It’s old-ish news, since it was in Publisher’s Marketplace some two weeks ago, but I signed on to do 12 more books with Harlequin Presents (SO MANY SHEIKHS!) and I also picked up a new short project PLUS I have about five weeks to write the book I’m working on now. *pants*

I went to RT, which was great and I met so many great authors and readers, but I was pretty comatose after. x_X and I’ve been working and recovering!!

More news: My second Silver Creek book, affectionately known as #badasscowboy has gotten an official title! Untouched will be out on January 21st, 2014.

Also, the release dates for Unbuttoned and Unexpected are getting closer…but FIRST there is the release of His Pregnant Princess, a short in honor of the royal baby. That releases June 1st. BUT THEN there is Imagine Me and You, part of the Animal Attraction anthology (#neatfreakcowboy)! That releases June 5th.

And it has a smexy sauce cover too! And there are KICK BUTT authors involved in this antho!! I am so excited!

In honor of ALL THE RELEASES here is a little peek at Jace and Sam in Imagine Me and You! I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

Chapter One

“I’m literally out in the cold, Jace. I need you.”

Jace Colter looked at his best friend Samantha Parker, who was indeed on his porch and freezing her small, perfectly round butt off. Which was a damn shame in his opinion. Because it was a perfect butt. Completely perfect. Not that he’d noticed. At least not that he should have noticed, but he had.

And then he looked down at her companion. Not too far down. Even sitting, Poppy was one big-ass dog. A giant mound of hair and drool that, Samantha was always quick to point out, was a purebred Newfoundland. As if that somehow excused the drool.

It didn’t. Not in his opinion.

He and Poppy had a tentative truce when he was over at Samantha’s place, but the idea of letting her, and her huge paws, in his house on his couch was enough to make it feel like his skin was itching. Like he already had dog hair embedded into his clothes. Dog hair he would never, ever get out.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Can we come in?” she asked, hazel eyes huge, her red hair creating a ginger halo around her head thanks to the porch light. As if on cue, snowflakes started falling behind her. She looked like a pitiful angel.

“Yes,” he growled, standing to the side and letting Samantha hop over the threshold.

Poppy followed, no encouragement needed, as she tended to do. Poppy was as insistent as she was shaggy. She always wanted him to pet her. Stroke her. Things he could never, ever get away with doing to her owner. Not that he would try. Samantha was his friend and this sudden surge of lust, whatever it was, that had crept up on him over the past couple of months was just damned annoying. And completely impractical. And not something he could do anything about.

Ever.

Samantha bent down and started taking her boots off. She knew him well.
Jace had no problem getting his hands dirty working his ranch, but he didn’t track that dirt inside his house. His operation was an organized one: a place for everything and everything in its place.

He had a major outfit here with horses and cattle, and letting loose ends hang could result in devastating consequences. Jace didn’t allow loose ends, and he didn’t screw up. Ever.

“Let me get a towel for your dog. And then you can explain to me why you’re standing here looking like a dramatic reenactment of the Little Match Girl.”
Jace stalked off to the laundry room and took a towel from the dryer, then walked back into the entryway, where the dog was currently dripping on his wooden floor. He tossed the towel to Samantha, who bent and started working on Poppy’s massive paws.

“My lease is up,” she said, straightening. “Poppy sit.” And Poppy did. “And basically, no one in town will rent to me as long as I have her.” She gestured to her massive, hairy companion. “And I can’t buy anything yet. Not until I can do taxes for the year. Because that’s when my income from the bakery will count,” she added, her face glowing now. “Two years in business.”

“That’s great, Samantha—it is. But it doesn’t really answer the question of why you’re here.”

Except he had a feeling it did. And he had a feeling he knew just what she would ask of him. And he had a feeling he really, really wasn’t going to like it.

“I can do my taxes in January. I just need a place to stay, with Poppy, until then.”

“So, you need a month. A whole month.”

“Yes, and Jace, you’re my best friend and I didn’t have anywhere else to go and I knew you wouldn’t turn me away and—”

“Take a breath, Sam,” he said, his head pounding as he tried to sift through the jumble of words she’d just let spill out of her mouth.

“You have a lot of room here, you would hardly notice me. And I would cook for you.”

Samantha looked at Jace and tried to will him to feel her desperation. She was sure if she tried hard enough, she would be able to make him understand her distress. He’d been her best friend since high school, and fourteen years after they’d first met, he was still her best friend. Her rock. Her support. He was all things stable and good, and given her upbringing, he was everything she needed.

