I set up shop on a card table in front of our sidewalk. My mother brought out a pitcher of cherry Kool-aid. The sides of the container were dripping with moisture, so I wrapped my hands around the sides just to make sure. Yes, it was ice cold and ready for serving. My heart soared. I couldn’t wait for my first customer.
Unfortunately, we lived at the end of a very long street and didn’t receive much foot traffic in that area of the neighborhood. The only customers I managed to capture were my playmates that offered a penny for a cup of the delicious drink, when the asking price was five cents.
Deciding I would not let the problem of money discourage me, I persevered, waiting for the drivers of the droves of cars driving by to stop and replenish themselves. One man did and gave me a quarter. I rewarded him with not one glass but two, which he kindly drank and proceeded on his way. To this day I keep hoping he’s won the lottery.
My entire take for the day was thirty-two cents, which included the quarter I received from the kind man driving the car who stopped, along with five playmates who eagerly offered a penny for their drink, and a contribution from my best male friend, Eddie Schaeffer, who bought one cup, then coughed up another penny to get an extra serving.
The following morning my older sister Sandi, age nine, set up her own stand. She stated everything I had done was wrong, including giving my product away for a penny when I could have “had them walking up and down the block with signs pointing to your stand!”
She made signs on card board, that my daddy provided, that offered “Cool refreshments for 5 cents a cup”, and glued them to paint stir sticks.” She then invited all of my playmates who had so eagerly purchased my drinks for a penny a cup to walk the sidewalks from one end to the other for payment of two servings of her Kool-aid, which consisted of not one flavor (I had cherry the day before), but two, grape and cherry.
Her efforts were rewarded. She made two dollars and forty cents by the time she ran out of her third batch of Kool-aid. I’d been out-marketed.
Which brings me to where I am now: fresh out of ideas and amazed with what others are doing to get their books noticed. I am in awe of author friend Nicole Seitz’s remarkable interactive website, promoting her upcoming novel, The Inheritance of Beauty. She expounds on not only where she will be featured next, but offers any number of ways to win free books. That shouldn’t be hard for me to do, so I’ve written that option down in order to promote my latest novel All That's True. It’s the story of thirteen-year-old Andi St. James (I love young protagonists), who’s entire life is turned upside down during the first Desert Storm War when she discovers her father is having an affair with her best friend’s step-mother. To make matters worse, her brother has been killed in a freak hazing accident, which causes her mother to start drinking, all the while her sister is planning the Atlanta wedding of the year and is determined that Andi will be a junior bridesmaid.
Here’s the hype from the publisher posted on the back cover:
Andi St. James’ privileged Atlanta life is turned upside down after her brother’s tragic death. As the relationships around her crumble, Andi embarks on a poignant and sometimes laugh-out-loud journey of self-discovery, where she learns the devastating consequences of deception and realizes that making the most of what you’ve got is a big part of all that’s true.
I’m sitting here contemplating ways I can promote this book. If I were a marketing genius, or a computer wizard, my desk would be loaded with ideas, so many I wouldn’t know where to start. Not so.
Thankfully, my publicist has sent me an e-vite in honor of my first official appearance for ALL THAT’S TRUE (which is being released today, January 11th.) The e-vite is to announce that I will be featured at The Georgia Center for The Book on Wednesday, January 26th, 2011 at 7:15 PM with appetizers to be served by CHOPstix Restaurant. It’s all spelled out neatly on the card with a delightful rendering of the book cover and a not-too-bad photo of me.
CHOPstix is supplying the food because they are featured in the book during one poignant scene when Andi finds out what else her father is up to. I called the restaurant and pointed this out and announced that I would be reading from that portion of the book during my presentation and they were happy to provide food in honor of being mentioned. What a blessing. Maybe I’m getting the hang of this marketing thing, afterall.
But, sending out the e-vites is what has me worried. During the promotion for my last novel COLD ROCK RIVER, I eagerly sent out scads of emails which featured the cover and an invitation to visit with me the day it debuted at a local Barnes & Noble store. I sent this on-line invite to everybody in my address book. Two days later I was completely locked out of receiving and sending emails.
It took me a week to find out that the host considered me a spammer and it took selling my grand-children to get them to believe I was only an author trying to contact all of the people in my address book that had given me their emails addresses themselves to begin with.
