Yes, it's true. I'm getting published. Well, maybe I should amend that. My romance writing, outspoken, bossy alter ego is getting published.
Recently I was perusing through some publishing websites to see what they were looking for, if anything. (Okay, fine. I was supposed to be doing research for school but I was procrastinating.) Anyway, I found a reputable e-publisher (they do print as well, but are very well known for their e-books) who had an open call for submission for a short story anthology. There were a few requirements listed within the call. First of all, this particular publisher only deals in romance - some of which is definitely adult only content. The story had to involve some type of online/computer/social media element, and had to meet word count parameters along with a few other requirements. Also, space for this particular anthology was limited. I thought about it for a few days and started working out a story idea in my head. I didn't think I'd actually submit it, but I thought something like that could be fun to write. Let's face it - I like to read in a number of genres, including romance and it's sub-genres, (50 Shades, anyone?) but I don't write romance. I write short, dark, twisted, and depraved stories about death and revenge. But I digress.
I finished writing the story and asked a classmate of mine (who happens to be a genius editor) to work her editing magic on it. After I made the necessary changes, I put together the required submission packet including the synopsis and query letter. I felt a sense of relief (along with abject terror) when I hit the "send" button. A few days later, I got a huge surprise - an email stating that they are going to publish it. I was shocked. Then the publisher sent me my first book contract (I'm going to earn royalties!), which I signed and promptly sent back, all the while doing the happy dance. My alter ego is also ecstatic, and she is already working on a novel which she plans to submit to the publisher - another romance. (Did I mention she also has a one-track mind?)
It has been less than a year since I quit my job to go back to school and pursue writing full time. There are days when I feel frazzled (actually that happens on any day that ends in "y"). There are times that I wake up in the middle of the night wondering what in the gay hell I'm thinking by pursuing my dream instead of working a "normal" job. But now I have a bit of something to show for my hard work - I'm finally going to be a published author. Ahem, my alter ego just punched me. SHE is the published author. Either way, it's a reason to celebrate. ;-) So get your e-reader ready!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Both of my daughters are enamored with everything that is Barbie related. This can be a blessing or a curse, depending on one’s viewpoint. For example, Barbie does keep them both entertained for hours at a time. That means that I can do exciting things, like laundry, or even shower alone and still have time left over to do other important activities. (Like Scramble With Friends, my newest time suck. Or better yet, study.)
However, the aftermath of a marathon Barbie session is brutal. Between both girls we have approximately two dozen Barbies. Each of those Barbies has at least two dozen outfits with matching shoes. (Many of those outfits make Barbie look like a cheap hooker on Hollywood Boulevard, but that’s beside the point.) Needless to say that when it’s time to clean the Barbie mess up, I am the one who is scrambling around on the floor on my hands and knees packing everything away. As I was cleaning the 5 y.o.’s room yesterday, I found myself getting slightly jealous. Of Barbie.
I live in a plain three bedroom, 1 ½ bathroom ranch style home. Barbie has a three level house complete with an elevator and a hot tub. She has a swimming pool. Plus a beach house. Her toilet sings to her when it flushes.
I have a severely anemic closet. The cute clothes I used to wear are long gone and I now live in yoga pants or if I really feel like dressing up, corduroys. Barbie has an infinite supply of clothing. And shoes. I have one pair of high-heeled black shoes. I can’t remember the last time I wore them. Barbie has heels in every color imaginable. And she wears them. All the time.
I am constantly doing things around the house and picking up after everyone. Barbie never has to clean or do laundry. She’s too busy being a doctor, doing her hair, or cooking a fabulous gourmet meal in her fancy kitchen. Barbie has never changed a shitty diaper. Barbie has never had to clean up puke. Barbie does not have to clean cat litter every day.
I spend a lot of time driving. Taking kids to and from school, play dates, running errands, etc. I like my little SUV, but Barbie has a sweet pink convertible that she can ride around in all day (and all night). And she never has to pay $4.00 per gallon for gas.
I could go on, but I won’t because I think I’ve made my point.
But then I thought of something that put everything into perspective.
Barbie’s wine glass.
My wine glass.
Poor Barbie. I wonder who’s jealous now.