Not that her adult life had been a whole lot more stable, except there was Jace. Always Jace. And Poppy, whom she was not, under any circumstances, getting rid of, even if it meant sleeping in a snowdrift in eastern Oregon in December.
Because friends took care of each other, no matter what. And Poppy was her friend. And Jace was her friend, so she expected him to extend her, and thus Poppy, the same courtesy.

He wouldn’t let them freeze in a snowdrift. Though he looked as if he was considering it.

“What would you cook?” he asked.

“Stew. And bread. I would bake you bread. And pies. Lots of pies. All the pie you could eat.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “Generous.”

“Well, yeah, I thought so.” Jace had plenty of room. His two-story, Craftsman-style home had gorgeous, exposed wood beams in the ceiling, making the space feel huge and expansive. His fireplace had a huge couch in front of it, and it really would just be sad to sit there alone. And a dog should definitely lie on the rug by the fire too.

He also had four bedrooms and he didn’t need them all. He could certainly spare a corner of his house for a small redhead and her not-so-small dog.
“She’s not allowed on the furniture,” Jace said.

“Thank you!” She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his skin. And for a moment, she couldn’t help but be conscious of just how hard and muscular his body was. Or of the fact that his skin smelled like soap with a sheen of sweat over it, thanks to the long workday.

No. She wasn’t going there. Jace was her friend. Her attractive, hyper-masculine, sexy friend. But just her friend.

She had her occasional forgetful moments, often fueled by the scent of his skin or an unexpected smile that seemed to break through all the walls surrounding her heart and hit her square on.

But she knew friendship was the best place for them to be. He was her pillar. And without him…without him she would fall.

Which meant no risking the solid relationship they had for a little spark that was probably one-sided. Heck, it was almost certainly one-sided. If Jace wanted a woman, he didn’t sit around and wait. He went out and got her. Temporarily. Jace was a fling guy. And while she was sure being flung by him would be a good time, it wasn’t what she wanted.

Samantha was a bit more reserved in her relationships, but even with the great caution she exercised, they always seemed to sink like a bad soufflé. Nope. Definitely not moving Jace from FriendZone to BoyfriendZone. In her case, BoyfriendZone was always temporary, and it always ended in disaster.

She’d had all the relationships-ending-in-fiery-hellstorms-of-doom that she could possibly take for one lifetime. And not just with boyfriends. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in years. Jace was her rock. And cracking the foundation she built her life on was just not going to happen.

“Jace,” she said, pulling her face back so she could study him. He wasn’t smiling, but had a weird kind of intent look in his eyes.

“Yes?”

For just a second, a little tiny second, she thought about leaning in and brushing her lips against his. A friendly thank you. An expression of gratitude.
But that would be stupid. And it wasn’t the kind of thing they did.

“Yes, Sam?” he asked again, his voice a little deeper, a little huskier than normal. Oh, my.

She pulled out of his embrace. “I’m going to make you some cupcakes.”

And this:

And then I realized I only had TWO DAYS until I leave:

Then I just sort of looked at my To-Do list and did this:

But then I was like, okay, Yates, LET’S DO THIS THING:

And I realized that RT is awesome. And we’ll party and hang out and it will be great!!

So yeah, I’ll be at the Romantic Times Readers Convention next week and it WILL be awesome! (Tempted to say: by the power of Grey Skull!)

I DID get my book finished, so I’ll only be half crazed instead of all crazed. And I’m signing, and doing a panel and if you are there YOU SHOULD COME SAY HI TO ME!!

UNBUTTONED, June 18th -

“Thank you,” Carly said. She dipped her fork into the dressing and started flicking it over the lettuce leaves. She was so meticulous in everything she did. Every movement a practiced routine. She was tied up so tightly inside that even eating a salad was a ritual. He’d never seen anything like it.

He picked his burger up, in defiance of her restraint, and took a bite. He noticed that while she ate her salad, she kept her eyes pinned to his french fries.

“Do you want one?” he asked. She looked at him like he’d just asked her to come to the Dark Side.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Do you ever do anything you shouldn’t do?”

She frowned. “No.” Her denial was followed by another bite of salad.

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

“It’s not boring. It’s stable. I had all the unstable I could get growing up. There’s a reason for restraint, you know. A reason for . . . behaving a certain way.”

“So you always behave?” he asked.