This time I will send out only ten at a time. In the event you are in the Atlanta area on Wednesday, January 26th, please join me at The Decatur Center for The Book (Decatur Library on Sycamore Street, downtown Decatur, Georgia), for some great food from CHOPstix, along with a reading and some trivia on why I wrote this book to begin with.
I would love to see you! And it will encourage this frustrated author to continue to find ways to promote the written word, as I’m determined that this is the year I will step out of my comfort zone and go for it. Wish me well, and be sure and tell me if you’ve struggled with marketing and promotion. It’d be nice to know I’m not alone.
All great best,
Jackie Lee Miles
Author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the newly released All That's True. Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com/. Write the author at http://www.blogger.com/jackie@jlmiles.com.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
WRITING STRUGGLES
I’m often asked about my struggles as a writer. This topic really hits home when I finish one novel and have to start another.
I just finished two novels. The first one will be released January 2011 by Sourcebooks: ALL THAT’S TRUE. It follows Andrea St. James (Andi for short), during the first Desert Storm war, who discovers her father is having an affair with her best friend’s step-mother. Sourcebooks calls it “an authentic coming-of-age tale with a terrific takeaway.”
The second novel, HEART, has yet to be sold. It was inspired by an actual CBS news program where a man received his daughter’s heart. The tagline of the book is: After a fatal accident sixteen-year-old Lorelei Goodroe follows the lives of five people who receive her organs, including that of her father who receives her heart.
Okay, two books down, a new one to go. But what to write? After several days of contemplating, I get an idea when a character comes to me, a twelve-year-old girl who has a problem. (I tend to write in young voices—I can’t seem to help myself.) The protagonist’s voice is very strong. I hear her words in my head:
“When I was very little my mother told me stories about why my father wasn’t with us. First she said he was away in the war going on in Asia, Vietnam. Then she said he was healing from the wounds in his head that made him forget us. Later she said he was on assignment for the secret service.”
I used those lines for my opening of SUMMER RIDGE and wrote a tagline: Twelve-year-old Mary Alice Munford struggles with the knowledge that her mother plans to marry her father, a man who abandoned them before she was born.
On to the novel and that’s where the real struggle begins. What to write? What will this girl’s problems be? What will stand in her way? What can you say that will keep your reader riveted for three hundred pages? That’s a tall order, but that’s what books ask of us. And your reader expects some good answers.
Early on, Mary Alice states that her household is not a happy one:
There’s me, my mother, Granny Ruth and Aunt Josie, whose husband, my Uncle Earnest, fell under a combine when I was five so I never got to know him good. The day he died, I climbed on Aunt Josie’s lap and wouldn’t leave even when it was time to go to bed. Mama tried to pick me up.
“You been sitting there all day, sweet thing.”
“Leave me lone, Mama,” I said. “I’m helping Aunt Josie cry.”
I loved this protagonist immediately and started to write, regardless of the struggle.
I’m now two hundred pages into the manuscript. Mary Alice is at a fair with her father, who she still calls Hank, seeing as she can’t think of him as a real Daddy. He has picked up a gal from the local café, Wanda Lou, and the two of them are off having a very good time on their own. Mary Alice is busy pitching pennies and is not doing too well when a man comes up next to her and says, “What are you shootin’ for little miss?”
Mary Alice says he is acting like he really cares. She shows him the two little dogs she has won and points to the large one hanging down from the rafters with a big red bow around its neck.
“If I get one more, I can trade it for that big one,” she explains.
“That’ll be right nice,” he says and hands her another quarter. “Give her another try.”
She takes the three pennies the attendant hands her and tries again, but one by one the pennies bounce off the plates. The man who gave her the quarter takes hold of her elbow and says, “They got a booth across the way. They use bowls instead of plates. It’s easy to win. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Mary Alice eagerly follows the man who says she can win. He takes her behind all of the tents that are set up in back of the booths. Eventually, he spins around and says, “Sorry girlie, I can’t quite remember where that booth is.”
That’s when he grabs her. Mary Alice heart sinks. She realizes now it was not a good idea to follow him, but it’s too late. He already has his arm around her neck.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’m still struggling and still writing. Please write back to me and tell me what you think. Your responses count!!
