The Happening

It's one event in a string of events--probable, yet seemingly impossible.

Am I better than I thought or simply lucky? 

Blessed beyond measure? Sure, but I'm no better than anyone else.

It must be dumb luck. If that's all this is, I'll take it and relish every second.

This particular event started on a Monday morning. I was unpacking boxes--the hubs and I bought a house and spent the weekend moving and cleaning. I was very close to pulling my hair out, trying to simultaneously teach online home school without proper internet access. I was frazzled. Utterly exhausted, running on about four hours sleep over the past two days. 

Then, came The Call. The Cold Call.

It was a woman. I remember, she said her name was Elizabeth. I don't remember what I said to her when she told me how much she liked my book,  Between Octobers. I think I was having a minor coronary. 

I mean, these calls are the things you read about on other people's blogs. Usually people you don't know, sometimes even, your own CPs. And you're genuinely happy for them because, if they can crawl from the hellish trenches of Submission and Rejection, and rise up victorious, so can we. 

Back to The Call. 

I remember wishing I could sound as cool and nonchalant as I do in my imagination. I remember my hair, blanketed by sweat and my hands feeling clammy against my cheeks as I incessantly rubbed them. But mostly, I remember Elizabeth, of Take Two Publishing, asking me if I was happy that she loved my story and wanted to publish it. 

The trouble with having an out-of-body experience is that it takes a while to crawl back inside and search out an answer to this unexpected question.
I think I told her, 'Yes, I am very happy.'
The one thing I remember most clearly about that call, is how inadequate and lucky and completely overwhelmed I felt after.
As soon as the mysterious conversation was over, I hung up and called my husband. It couldn't feel real until I shared it with him. 

And every minute since, whenever I think of that short, mind blowing phone call, I see my target--the best-sellers list-- and I hear the emotion and joy in my husbands voice when he told how proud he is of me. And how he knows this is just the beginning of many great things for us.

Please, gather round, and join me in a happy dance!! Because from now on, I am offically calling myself an AUTHOR!!

 



 

 

What do I do for a living, you ask? Why, I'm an AUTHOR. I have a book coming out next year. Women's Fiction, a beautiful suspenseful, love story that rocks!! 

 

Rivera out.

 

 

Here's a link to my fabulous publisher:  http://www.taketwopublishing.com/

 

  

 

 

Forever Neverending Doubts

I'm indecisive. I should take some time to sit and think. Make a choice.

It feels odd for me to call anything like it is. I write stories about people I make up. I'm not published so I can't call myself an author.
The same is true to some extent in my daily life. I have kids, so I call myself a mom, but I don't work, so I call myself unemployed. My husband tells everyone I stay at home with the kids by choice-which I do. He and I decided I would be at home when the kids were, so I'm not looking for work and we are blessed enough that I don't need to, either. Hubby also tells people how hard I work-I homeschool our youngest whose special needs class was cut due to school budget issues. I also do all the cooking and cleaning, laundry, and try to work in the time to write while trying to pack up our lives for the impending move taking place sometime in the near future.
I guess what I'm getting at is, there's much more to me than I think there is. (On that note I must thank my loving husband for building me up on a regular basis)
I swear this is leading somewhere!
My long, drawn-out point is: My characters have multifaceted lives. The hardest part of this is knowing what, or where rather, to take their story. Choosing one, specific plotline- of many, maybe too many- to follow.
In my first MS, Between Octobers, the protagonist, Grace, is a yearling widow and mother of two boys with a decade between their ages. She's also a Registered Nurse and fighting depression. As the, story moves on, she meets and falls in love with Evan. Once their lives merge, she struggles to maintain balance on the slippery slope that is blending a family and to maintain a sense of identity through the changes. Grace is also extremely shy and hopelessly naive.
Evan himself suffers the insecurities that often accompany excessive notoriety as well as inexperience in long term relationships. These characteristics create a plethora of possibility, a multi-directional quandary!
Here's the crux:I've let this story flow, create itself. I've followed this couple through their problems and ended up with two separate books. One told from each MCs point of view. I've decided to stick with Graces story. I feel her side would appeal more to women,so it should be told by one. So that problem is solved, but the next cannot be ignored.
Word count. I've hacked and edited and chopped it from 204k down to 148k. Still WAY too big. So indecisive me has more plot threads to cut.
I know of one I can cleanly dispose of without harming the major plot but I don't like doing it.

Then comes the question of the major events. Have I taken them too far? Are my characters suffering too much?
I've struggled with these and hundreds of others. Which road to take, which direction to drive my characters when the possibilities seem endless.
Truth is, these are questions only readers can answer and that's another post, entirely.