“Yes. Always. I’m a representative of the people of Silver Creek. I can do nothing less.”

“You’re twenty-four years old, Carly. This much self-control can’t be healthy.”

“The lack of it certainly isn’t healthy, I don’t care what age you are,” she said. “Look at our parents for your example.”

“Granted”—he picked up one of his french fries—“but eating a little fried food is hardly equivalent to being an alcoholic.”

“Slippery slope,” she said, eyeing the offered treat.

“Come on, Carly,” he said. “Eat a fry. Live dangerously.”

“You’re such a pain,” she said, taking the french fry from him and making quick work of it.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

“No,” she said around a mouthful of potato.

“See? The world didn’t even cave in. Living dangerously didn’t hurt you at all.”

“One french fry isn’t going to entice me to change the way I live.”

“That would be pretty ambitious for a french fry.” She snort -laughed again, turning her focus back to her salad. “Is that why I bother you, Carly?”

Her head snapped up, blue eyes meeting his. “What?”

“That I don’t play by the rules of what’s safe to you?”

Her forehead crinkled, eyebrows drawing together. “You think I’m jealous of you, is that it?”

“Well, is it?”

“Am I jealous of you, Lucas Miller, who changes women like most people change their socks? I am in no way jealous of that kind of behavior.”

UNEXPECTED, August 20th -

Cole nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw Kelsey. She was dressed in a slinky black dress that hugged her curves, and reminded him that she was so much more than simply the woman carrying his child. She was a woman. An attractive woman. One he was having a very hard time keeping his hands off of.

“I’m ready. So is there a local greasy spoon we get to go haunt. I brought a cloth napkin to spread out on the bench. I can use it in your truck too.”

“You’re funny, city girl,” he said. “But we’re not driving my truck. And this is a tourist trap, remember? We have a lovely bistro that serves locally grown, organic cuisine and I am taking you there.”

“So no steak? I was promised steak.” They stepped off the cabin’s porch and started down the trail, back to the lodge.

“Organic, grass fed, local steak,” he said, putting his hand on her lower back, his fingers tingling as the heat of her body seeped through the dress and into him.

“Fancy,” she said. “Not unicorn meat or anything, but fancy.”

“I didn’t think you’d want unicorn. The glitter gets caught in your teeth.”

“Mean,” she said. “You would eat a unicorn. You’re the kind of guy who names his ranch a haven for elk and then eats them.”

“But then, you could pick the glitter out of your teeth with the horn.”

“Cole…”

“Unicorn bacon seems like it could be some kind of rare and magical delicacy.”

“Great, now you have me craving unicorn bacon. Do you know how cruel it is to make a pregnant woman crave something that doesn’t exist?”

She stumbled slightly on the crooked path, and that was when he noticed her shoes. Spiky and black. The kind of thing that gave a man very interesting fantasies. And made him want to call a woman ‘mistress’ and say yes to whatever she asked of him. He shifted and tried to relieve the pressure in his jeans. He’d never had that particular fantasy before.

“Those shoes probably weren’t the best option,” he said, his voice rough.

“I love these shoes. They’ve pretty much been languishing in my closet. This is my first date in…a long time.”

“How long?”

“Too long.”

“Me too,” he said, tightening his hold on her when they trail sloped downward before turning into a flat, open expanse of dirt.

He wasn’t going to think about anything right now. Nothing except how good Kelsey felt pressed up against him. He was on vacation from logic tonight. Just for a couple of hours.

“So what vehicle are we taking?”

“Cade’s premature midlife crisis. He bought some of it with the money he got from his insurance after the accident. He came out of that pretty nicely since one of the organizers was potentially liable for the dangerous situation.”

“Poor guy.”

“Yeah. It’s been hard on him. He jokes about…well about everything. But I don’t think he finds much about the situation very funny.”

“I can imagine.”

“But,” he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and hit the unlock button. The headlights on Cade’s imported Italian sports car blinked. “We get to use his car.”

“Very nice. I am impressed. He has taste. Garish, obvious taste, but sometimes a girl likes that.”

“He spent most of his money in one chunk. But I think he was a little too pissed at life to care. I occasionally wonder if his original intent was to drive it off a cliff.”

“I can imagine that too. Sometimes I wonder if that was part of why I…No. That wasn’t it.” She waved a hand and walked to the passenger side of the sleek yellow car.

He reached past her and opened her door, holding it until she got inside. When he got into the driver’s seat, she was buckled, facing forward, a serious look on her face.

