Strangers Really Do Read My Books
Of course, the minute Annette told me that, I shrieked. Thank goodness I wasn't the one on the plane. I would have shrieked there, and as touchy as everyone is these days, it wouldn't have been pretty. Annette's exuberant but considerably less dramatic response kind of worried her seatmate, until Annette explained that she was friends with the author.
Now, I don't remember shrieking when I got "the call" from my agent, telling me that we had sold the book. I didn't even shriek when I first saw the book on the shelf at my local Borders. In fact, I tried to play it very cool. I paid for it with a credit card in hopes that the cashier would notice the name. She didn't. Finally, I looked at her and said, "I just have to say this. I wrote this book!" She was very appropriately excited for me.
I think my reactions were a little more subdued because these steps were about potential. Yes, the book would be published. Yes, it would appear in stores. But would anyone who wasn't a friend BUY it? The first fan letter was great. A STRANGER had bought my book! But you only get so many letters. Then you start to think, so, thirteen strangers have bought my book. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate every one of them and every one of their letters, but what if every stranger who had bought my book had written? That put stranger sales at just over a dozen. Yes, I know that this line of thinking is extremely silly.
I shrieked at poor Annette because this was evidence, solid evidence, that there are people out there—who knows how many people—who have read my book but have not sent me a letter. Do I know that this is some of the most convoluted logic ever? Oh, yes, but there you go.
Once upon a time, I thought that if I ever got a book published, I could die happy. Oh, what a lot of stuff and nonsense! If that were the case, you’d certainly think I’d be satisfied with three books. I am not. If anything, it has simply left me far less patient. I expected the first book to take forever. I knew that it would take a while to find an agent, sell the book, and finally see it published. After all, how many policy debaters had I told not to use books for evidence because the information in them was at least a year old by the time the book hit the shelves? (In policy debate, the age of the information is critical.) I got spoiled—big time! With my three-book contract, I had a taste of writing books that had already sold, and let me tell you, I liked it! My books came out within four or five months of each other. I liked that, too!
Today, I finished my WIP. Yea! Happy dance! Just one little hitch. I don’t know if or when the darned thing is ever going to sell. Of course, the same was true of the first three books I wrote (two will probably never see the light of day), but that didn’t bother me back then. It bugs the heck out of me now!
Actually, I wrote this all the way through because I had started it right after I completed INTO HIS ARMS, before Kristin came along and told me to write two other books. I really wanted to write it, in the worst way. I like the other proposals I have out, but I don’t think I’ll let myself get too wrapped up in them unless they sell. Next step—a little preliminary research for that tiny seed of a contemporary that might manage to take root in my very much past-oriented brain. What the heck—a new project for the new year. Wish me luck on the HODRW "Write to the End" kitty. Then I’d at least make a cool hundred for this last book!