On Love Is Murder Release Day
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I've been watching a young writer friend go through the tumultuous, difficult, heart-rending process of querying her first YA novel. She's been rejected half a dozen times now, but not form letters. The rejections have been constructive, and have changed her writing. She's taken each letter, carefully listened to the suggestions, gone back into her manuscript and tightened, revised, fixed. Several agents has offered to reread the manuscript if revised, or to submit new material.
I've been watching her work, and trying to help, to guide, though I know she is truly on this journey alone. It is her baby. It is her feelings hurt. It is her spirit that must survive the onslaught of people saying you're good, chick, you're really good. You're just not quite good enough for me, right now.
Right now.
Two very little words, that equal hope.
Right now means you've got talent, sister. You can turn a phrase and make it weep. But you need to keep tightening, keep revising, keep making that book as good as you can make it, and then send it out again. Which, in all facets, is rather uplifting. Revision is the writer's greatest asset, our finest tool. If you can't revise, you can't write.
Listen, getting rejected sucks donkey butts. There's no two ways around it. But it is also a part of the process. New writers often think that once you make it through the "doors" into the publishing world, by landing an agent and a deal, you never face rejection again.
Oh, darlings. If only that were true.
Not a lot of published authors talk about it, but we get rejected all the time. A proposal doesn't work. A reviewer slams us. Our agent doesn't like the new direction we're headed. Is it as sting-ey as those first few rejections when you start out? Actually, yeah, it is. It may almost be harder because you've done it before, once, or twice, or twenty times, and suddenly, all stop, now, this doesn't work for us can be very demoralizing.
I did a piece on rejection early on in my career. Back when I thought that once I was through the doors, the rejections would magically disappear. I share it with all of you again, simple because it bears repeating. Rejection happens. It's how we deal with it that defines us. I've pulled this from that piece. Hope it helps.
Rejection Do's and Don'ts
Do – Give yourself permission to be upset when a rejection comes. If a piece of chocolate or an ice cream cone will make you feel better, then have it. Enjoy a drink with friends. Be social.
Don’t – Comfort yourself with destructive behaviors, like going out on the town and ending up blowing in a tube. It’s just a rejection letter, not the end of the world.
Do – Go for a walk.
Don’t – Burn your manuscript, shred your notes, and delete all the files on your computer. Seriously.
Do – Take a day off from writing and read a book.
Don’t – Call all your friends and tell them you’ve decided not to be a writer anymore.
Do – Step away from the computer for a few hours, allow yourself a break from the cycle.
Don’t – Call the originator of your rejection to ask why they didn’t like your project. Really, that’s just not a good idea.
Do – Reorganize your office.
Don’t – Quit writing.
Do – Something productive that will allow you to feel better. My personal favorite? Staples therapy. New pens always put me in a better mood.
Don’t – Give up. We’ve all been there. Commiserate for a day, then get back to it.There will be more rejections in your life. But if you persevere, there will be bigger triumphs in the end.

I saw this tweet the other day, and it really resonated with me.
Sarah Hilary (@sarah_hilary)
Bored to death with grisly crime. Headless this and severed that *yawns* Psychological suspense is the way to go crimewriting
I have to admit, I feel the same way. I don't know when my - shall we call it squeamishness? I think we shall! - began, but it reared its head during the writing of The Immortals. And trust me, that isn't exactly a book for the squeamish. Or maybe it was after 14, which has a scene that turns my stomach. Honestly, it must have been, because Judas Kiss is a straight up murder mystery, not a serial killer book, and The Cold Room, while a serial killer book, has no blood in it. Which was a fun challenge.
I remember having this exact conversation with an author I greatly respect. I told her I was starting to get put off my lunch by my work. That the violence against women didn't work for me, that I was scaring the crap out of myself, that I was having such vicious nightmares I considered seeking help. She very adroitly pointed out that suspense could be just as intense with the threat of blowing up a mall at the heart of the story as could the threat of dismemberment.
Her words stayed with me. I knew I had one more bloodbath of a book to write, and I dove into it with all my heart. But it wasn't gross, it wasn't freaky, it was simply violent. And that was better, but not quite enough.
I followed that book with one without a murder. No one dies in Where All the Dead Lie. On purpose.
And my Samantha Owens books are straight up suspense, heavy on the mystery, with a strong dash of romance.
I guess somewhere along the way I lost my bloodlust. Even my reading habits bore out this theory. I steered clear of the writers I knew were going to have gorefests, and went back to some of my previous favorites - historicals, romances, mysteries and psychological suspense.
Have I abandoned my roots? Perhaps. But my writing is stronger, it's more appealing to just about everyone, and I don't cringe when I have to discuss the plots. And boy, how, have I been sleeping better.
So what about you, chickadees? Have you ever been into the freakily frightening stuff? Who's your favorite suspense writer these days? Recommendations wanted!