“What do you wonder?” he asked, turning the key over, a little thrill racing through him when the engine started to purr. He loved this car. He loved it even more with Kelsey sitting in it. Kelsey and her long, sexy legs…

“I wonder if I was just so mad at life that I pushed back. That I wanted to laugh at fate and say ‘I don’t need a husband, see? I can do this by myself.’ See where my taunting got me? Ass bit, that’s what my taunting got me.”

“You consider me a bite in the ass from life?” he asked.

“A little bit.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more flattered. I need a t-shirt that says “Cole Mitchell, Ass Bite.”

“My mom could embroider it on a pillow for you. Of course she could never, ever embroider the word ass, so it would lose impact. You’d become a tushie bite or something.”

That moment when it has to get done and you don’t know how it will done. You have no time. You have no peace and quiet. You have to rip the MS apart and start over. You’re stuck and not moving anywhere and deadline is inching ever closer. Or maybe all of the above. (I hope not!) Whatever the situation, we’ve all had a variation of the ‘make it work moment’.

I’ve been there. I once had to rewrite a book in under two weeks. It’s not ideal, but there are ways to get things done when they HAVE to get done!

Here are my quick tips for getting lots of words down fast:

1. Word challenges. 1K 1 Hour is a good one. Nothing but writing, no stopping, no editing for one hour. Aim to get 1 thousand words.

2. Think about what you’re going to write before you sit down to write it. That way you don’t spend ALL day parked in your chair thinking. (let’s face it, most of us don’t have that luxury!) And when you do get a chance to sit down, your work time is maximized.

3. Turn off the internet. (I suck at this one. But do it. There are programs that will shut your net down, like MacFreedom. Use them if you have to.)

4. Turn off your internal editor. That’s something the afore mentioned word challenges are good for. You can polish later. But as La Nora says, you can edit crap. You can’t edit a blank page!

5. Trust your voice. Really. Do it. It can be hard to recognize what is sparkly or special about our own writing voice. I liken it to our inability to hear our own regional accent.

6. If you’re stuck, fake it till you make it. Keep writing until you hit your groove! (this works for me sometimes)

7. If you’re stuck and can’t unstick…take a walk. Take a shower. Do the dishes. Go buy shoes. Do something else, but don’t sit there banging your head on the keyboard!

8. Give yourself permission to like what you’re writing. Being proud of your work makes the burden seem lighter.

9. Give yourself permission to delete it if it’s not working. Don’t try to continually salvage something that’s broken. It’s YOUR book! It can be as GREAT as you want to make it! Even if it’s a lot of words…if the words aren’t helping, they have to go. You’ll write better ones.

10. Have fun. Best job ever! We get to make up stories for a living. We create our world and its rules. The universe is ours to command. Phenomenal cosmic power, etc. Let go, and give yourself permission to enjoy!

These are things that have helped me in different combinations in the past. I hope you’ll find at least one useful for you!

We just celebrated Easter, our first in the new house. Our first with a yard. My kids were running around on the half-finished deck my husband is building for us. It’s gorgeous, we have a phenomenal view of the mountains, which is a big improvement on a view of the farm and garden store, like we used to have.

I’ve been feeling really thankful lately. Really reflective. Maybe because this May marks the two year anniversary of my very first royalty check with actual dollars on it! We bought a car. Not a crazy brand new expensive car, but an older Toyota that runs. And after having one car for far too many years, and living more than a half hour from civilization to boot…well, that was enough for me!

Just a year after that we were putting an offer in on our new house, ready to say goodbye to our single wide mobile home, which we had absolutely outgrown.

Being a writer has changed my life. There’s no other way to look at it.

I’m going to open with back story…my husband and I used to work together at a coffee house/book store, etc. It was for a large church and the responsibilities were pretty demanding. My husband was the manager, and definitely made enough to support us, with me working full time as well.

A couple months after we got married, there was a big change in the way things were done and we found ourselves jobless, living in a camp trailer in my parents’ driveway and expecting our first child. We lived there until after he was born.

Working our way back up the chain to be able to buy a mobile home was a major achievement for us, but we struggled financially.

A couple years down the line, two and a half years before I got published, a few months before I started writing seriously for publication, I gave birth to our second child. While we were in the hospital we got a statement for the year end from my husband’s job. It was frighteningly low for a family of four. Like, below 20K low. A bit below that low.