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the soon to be released All That’s True. Visit the author’s website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
I just finished two novels. The first one will be released January 2011 by Sourcebooks: ALL THAT’S TRUE. It follows Andrea St. James (Andi for short), during the first Desert Storm war, who discovers her father is having an affair with her best friend’s step-mother. Sourcebooks calls it “an authentic coming-of-age tale with a terrific takeaway.”
The second novel, HEART, has yet to be sold. It was inspired by an actual CBS news program where a man received his daughter’s heart. The tagline of the book is: After a fatal accident sixteen-year-old Lorelei Goodroe follows the lives of five people who receive her organs, including that of her father who receives her heart.
Okay, two books down, a new one to go. But what to write? After several days of contemplating, I get an idea when a character comes to me, a twelve-year-old girl who has a problem. (I tend to write in young voices—I can’t seem to help myself.) The protagonist’s voice is very strong. I hear her words in my head:
“When I was very little my mother told me stories about why my father wasn’t with us. First she said he was away in the war going on in Asia, Vietnam. Then she said he was healing from the wounds in his head that made him forget us. Later she said he was on assignment for the secret service.”
I used those lines for my opening of SUMMER RIDGE and wrote a tagline: Twelve-year-old Mary Alice Munford struggles with the knowledge that her mother plans to marry her father, a man who abandoned them before she was born.
On to the novel and that’s where the real struggle begins. What to write? What will this girl’s problems be? What will stand in her way? What can you say that will keep your reader riveted for three hundred pages? That’s a tall order, but that’s what books ask of us. And your reader expects some good answers.
Early on, Mary Alice states that her household is not a happy one:
There’s me, my mother, Granny Ruth and Aunt Josie, whose husband, my Uncle Earnest, fell under a combine when I was five so I never got to know him good. The day he died, I climbed on Aunt Josie’s lap and wouldn’t leave even when it was time to go to bed. Mama tried to pick me up.
“You been sitting there all day, sweet thing.”
“Leave me lone, Mama,” I said. “I’m helping Aunt Josie cry.”
I loved this protagonist immediately and started to write, regardless of the struggle.
I’m now two hundred pages into the manuscript. Mary Alice is at a fair with her father, who she still calls Hank, seeing as she can’t think of him as a real Daddy. He has picked up a gal from the local café, Wanda Lou, and the two of them are off having a very good time on their own. Mary Alice is busy pitching pennies and is not doing too well when a man comes up next to her and says, “What are you shootin’ for little miss?”
Mary Alice says he is acting like he really cares. She shows him the two little dogs she has won and points to the large one hanging down from the rafters with a big red bow around its neck.
“If I get one more, I can trade it for that big one,” she explains.
“That’ll be right nice,” he says and hands her another quarter. “Give her another try.”
She takes the three pennies the attendant hands her and tries again, but one by one the pennies bounce off the plates. The man who gave her the quarter takes hold of her elbow and says, “They got a booth across the way. They use bowls instead of plates. It’s easy to win. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Mary Alice eagerly follows the man who says she can win. He takes her behind all of the tents that are set up in back of the booths. Eventually, he spins around and says, “Sorry girlie, I can’t quite remember where that booth is.”
That’s when he grabs her. Mary Alice heart sinks. She realizes now it was not a good idea to follow him, but it’s too late. He already has his arm around her neck.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’m still struggling and still writing. Please write back to me and tell me what you think. Your responses count!!
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the soon to be released All That’s True. Visit the author’s website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
BRING YOUR CHARACTERS TO LIFE by Jackie Lee Miles
I attended this workshop on characters and learned the most amazing things. The first thing I was told is that the center of your character lies in their ability to care about something. This will make your reader care.
Example: Assume that Joanna Mott is married, insecure about her looks and her identity, and is devastated by her discovery that her husband is having an affair with their attractive single next-door neighbor, Felicity. As a reader you know that Joanna has abandonment issues from childhood, though presently she doesn’t even know the word exists. She simply feels unattractive. You know from the narrative that she was left in the care of her aunt as a child and grew up with her female cousin, Miss Alabama.
Now you have the makings of a sympathetic character with an element about which she truly cares. You’ve made her a wife who feels extremely unattractive with rational insecurities who desire more than anything to keep her marriage intact. You’ve assigned a caring element to the character and thus have committed her to a stance by which she will live.
