The Craziest Thing

I can pinpoint the moment I decided I wanted to write a book. It was almost two years ago now, I was sitting on the couch in my living room and had just finished reading a really crappy novel that, for reasons I couldn’t (and still can’t) comprehend, had sold hundreds of thousands of copies.

“What a piece of crap!” I announced to my husband as I finished the last page. He patiently tore his eyes away from the Canucks game on TV with only a slight sigh (this, my friends, is true love) and he settled in to listen to the obvious rant I was about to embark on.

I have always been a passionate and over-enthusiastic reader, and I feel personally offended when books don’t live up to my expectations. Hubbie was aware of this – he knew what was coming but still listened attentively.

“Seriously, how did this get published? Who reads this stuff?” I demanded.

Hubbie raised an eyebrow but was wise enough not to comment. After seven years together, he’d learned that if he wanted to get back to the hockey game before the next power play, it would be best to keep quiet, nod in agreement and only let his eyes stray back to the TV when I wasn’t looking.

“I mean, even I could do better. I could write a book way better than this!” I declared, tossing said-book onto the glass coffee table and missing. I glared at the book as it was obviously such a piece of junk that it wouldn’t even make a good projectile (this, of course, had nothing to do with my lack or coordination or athletic ability).

And what does my other and at times (ok, a lot of the time) better-half say?

“Then do it.”

His eyes went back to the TV but I didn’t object because I knew he was right – I should do it. Hubbie had no idea what he’d started.

Why not? I thought. I loved reading, I loved writing. I used to begin writing novels all the time when I was a teenager but back then I didn’t have the focus or the drive to get past the first fifty pages (I was too busy smoking cigarettes and falling in love). I’d written many a lengthy, University paper since then; my vocabulary, life experience and confidence had all improved since those confused teenaged days… so why not?

And so I began to write.

A year and a bit later I have completed two, full length novels (currently I’m nearing completion of my third and have a killer idea for my fourth). The first book never really took off – it was my first attempt at writing a novel and it was written largely for my own enjoyment; I never really expected that one to get published. But the second… this one I’d invested a lot more time and emotion into. This one I had hopes for but after the first few rejection letters came in (positive but still “no’s” – remember the “shit sandwich”? LINK) my optimism began to fade.

I still loved writing but I was starting to realize there was something missing from the experience for me. What was it? What do you call that thing….? Oh right – an audience. No one was reading my work except for me and though I was thoroughly enjoying writing and was frequently impressed by my own brilliance (I know, I’m ridiculously egotistical in the privacy of my own home) – it wasn’t enough. And that’s when this blog was born.

Anyone remember my first post, Exposing Myself (LINK)?. I was so nervous to share my writing with anyone, even the limited audience I imagined that might view my blog. I did it though and I’m so glad I did. Now I barely think twice before hitting the “PUBLISH” button, even knowing that somewhere around 100 people (and counting!) are now viewing my blog every week. To you blog veterans, these numbers might not seem so impressive but to me it’s HUGE. It still blows my mind that people are interested in and entertained by what I have to say. The people I’ve met through my blog, the contacts and connections I’ve made and the recognition I’m starting to gain are priceless.

And now the craziest thing has happened – I’m getting published!

The second novel I wrote (which is currently titled “Amber Frost” but fondly referred to as “Book #2” in my house) will be made available to the ebook world through ireadiwrite Publishing (LINK) some time later this year. I hope you’ll understand what a huge understatement it is to say that I’m a little bit excited and kinda proud. Just a little bit.

I’ll be keeping you all updated as things move along but for now I’d just to say a quick thanks to all the wonderful people who read my blog each week, to my amazing family and friends who inspire me, and to my incredible husband who may at times be a “man of few words” but when he does speak, you’d be stupid not to listen. Thanks for letting me interrupt your hockey games honey, and sorry for all the nights I’ve made you watch “Glee” and “Gossip Girl” (no apologies for “Dating in the Dark” – you know you love that crap as much as I do).

Thanks everyone! Your support means the world to me.

And on that note… GO CANUCKS!


Suzi

The Day that Kicked my Ass

It started out badly, as this type of day will tend to do.

The Hubbie and I overslept by an hour. We woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing – the guy he gives a ride to work to was wondering where he was. It was 7 am.