My husband had been trying to find a job where he could support us. Minimum wage, or raises of .50 an hour every 6 months wasn’t doing it. He’d moved to a sales position at a company that had been doing really well, only for that recession thing to hit.

That job was a mess of being underpaid, of having money promised and withheld, and my husband ultimately quitting to start his own business.

That was better, but still not very good. We were on food stamps and had the state health plan for the kids. That was a hard thing, but a relief, because with all the worries we had, to have those major bases covered was a huge burden off our shoulders.

I think we were…uh…borrowing what weak signal of my neighbor’s internet we could get at the time (uh…you didn’t see ANYTHING…) when I happened across the I Heart Presents website and a contest they were running called Instant Seduction.

I decided to write something and enter. I’d been reading Presents for about a year at that point, and I’d fallen in love with the line. I’d read more than 300 of them, in fact and I felt like I was familiar enough to give it a try.

My entry was a hot mess, and I didn’t get any feedback. But while I was waiting for the contest to be judged, I sat down in a Starbucks at the mall and wrote: I think the numbers speak for themselves. Marriage is definitely the most profitable course of action.

I didn’t know where it was going, or what was happening, but I just kept writing. In Starbucks, for an hour or two after my husband would get home from work in the evenings. That was how I wrote my first book. And then I submitted what I had written.

I got revisions for the partial, (after a seven month wait!) then a request for the full. I remember printing the whole thing out and sitting on the bed with my husband as we both read and marked it up. Then I printed the clean copy, groaned over the cost of postage, and sent it to the UK.

I wasn’t in a position where I could be a member of RWA. Forget going to conference, or taking workshops. That was all outside of my reach. Postage and a Starbucks coffee (which I considered my office rent!) was all I could manage.

Oh, and internet, we did get internet because I started emailing with my editor in the UK, which meant no more mailing. And I felt bad about the neighbor’s internet thing…

It took twenty months from that first moment of submission, to the day I got The Call. Twenty months where I started thinking: something has to change soon. This has to get better. It has to or we can’t survive.

And right when I was thinking it really couldn’t go on anymore, when I didn’t see how we could carry on (sounds dramatic, I know, but our credit cards were maxed out and the bank had raised the rate to 29%, our car payment was late, and I hadn’t paid a payment on our house or space rent for six months. Dire.) That’s when the phone rang, early on the morning of December first.

I share this story because it’s worth hearing. Because I had no money to spend on conferences or memberships, workshops and classes. I read the books I wanted to write (most of which I got for free at my local book exchange!) I took editorial feedback when it was given, and I wrote my fingers off.

I’m still writing my fingers off. Writing for me has been the most empowering thing. It enabled me to pull us out of a bad situation. To change our lives dramatically. (I can’t say enough about how my husband supported me, because he was working low paying physical labor jobs, mainly, and then coming home and doing the kids so I could go write. We were a crazy tag team, and without that, I don’t know how I could have done it!)

Three and a half years, 25 books and two publishers later, I’m sitting in my office in my new house. Yeah, dreams come true. But not just by wishing. So get out there and make them happen people!

See?? Gorgeous. And I love the logo for ZoeLabs!

Also, speaking of books…Heir to a Desert Legacy is out in shelves in the UK and North America! Sheikh! Surrogate! Theoretical Physicist! Bondage! You know you want some.

I’m going to talk a bit about beginnings specifically in category romance, specifically the first three chapters.

I’ve spoken before about the balance of internal and external conflict in romance, how I start heavier on external conflict, then let it fade as the internal comes out (I find that it’s after chapter three that the shift really takes place)

But I’m going to focus on the first three chapters in this post, revealing character, goal motivation and conflict without info-dumping and internal/external conflict.

I tend to open with a punch of external conflict to the face. Example being in my first book where the opening line is Elaine proposing to Marco, and the reason why she’s doing so. (I don’t always do it quite so upfront, but typically in the first couple of pages)

That’s sort of the summation of the external conflict right there: She wants her father’s business, this is how she aims to get it.

Of course the deeper things: Why she needs this, why she’s chosen to do something so very drastic to get it, and ultimately, what it means for her in terms of how she feels about herself, won’t be revealed until later.

Which brings me to…well, starting on revealing deeper things.

Info dump is when you introduce everything about the characters right up front. I kind of did this in a synopsis last night and I was snickering because if I’d put it in an actual book I’d have gotten my hand slapped. And yet there’s a tendency to do just that.