This is the character’s dominant dynamic. You can now write with more assurance that you know where you are going. The character who cares passionately about something, and is willing to make a stand because of it, is worth bothering with.
Alfred Hitchcock said it best:
“First you decide what the characters are determined to do, and then you provide them with enough characteristics to make it plausible that they will do it.”
Then ask yourself what makes them tick. Here you are free to be creative, so long as it’s plausible, for no one ever knows undisputedly what causes people to behave the way they do. Why does the rich housewife steal? Was she poor as a child or is it the thrill of pursuit when she gets away with it?
Next remember that character is always linked to contest. Scarlett is nothing unchallenged by the Civil War. What are Romeo and Juliet without the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets? “To Kill a Mockingbird” is left adrift without the prejudices of the south coupled with the fragile innocence of Boo Radley.
Another good thing to do is tag your characters. Give them names that distinguish them, names that evoke images and feelings in the reader’s mind before the characters even begin their journey with the reader. Assign them characteristics that make them stand out. In the story above regarding Joanna, she has arms as long as a monkey’s attached to hands as small as an infants. As a child she was known to swing from anything that dangled, causing her aunt to fret that her limbs would get even longer. Now fully grown, she tucks them one across the other, anxious for others not to notice. Regardless of her efforts, they notice.
Add contradictions. Play against the norm. Surprise the reader, especially with the villain. Give them human qualities. If the antagonist is after the protagonist’s husband, craft a scene where the antagonist is wounded when she is put down in public by her mother, who favors the younger brother and sister. The antagonist may be an evil, conniving husband stealer, but this scene will show she’s also very human.
Next, give your reader some idea of how your character looks, but allow enough room for them to use their imaginations. Use tags. Scarlett’s main of hair is a tag. Auntie Mame’s cigarette holder is a tag. Kojak’s lollipop is a tag. The list goes on. Get creative. Instead of your character having a cat, how about a miniature pet pig she takes for walks on a leash?
Years ago when I was selling insurance, a client had two of them. They climbed under the table where we sat and tried to eat my shoes.
After this, you will have to identify your characters abilities, speech, mannerisms, and attitudes. Only then is your character fully-fleshed. Once you’ve done that, simply give your character something to do. Put him in a tight spot. Craft that which your character wants more than anything and send him on his journey in pursuit of it, with plenty of obstacles in his way.
When you design a sympathetic, flawed character, you have the first element of a story. When you construct that which is important to him and why, you have the inner essential of a story. And when you take that flawed character with his specific passions and rationalized behaviors and place him on a path to discovery and change, you have the makings of a story worth reading.
And always remember the core of your character lies in his actions. If Joanna, in my example above, is terrified of being abandoned and swears she will do anything to keep her husband from leaving her and does, think how effective it will be when she finds she can not only let go and move on, but triumphs because of it.
This is the essence of characters we can’t forget. They have human fears, human desires and the ability to rise above their circumstances, to conquer, and to change. These are the characters we can’t get enough of.
The teacher who spoke to me of what makes a good character left me feeling I could indeed create memorable characters. I just had to follow the rules. I can do that. I know you can, too. When you are working on your next novel, may you be blessed when creating your characters. May you find the right words to bring them to life. May you dazzle your reader with their antics. And may they forever leap off the page.
Amen.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and All That’s True (to be released January 2011). Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Example: Assume that Joanna Mott is married, insecure about her looks and her identity, and is devastated by her discovery that her husband is having an affair with their attractive single next-door neighbor, Felicity. As a reader you know that Joanna has abandonment issues from childhood, though presently she doesn’t even know the word exists. She simply feels unattractive. You know from the narrative that she was left in the care of her aunt as a child and grew up with her female cousin, Miss Alabama.
Now you have the makings of a sympathetic character with an element about which she truly cares. You’ve made her a wife who feels extremely unattractive with rational insecurities who desire more than anything to keep her marriage intact. You’ve assigned a caring element to the character and thus have committed her to a stance by which she will live.
This is the character’s dominant dynamic. You can now write with more assurance that you know where you are going. The character who cares passionately about something, and is willing to make a stand because of it, is worth bothering with.
Alfred Hitchcock said it best:
“First you decide what the characters are determined to do, and then you provide them with enough characteristics to make it plausible that they will do it.”