You will be so proud.
Those of you who know me know I am a world-class control freak. World. Class. I am also a Taurus, which means I don't do well with change. But of late, I'm spending much too much time on the business of being a writer instead of the writing part of being a writer.
This is in part my inability to allow others to help me, a trait I've exhibited since I was a young child, one that isn't necessarily a good thing, and in part the sad reality that I started programming computers in the 7th grade, and have always been comfortable with code. You know how we all have special, idiosyncratic little talents? One of mine, probably as high up the food chain as my innate ability to spill tea on my research materials, is the bizarre ability to spot discrepancies in large chunks of seemingly indecipherable code. I probably could have gotten work with the NSA. Can't balance a checkbook or tell time, but give me a 17 digit number for my library card and I'll have it down pat after a few reads. What's worse, I know my credit card numbers. Dangerous, that.*
This isn't a strong ability, but one that drives me to Figure Things Out. As such, I tend to be able to teach myself computer stuff without a problem. Which means, of course, that I've been running my own website, newsletter, Facebook, Twitter, etc., from the beginning. It hasn't made sense to give over to someone else - in the time it would take me to compose the email asking for a change, I can just do it myself.
That's not to say I'm good at it. On the contrary, just because I can doesn't mean I should. Because it isn't my main focus, I don't necessarily know all the tricks, so it takes me ten times as long as it would an expert. Plus I'm a perfectionist. I'll do something ten times over that's probably just fine the first time.
And so. I've decided to hire an expert. Content will still come from my brain, but the techy aspects will be controlled by others.
I only have a few hives. I trust they will get better by the end of the day.
A few changes will be quickly apparent. A monthly contest will be instituted, as will a monthly newsletter. The content therein will have more of an "insider" bent than what you're currently seeing, so be sure to sign up. I've killed the Twitter feed to my personal Facebook page, I hope you understand. The two mediums are simple not congruent. But I will post the blog there, with links I think are worthwhile included.
Also, more housekeeping details: Comments have been turned back on. It came to my attention that not everyone uses Facebook and Twitter (GASP. Say it isn't so!)** and emailing me comments is a pain. You have been heard. Forgive me using Captcha, but it at least arrests some of the spammers.
And now is the time. Seize the day! If there's anything you'd like to see - changes you think need made to the site, to the blog, things I'm missing, topics you'd like me to write about, etc., leave a comment.
I'm off to immerse myself back in my research. For your reading pleasure in the meantime, please see the following blogs of writers I admire:
Happy Wednesday to you all!
* Yes, all of this is probably undiagnosed Aspergers, but quirky is just a nicer term, don't you think?
** Kidding. I actually greatly admire folks who can manage without being sucked down the rabbit hole.

Have you ever driven along a familiar path, lost in thought, and suddenly came back to reality not know exactly where you are? Car coma, they call it. It's like being on the Penrose stairs, going around and around and never climbing any higher. Your mind winds around itself, blocking out at the reality to allow for fertile imaginations.
I had one of these vertiginous moments Friday. They're dangerous, truth be told, because if your mind isn't on your driving, your hurtling two tons of car down the road going forty, fifty, eighty miles and hour, people can get seriously hurt. But fun, for all that.
I'm underwater at the moment, working on two major projects. One is incredibly research heavy, one is fertile imagination land. Both, though, have me in fits of distraction, as was evidenced by my getting lost on Old Hickory Boulevard, a road I travel weekly. I came to and literally had no idea where I was. It took a full thirty seconds for the familiar to reassert itself. Gives lost in thought a whole new meaning.
This spatial oddity was further compounded by a mini-plague, which created actual vertigo. Hubby had a walloping plague, two doctor visit, highly miserable week. I attended to him with all the loving kindness I could muster, and was rewarded with a cold. So it was a quiet weekend as we both finally started recovering: a couple of nice, ambling walks, loads of chicken soup, and catch-up. Sundays are my favorite, really. A nice breakfast out, some work, then catch-up on whatever needs attending to. I like to read magazines on Sunday afternoons, Architectural Digest being one of my favorites, and Elle, and of course, People. I managed to eliminate everything on my online reading list that had been building since January, and feel so much more caught up. Rode roughshod over my inbox and got it down to zero, unsubscribed from several blogs that are no longer giving me what I need, and added a whole new category to my RSS feeds - Yoga blogs. I'm anxious to see if that helps my practice solidify.
Since the big project involves more reading than writing at the moment, I'm feeling a bit at loose ends. So I may be here a bit more, just to keep my fingers engaged a few times a week.
Have a lovely Monday. Remember, I turned comments off here, so we can chat on Facebook and Twitter instead. Tell me how you're liking the new set up, if you will. Like it? Hate it?