“Mary Sue was twenty-four and she was a journalist. She was born in Hoboken and after her father left life was rough. She paused to reflect on just how rough. Yes, that one bedroom home and all the poverty was hard. And frankly her love life hadn’t been any better. She’d dated two men before and they broke up with her because she was a virgin who refused to put out and yet always ordered the lobster.”

That’s an example of really bad info dump, among other really bad things. There are a lot of reasons why it’s bad, but the biggest one to me is: Why do I care?

Why do I care about all these details? I just met the girl. I don’t like her yet, I don’t care about her yet. Don’t tell me about her, show me.

The question is, how do you know what to show? I was thinking about this because I’d never really sat down and tried to define what you show and what you hold back. But I think a nice rule of thumb is this: Initially, only reveal the information that’s directly relevant to your characters actions in the present.

Using the first chapter of A Royal World Apart as an example, Eva has gone off to the casino to make a scandal. She seemingly wants to make a scandal. Why? Because she’s set to marry a man she doesn’t love, and she thinks a scandal might help her avoid this. Why? Because she wants to be loved.

There are very basic questions answered about Eva in a few pages, without very many words. Most of it is done in dialogue. Which is another tip I have! Can they convey the information via dialogue? (without it sounding As You Know, Bob) Then try it. Sometimes I start giving information to the reader via exposition and then think…well, what would happen if she just said? For me, I find this often creates a much more dynamic scene, one that moves much quicker and has a bit more life.

I look at all this and I think so much of it comes back to one thing: Know your characters. Characters should change things around them. They shouldn’t just be reactionary, but active. Characters should dictate to plot, not the other way around.

I’ll put it this way. You have two people who have an external event happen to them. Using ARWA as an example again, a bodyguard who’s enlisted to guard a princess who really doesn’t want him around. Rather than knowing what set of events I want to have happen, I just try to know the people I’ve put into the situation.

If I put two different characters with different goals and conflicts into the same story, it would change dramatically. A playboy bodyguard with a string of broken hearts in his past and a devil-may-care attitude would respond much differently than Mak, my serious virgin bodyguard, did.

Knowing your characters is helpful, not just for the down the road stuff, but for the initial set up. Because then, I feel, more able to reveal information via body language and in action, little things here and there rather than just a dry bio block of text.

This isn’t to say my characters don’t surprise me. They absolutely do! I find things out about them that I didn’t know from the outset, in spite of my planning. Usually I haven’t figured out their deepest wound right in the beginning, but I know a lot about them.

I’m not the kind of person who thinks in terms of having x percentage of dialogue, x percentage introspection and this much GMC revealed by this point. I don’t think, right, I’ll open a new chapter here and end on here. Because for me, it all depends on what the story and the characters demand. And that’s always different!

Things always seem to come back to character for me, and I think it’s because in these short category format, character is the key. It’s the key to making a book different, the key to articulating old story lines in a new way, the key to keeping a reader engaged.

And now, here is your Maisey List for first chapters:

1. Know your characters

2. Let your characters dictate the action

3. Reveal the past slowly. Initially, try to only reveal the past that’s directly affecting the present.

4. Reveal character through dialogue

5. Remember that you’re revealing layers. Starting with the surface external conflict, and the accepted identity of your characters, peeling back slowly as you go to the deeper internal conflict and the true essence of your characters.

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to ask below!

Self-doubt is crippling. Egos are inhibiting.

What I think a successful writer often needs is to have both ego and a bit of doubt living inside of us. Truthfully, I think most of us do. But I think both can actually be helpful, instead of being negatives all the time.

So when is ego negative?

When your ego spurs you into a massive diva fit that alienates friends/colleagues/people who could be important to your career later on? Put that mofo on timeout. We can’t be overly reactionary in this business…or truly in any business.

Passion for what you do is great, it’s wonderful. But if someone calls you Aretha and hands you a Snickers maybe it’s time to chill the heck out.

These situations, the hard dramatic professional situations where you may, or frankly may not be, justified in your pique, are when it’s important to remain calm and professional. And firm if need be! But it’s not the time to let your ever-loving ego run loose. It actually does a disservice to your grievances, because you sound like a person who is reactionary and entitled, rather than logical.

Moving on…

When is ‘ego’ helpful? Well, when you’re writing. To be able to sit down and enjoy what you’re working on and have a moment when you look around the office and stand up and shout I’M KING OF THE WORLD before you push Kate Winset off that door and float away to safety on the waves of your epicness.