Then ask yourself what makes them tick. Here you are free to be creative, so long as it’s plausible, for no one ever knows undisputedly what causes people to behave the way they do. Why does the rich housewife steal? Was she poor as a child or is it the thrill of pursuit when she gets away with it?
Next remember that character is always linked to contest. Scarlett is nothing unchallenged by the Civil War. What are Romeo and Juliet without the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets? “To Kill a Mockingbird” is left adrift without the prejudices of the south coupled with the fragile innocence of Boo Radley.
Another good thing to do is tag your characters. Give them names that distinguish them, names that evoke images and feelings in the reader’s mind before the characters even begin their journey with the reader. Assign them characteristics that make them stand out. In the story above regarding Joanna, she has arms as long as a monkey’s attached to hands as small as an infants. As a child she was known to swing from anything that dangled, causing her aunt to fret that her limbs would get even longer. Now fully grown, she tucks them one across the other, anxious for others not to notice. Regardless of her efforts, they notice.
Add contradictions. Play against the norm. Surprise the reader, especially with the villain. Give them human qualities. If the antagonist is after the protagonist’s husband, craft a scene where the antagonist is wounded when she is put down in public by her mother, who favors the younger brother and sister. The antagonist may be an evil, conniving husband stealer, but this scene will show she’s also very human.
Next, give your reader some idea of how your character looks, but allow enough room for them to use their imaginations. Use tags. Scarlett’s main of hair is a tag. Auntie Mame’s cigarette holder is a tag. Kojak’s lollipop is a tag. The list goes on. Get creative. Instead of your character having a cat, how about a miniature pet pig she takes for walks on a leash?
Years ago when I was selling insurance, a client had two of them. They climbed under the table where we sat and tried to eat my shoes.
After this, you will have to identify your characters abilities, speech, mannerisms, and attitudes. Only then is your character fully-fleshed. Once you’ve done that, simply give your character something to do. Put him in a tight spot. Craft that which your character wants more than anything and send him on his journey in pursuit of it, with plenty of obstacles in his way.
When you design a sympathetic, flawed character, you have the first element of a story. When you construct that which is important to him and why, you have the inner essential of a story. And when you take that flawed character with his specific passions and rationalized behaviors and place him on a path to discovery and change, you have the makings of a story worth reading.
And always remember the core of your character lies in his actions. If Joanna, in my example above, is terrified of being abandoned and swears she will do anything to keep her husband from leaving her and does, think how effective it will be when she finds she can not only let go and move on, but triumphs because of it.
This is the essence of characters we can’t forget. They have human fears, human desires and the ability to rise above their circumstances, to conquer, and to change. These are the characters we can’t get enough of.
The teacher who spoke to me of what makes a good character left me feeling I could indeed create memorable characters. I just had to follow the rules. I can do that. I know you can, too. When you are working on your next novel, may you be blessed when creating your characters. May you find the right words to bring them to life. May you dazzle your reader with their antics. And may they forever leap off the page.
Amen.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author of Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and All That’s True (to be released January 2011). Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write to the author at Jackie@jlmiles.com.
Monday, February 15, 2010
GETTING AN AGENT AND KEEPING ONE
I tend do to things backwards. First I got my book sold, then, I got an agent. I was at this conference and met the president of Cumberland House Publishing, who sent word that they wanted to publish my debut novel. Soon after, I received in the mail a document requesting my notarized signature. Cool! Then I realized I knew nothing about the ins and outs of a publisher’s contract and immediately got out my copy of Guide to Literary Agents.
I stumbled across an agency that listed James Patterson as one of their clients. I was clueless to the fact that they no longer represented him. In truth it was his earlier books that they’d sold. Even so, had I known I would have been duly impressed. They also listed the words NO SOLICITATION. Now why would they include themselves in Guide to Literary Agents if they didn’t want to have inquiries? My thoughts exactly.
I promptly called them up. A very pleasant voice greeted me on the phone. I explained that I was a newbody-nobody, but had sold my book and needed representation. Did they have an agent there that might be interested in me? She told me to hold on and eventually connected with me one of their agents who said she would not represent me, even though I had sold my novel, unless she truly liked it. That sounded reasonable. I asked her if I could send it to her. I went on to explain that I needed her answer yesterday. She laughed and said to overnight it and she’d take a look. I did. She called me the next evening and told me that it had probably happened to her before, but she couldn’t remember when, that she’d sat down to read a manuscript and didn’t get up until she’d finished it.
