Book Deal!

The details are thus:

I've been in a writers group (bless them!) for a little over a year now. I've focused on writing a distopian, human-rights oriented, science-fiction novel during that time.

One of the group members (bless her!) has already been published with a local publishing company called Cedar Fort. Back in October, she forwarded an email she received from Cedar Fort about a Christmas short story competition.

Cedar Fort had already chosen a cover author, and those who were lucky would see their short story included in a compilation.

(Having Googled the words "Christmas Sparkle," this image seemed the most conducive to how I felt about writing a Christmas short story. I don't really do Christmas. I'm Scroogey like that.)

That night (true story!) I had a very vivid dream and woke in a jolt, sitting up and speaking the words that became the title of my Christmas story.

I have a lot of weird dreams, but the timing of this one was impeccable.

So I decided to enter the competition after all.

The story was due on November 1st, so naturally I waited until November 1st to write. 8PM to 4AM has never tic-tocked away so quickly. At 4AM on November 2nd, I sent it in and went to bed.

Calling it a "first draft" would be putting it mildly.

The competition winners were to be notified on January 16th, Civil Rights Day.

I was not notified.

Ah. But it was a holiday! Maybe no one was notified.

Almost a week later, I was feeling rather jilted that my story hadn't even been worth a rejection letter when an email from Cedar Fort popped up on my phone.

It was Friday. I like Friday. My first thought was, "Why did they have to send it on Friday and ruin my weekend?"

As a related aside, we're in full band-aid mode at our house right now. I buy a box of band-aids with every trip to the store.

Bridgette is covered in band-aids at all times, and so are most of her toys. She's convinced this relieves her pain, even if her pain is from hunger, having tangles brushed from her hair, etc.

At some point she enters the look of the living-dead, sodden band-aids hanging limply off her limbs. It's gross, so I pull them off. "No, mom! It hurts!"

We chat about being brave before I rip them quickly from her skin.

And she usually cries. Or at least she "cries," whatever crying in quotes means to you. She's fine once she's distracted.

Back to the story.

I opted to rip the proverbial band-aid off my tender ego and open the email. I'd "cry" then find someone/something to distract me.

Aaaaand . . . !

I was not the winner. Alas, alack, and all alliterations.

The email was lengthy for a rejection. The acquisition manager continued. "We think you should change the story here, here, here, here, everywhere!" She gave lots of specifics.

I wondered if she had suggested improvements to prove she had actually read it, despite it having been technically submitted after deadline. Sort of a... "See? We read it, ergo, we know that we don't want your story. P.S. Here are some ways you could be a better author."

Which was nice, in my mind, but not necessary. A simple rejection would do.

But then! (But then!) She wrote, "If you are willing to make these additions, we're happy to offer you a publishing contract. The book will be released in October 2012 with the rest of our Christmas titles."

Well.

That was unexpected.

And so it is. I only just signed today because of reasons I don't need to elucidate. But the truth is that I'm really excited.

As a small-ish publishing company willing to take on a lot of first time authors, Cedar Fort doesn't have the marketing clout of larger publishers. I am therefore required to hock my own wares, so to speak.

I'm hocking! I'm hocking!

Which is ironic for a writer because that refers to a tarsal joint or small cut of leg meat.

Let me try again.

I'm hawking! I'm hawking!

That's better.

So, come October, I would appreciate it if you readers (all 15 of you, on a good day) would buy my book.

It's called The Window Builder.