Those are private moments. For you, and maybe your husband, or mom, or close writer friend. Oh heck, even a little for twitter. Why not share some positivity? We shouldn’t only feel free to share the negative. These are moments of victory because we work in a vacuum and we have to be able to feel highs over what we’re doing or we’ll get all broody and wretched. Or, at least I will.

It took me a long time to arrive at a point where I felt like it was okay to love what I was working on. I just thought you weren’t supposed to. But sometimes I DO! And when I do? It all feels so much better. I writer faster, I write happier, I write with Bruno Mars playing in the background!

Then, of course, I have to hit send and that’s when I find the need to wrap up in a little needed…’doubt’. I don’t think doubt is really the right word, just as I’m not sure ‘ego’ is the right word for those moments of office victory, but you know, for the sake of the structure of the post…

When I send the book off to my editor, I have to let go of that fuzzy blanket of ‘your book is perfect’ and put on the prickly robe of ‘you’re going to have to accept that it’s not perfect so you can objectively fix it.’

The transitions aren’t easy. It’s easier to doubt while you work, get annoyed when you have to revise, but it’s not helpful. But this is why, maybe, well, one of the reasons why…writers are a little crazy. Because it’s about knowing when to let these parts of yourself run rampant, and when to keep them in check.

Now, when is self-doubt not your friend? When it stops you from writing, and when it keeps you from enjoying your work. Then it has GOT TO GO. Even if you just have to try to banish using the old Stuart Smalley trick. I mean it. If you have to go stand in front of a mirror and say you’re good enough, smart enough and GOSH DARNIT PEOPLE LIKE ME!! Then do it. Fake it till you make it and all that.

Ultimately, we need elements of both of these things, the doubter and the egotist, inside of us. We just have to be able to exercise some control over them. Know when to take them out, and know when to tie them up, put duct tape over their mouth and put them in the trunk of our car.

Happy writing!

I submitted my first manuscript to Harlequin’s UK office shortly after the Instant Seduction contest and then I immediately started writing a second. And a third. All told, in between revisions for that first MS (which later was published and became His Virgin Acquisition) I wrote thirteen books. Because I just wrote. And wrote and wrote and learned pacing, and new ways to say things, new ways to explore emotion, execute an idea and flesh out characters.

Ultimately, I only submitted two of those thirteen manuscripts for publication. They were maybe my 7th and 8th? And they became my 2nd and 3rd published books: An Accidental Birthright and The Inherited Bride. But because so much rewriting was involved, I ended up leaving those other MSs in a box under the bed, so to speak, and chalking them up to a learning experience. Writing new MSs with my new skills was easier for me at that point than fixing the mistakes I’d made in the ones that were already written.

I say that mainly as a PSA for writing while waiting and on submission. Because that’s how you learn! And because once you’re published there are a lot of other fiddly things to do.

I’m not even talking about promotion. Promotion post publication is something most people are aware of. I want to talk about the other things.

First of all, wait times. You still have them. You’re going to turn a book in, and sometimes you’ll get it back really fast. Some editors and publishers are always fast. Most are not. My wait times with Harlequin have varied but the average turn-around on a MS of mine is three weeks. With Berkley it’s been longer. It’s easy to want to sit and wait to hear back. But that’s a waste of time, in my opinion. I’ve learned to do much the same as I’ve always done: Write while I wait. (see!? It was good practice!)

So you turn a MS in, you wait, you get revisions back, you do revision, you turn them in, you wait more, you hear your MS is all good. Done, right? NO.

There are also art forms. Either a document describing what you want on your cover, with examples of other books and character descriptions, or an official form. You have to write a synopsis, or blurb suggestions. Add settings, seasons, time frames, relevant scenes from the book to draw cover ideas from. Every publisher wants something slightly different, but it’s typically a variant on this.

Done, right? NO.

At Harlequin the next step is to get AAs (author adjustments, I believe) where you read through a PDF of your MS and request final changes, catch remaining typos, whine about how the copy editor changed one of your more succinct words for the male member to ‘manhood’ etc.

With my other publisher it’s a different, multiple step process. I’ve had my novella Unbuttoned back twice to approve changes/corrections, and next I’ll have galleys, where you can only change a word here and there because the MS has been typeset. These are time consuming steps. With a short book, it can eat your whole day. With a long one, half your work week.