I said, “Does this mean you’ll represent me?” She laughed again (I liked her immensely already), and assured me she would. Her name was Sarah Piel and she was with Arthur Pine Associates, now known as Inkwell Management.
Sarah did a good job for me negotiating my contract and I got busy with my second novel. By the time that I’d finished it Sarah was no long with Arthur Pine. She’d left the industry to birth children and didn’t bother to tell me. Worse, Arthur Pine no longer existed. By now, they’d merged with the two other agencies to form Inkwell Management and no one at Arthur Pine, not even Sarah, had made mention of me to any of the agents there. I would have to start querying.
I got busy and composed what I felt was a strong query letter and started sending it off. Eventually I sent it to twenty-five agents in N.Y. and managed to hear back from twenty-three of them to either send the first three chapters or in many cases the entire manuscript. I was tap-dancing on the clouds. I figured I only had to get an acceptance from one of them and it had to be a numbers game. Surely one of the twenty-three would want me. After all, I was already published and now touring with the Dixie Darlin’s, four nationally published authors with a passion for promotion that had managed to make one-hundred appearances. Piece of cake.
Never slice your cake until someone’s ready to eat it. One by one all twenty-three agencies wrote back, with several saying some pretty nice things. Regardless, they also added the word, BUT, at the end of their last sentence. BUT ~ it didn’t fit into their list, BUT ~ they couldn’t determine where to place it. BUT ~ they had just purchased something similar. You name it ~ there was a BUT at the end of each letter. So much for it being a numbers game.
I was too discouraged to send out another host of queries. The first batch had cost me a small fortune considering they had all asked for hard copies and I’d sent each of them a fresh one. Okay, I admit I reused one manuscript. Why not? When it was returned I noticed it had only six pages with noticeable fingerprints on them along with some coffee stains on page 132 (Did they stay up reading long into the night? If they did, they weren’t impressed. They promptly sent it back.), and decided I could easily re-use this particular manuscript. So I printed out replacement pages for the soiled ones, but immediately noticed the color of the paper didn’t match. I set out to find a ream of paper that would. After three tries I stumbled upon the correct copy paper that I must have originally purchased. The new pages I printed couldn’t be detected from the original pages that I printed. Cool! Then I realized it would have been cheaper just to reprint the entire manuscript.
I was more miserable than ever. I’d wasted all that time and money chasing and buying paper, not to mention the gas I burned up going to those places in the first place. Bummer. To ease my pain, I reminded myself that I would be using this paper for many days ahead as I got busy on my current manuscript.
Soon after, I happened to be in Nashville touring with the Dixie Darlin’s and decided to drop the twenty-three-times-rejected manuscript off for my publisher to read. I hadn’t previously approached him because I was so sure I could secure N.Y. representation. Huh! Well, he loved it and called me to tell me he was bringing it out in hardcover that September. I was overjoyed and promptly threw out all the letters that had the word BUT in them. What did they know?
On to my next novel. When I finished, I queried Rachelle Gardner with WordServe Literary. (She has a great blog! Check it out.) Rants & Ramblings, On Life as a Literary Agent. She called to tell me she loved the novel and would very much like to represent me, if I was willing to do some work on an edit. Was I? I’d climb Mount Everest to do so if it meant representation. We sealed the deal. She would be my agent. And to think I hadn’t even had to send it off to any of those places that sent back letters with the word BUT in them. Cool!
This is exactly how it happened. I have to be honest. My mother’s words are imbedded in my brain: Always tell the truth; you don’t have to keep the facts straight.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author or Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the soon to be released All That’s True. (Jan. 2011). Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at jackie@jlmiles.com.
I stumbled across an agency that listed James Patterson as one of their clients. I was clueless to the fact that they no longer represented him. In truth it was his earlier books that they’d sold. Even so, had I known I would have been duly impressed. They also listed the words NO SOLICITATION. Now why would they include themselves in Guide to Literary Agents if they didn’t want to have inquiries? My thoughts exactly.