Extra sleep might not sound like such a bad start to the day but for me it was. One of my many roles in our household is Head Alarm Clock Attendant and I had quite obviously failed. Hubbie would sleep through the alarm everyday if it weren’t for me. He requires a properly placed elbow in the ribs and a few loving slaps in the face to wake up. One day they’ll invent an alarm that will replace me and then I’ll have to find something else to contribute to our marriage. But anyway, I digress…

So the Hubbie was late for work and not too pleased about it. He left the house with a few grumpy stomps and a slightly over-enthusiastic slamming of the door that woke the Little Man up. And of course, my sweet baby boy decided to make my morning even more interesting. Toys were thrown at me, breakfast was thrown at me, and nothing I did pleased the little prince. It didn’t help my mood when he threw a spoonful of oatmeal onto my last pair of clean Capri pants and I had no other option but to put on jeans when at 8 am it was already over 20 degrees.

Thank goodness for naptime.

As soon as he was asleep, I took some time to check my emails. I happened to have received my first rejection letter for my second novel. It was a standard, polite response - the kind I’ve grown to expect. But no matter how ok you tell yourself you are with it, rejection still hurts. It definitely didn’t make my day any better.

Then the phone rang and woke up the Little Man after only 45 minutes of peace. And it wasn’t even a good phone call – it was a telemarketer. I was thrilled.

Little Man woke up cranky. Of course he did. I decided to take him to the pool to get us both out of the house but couldn’t find his swimming shorts. Then I realized that after I had been stung by a wasp the other day and had come home from the beach in a drug induced trance (prescription meds thank you very much and my sister-in-law was there babysitting me and the kiddo) I forgot to take the Little Man’s swimming things out of my backpack. Lovely. His swim shorts and towel were sandy and damp and had been sitting in the bottom of my backpack for 2 days. And they reeked – way more than they should have. And that’s when I realized I had been betrayed.

My dear sweet Fat Cat who has such perfect bladder control that we don’t even have a litter tray for him anymore had turned my backpack into his own personal bathroom. This, I would expect from the Bad Cat who presently lives outdoors because of such past incidents but my Fatipuss? The world really was turning against me.

So the swim shorts and towel went into the washing machine and my backpack went into the garbage. It was just what I needed to cheer me up – more laundry.

It was an hour or so later when we were finally ready to go swimming. We got all packed up and loaded into the car, drove down to the pool only to find out that in the summer time the wave machine is turned on from 1pm onwards. And it was 2pm. The Little Man doesn’t do waves.

Are you freakin’ kidding me?

So we pile back into the car (did I mention it’s nearly 30 degrees on this beautiful day and I drive a BLACK Honda?) and just as I go to pull out of my parking spot my Blackberry buzzes. I’ve just received another email in response to the queries I sent out – this one from a certain Literary Agency.

Well, what do you know? It’s another rejection letter but this one’s a “shit sandwich” (as a friend of mine likes to say). You know the format – compliment, criticism, compliment. So apparently my novel is “interesting” but “there is too much telling going on” while my ideas are still “creative”. Then it’s all topped off by saying that they rarely take on “previously unpublished authors” anyway.

Rejection I can deal with. Criticism I can accept, especially if I can learn from it - but this? Really? If you’re going to send me a four sentence rejection letter, why even bother to make vague and critical (yet non-constructive) comments?

So I was really getting my ass kicked by the world at this point and I realized that today, I was obviously not going to win. So what did I do? I went to a wonderful place where I could bury all of my troubles beneath a heap of chocolaty ice cream. Where no one could judge me for wanting both oreo cookies and chunks of brownies in my ice cream because it’s actually on the menu. Where I could satisfy my chocolate, cookie, brownie, ice cream craving without ever having to get out of my car. Thank you DQ.

And then things started to turn around (don’t tell me food doesn’t fix things).

Little Man had his first taste of a Blizzard which was pretty entertaining. We hit up Wal-mart and strolled around in the AC for longer than necessary, played with toys I had no intention of buying, and even found a new backpack. Then Hubbie got off work early and surprised me and the Little Man. He entertained our trouble-maker while I made dinner and he even handled a dirty diaper solo, making me fall in love with him all over again.

And that last rejection letter? I decided something that made me feel a lot better. When one of my novels is published and that particular agency comes knocking at my door offering representation, I will have a shit sandwich all ready to serve them back.

“Thank you for your generous offer” but “your agents do too much ‘telling’” so... “have a nice day”. Ha.

Immature, but it makes me smile.


Suzi