And the more you write, the more of this kind of stuff you have to do. I actually like most of the steps in the process, but sometimes it can really slam into you. I just had a week where I got AAs from Harlequin, edits from Berkley on Unexpected and then another set of AAs at the end of the week! You don’t get much in the way of new words on the page during a week like that.

Another thing linked to wait times is that the more people involved in your career, the more people you have to talk to about things. My agent helps me strategize my career in general, and sometimes I have an idea, but I need to wait to speak to her, or, I mean I don’t, but sometimes I end up with things written that didn’t need to be written if I do that. Sometimes I have to bounce a new idea off of my editor.

There are times when you’re negotiating contracts and sitting on your hands, not telling the internet and so consumed with everything that it’s hard to write. Because it feels like there’s a lot going on, even if half of it is nothing you can control at all.

My past two weeks were spent brainstorming and going back and forth with my editor about a project that isn’t going to happen now, not as I conceived it. But I spent two weeks working on something with what feels like nothing to show for it. That doesn’t mean I have nothing to show for it, because I firmly feel that any creative work and thought is valuable to you as a creator because it’s experience, and practice at your craft. But I have zero words to show for my effort and since I’m a word count oriented person, it’s hard for me to feel accomplished after weeks like that.

Or when I have to pause to do any of these things, really! But I’m getting used to them being part of the process, and the more I accept them as part of it, the less I resent them when I have a week where other things that are related to the business keep me from making progress on a new MS. It’s been a matter of me changing my perspective, and accepting the fact that being a published writer means adding a lot of things that aren’t strictly ‘writing’.

So these are some of the things that come into play post publication, beyond blog tours and the like.

The good thing about all this? When I have a week where all I have to do is write words? It feels like bliss. And getting to feel like the majority of your job is bliss is pretty darn good.

(If you have any questions, or, authors, anything to add as I’m sure I’ve missed something, feel free to do so in the comments!)

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way we see ourselves. Partly because I’m in the early stages of a project with a perfectionist heroine who has struggled all of her life to meet the expectations of others in nearly every way, including the physical. And partly because well, it’s a struggle that’s close to my heart.

I spent all of my jr high and high school years feeling out of place. I was heavier than every girl I was friends with. And even though most everyone was nice to me, I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong with me. I was afraid people judged what I ate, and how much of it I ate. Sleepovers and parties were hard because of that.

These are silly little issues I still carry a piece of with me. Because those thoughts and fears were so much a part of my formative years. The fear of judgment. The fear that people looked at me and saw only the things I perceived to be flaws.

The internet certainly doesn’t help things like this. It’s so easy to be negative from the keyboard. To pass judgment on models and actresses, to criticize their bodies from the comfort of our own homes in our sweats. (I was actually guilty of this last night on twitter re, a male actor, I don’t feel like I can point all this out without confessing that I fall into the criticism mindset)

But tweets and blog posts that are so harsh on celebrities I think confirm the insecure person’s worst fear: That people are that judgmental. That they probably do look at ME and think unkind things about my body or my big nose or whatever.

But then I come to Gabouray’s quote. And I smile. Because she’s right. It doesn’t matter what anyone else on the whole earth thinks, except for you. And when you value yourself as beautiful, or your work as worthwhile and good, then you’ll start to feel like it is.

We can’t wait for approval from outside sources. Either on our physical looks, or our other efforts.

I’m not even worried about whether or not that might make someone full of themselves, because the vast majority of women I know don’t struggle with that. They struggle with insecurities. With the feeling that they are somehow not good enough as they are. That their work isn’t good enough, their bodies aren’t good enough. And it’s a tragedy.

We all have value. We’re all here for a purpose. We’re all made beautifully. Not all the same, but beautifully. Mind and body.

We’re so often our own biggest critics, our own biggest bullies, when we could be our own biggest champion. The support of others is great, but it’s something that can be taken away. What no one can take from you is the strength inside of you. No one can change the way you feel about you, unless you let them.

I know this is all very touchy feel for me, but that’s ok. I’m tired of the idea that we’re obligated to be self-deprecating. That we’re bad people if we’re comfortable in our own skin because that must mean we have ego issues. *eye roll* Pretty much I want to buy the world a Coke and tell every woman I hand one to that she’s flipping beautiful and the world and Photo Shop,and airbrushing can suck it.

But since I don’t have that much Coke money…Give yourself permission to be happy with what you’ve got. And decide today that you’re beautiful.