I promptly called them up. A very pleasant voice greeted me on the phone. I explained that I was a newbody-nobody, but had sold my book and needed representation. Did they have an agent there that might be interested in me? She told me to hold on and eventually connected with me one of their agents who said she would not represent me, even though I had sold my novel, unless she truly liked it. That sounded reasonable. I asked her if I could send it to her. I went on to explain that I needed her answer yesterday. She laughed and said to overnight it and she’d take a look. I did. She called me the next evening and told me that it had probably happened to her before, but she couldn’t remember when, that she’d sat down to read a manuscript and didn’t get up until she’d finished it.
I said, “Does this mean you’ll represent me?” She laughed again (I liked her immensely already), and assured me she would. Her name was Sarah Piel and she was with Arthur Pine Associates, now known as Inkwell Management.
Sarah did a good job for me negotiating my contract and I got busy with my second novel. By the time that I’d finished it Sarah was no long with Arthur Pine. She’d left the industry to birth children and didn’t bother to tell me. Worse, Arthur Pine no longer existed. By now, they’d merged with the two other agencies to form Inkwell Management and no one at Arthur Pine, not even Sarah, had made mention of me to any of the agents there. I would have to start querying.
I got busy and composed what I felt was a strong query letter and started sending it off. Eventually I sent it to twenty-five agents in N.Y. and managed to hear back from twenty-three of them to either send the first three chapters or in many cases the entire manuscript. I was tap-dancing on the clouds. I figured I only had to get an acceptance from one of them and it had to be a numbers game. Surely one of the twenty-three would want me. After all, I was already published and now touring with the Dixie Darlin’s, four nationally published authors with a passion for promotion that had managed to make one-hundred appearances. Piece of cake.
Never slice your cake until someone’s ready to eat it. One by one all twenty-three agencies wrote back, with several saying some pretty nice things. Regardless, they also added the word, BUT, at the end of their last sentence. BUT ~ it didn’t fit into their list, BUT ~ they couldn’t determine where to place it. BUT ~ they had just purchased something similar. You name it ~ there was a BUT at the end of each letter. So much for it being a numbers game.
I was too discouraged to send out another host of queries. The first batch had cost me a small fortune considering they had all asked for hard copies and I’d sent each of them a fresh one. Okay, I admit I reused one manuscript. Why not? When it was returned I noticed it had only six pages with noticeable fingerprints on them along with some coffee stains on page 132 (Did they stay up reading long into the night? If they did, they weren’t impressed. They promptly sent it back.), and decided I could easily re-use this particular manuscript. So I printed out replacement pages for the soiled ones, but immediately noticed the color of the paper didn’t match. I set out to find a ream of paper that would. After three tries I stumbled upon the correct copy paper that I must have originally purchased. The new pages I printed couldn’t be detected from the original pages that I printed. Cool! Then I realized it would have been cheaper just to reprint the entire manuscript.
I was more miserable than ever. I’d wasted all that time and money chasing and buying paper, not to mention the gas I burned up going to those places in the first place. Bummer. To ease my pain, I reminded myself that I would be using this paper for many days ahead as I got busy on my current manuscript.
Soon after, I happened to be in Nashville touring with the Dixie Darlin’s and decided to drop the twenty-three-times-rejected manuscript off for my publisher to read. I hadn’t previously approached him because I was so sure I could secure N.Y. representation. Huh! Well, he loved it and called me to tell me he was bringing it out in hardcover that September. I was overjoyed and promptly threw out all the letters that had the word BUT in them. What did they know?
On to my next novel. When I finished, I queried Rachelle Gardner with WordServe Literary. (She has a great blog! Check it out.) Rants & Ramblings, On Life as a Literary Agent. She called to tell me she loved the novel and would very much like to represent me, if I was willing to do some work on an edit. Was I? I’d climb Mount Everest to do so if it meant representation. We sealed the deal. She would be my agent. And to think I hadn’t even had to send it off to any of those places that sent back letters with the word BUT in them. Cool!
This is exactly how it happened. I have to be honest. My mother’s words are imbedded in my brain: Always tell the truth; you don’t have to keep the facts straight.
Jackie Lee Miles is the author or Roseflower Creek, Cold Rock River, Divorcing Dwayne and the soon to be released All That’s True. (Jan. 2011). Visit the website at http://www.jlmiles.com. Write the author at jackie@jlmiles.com.
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