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Good Morning Novelspotters.

About a year after I first started writing, I was desperate to find other writers to interact with, and by pure chance I discovered Romance Writers of America. I attended my first RWA conference in Atlanta, Georgia, and I met a lot of wonderful people, some of them are still friends to this day--and some of them, although unpublished at the time, have continued on to become very successful writers. By current RWA conference standards that one was small--about 400 attendees, but I can honestly say joining RWA is a great starting place for anyone who wants to write romance.

One standout memory from that first conference was the speaker at the opening session, Sandra Brown, who told us to “Start on the day that was different. The day you got home and found a horse lying on the mat instead of the dog.” A piece of advice I took to heart and still use to this day whenever I begin a new book. Start on the day you won the lottery, or your male cat had kittens, or there was a knock on the door and you opened it to find Orlando Bloom standing there. Start on the day something really momentous happened, something that is unlikely to ever happen again.

For any new writer reading this, whether you know it or not, you basically have one page to grab the editor (or first reader’s) attention. For this reason, you need to start off with a bang not with pages of back story that will either never be read, or will almost certainly be deleted if the reader manes to persist and eventually finds gold at the end of your particular rainbow.

Along with Sandra Brown’s advice, remember the magic letters GMC. My very first writer-friend was Debra Dixon. We met while waiting for the hotel bus to pick us up at the Atlanta Airport, and later Deb went on to write GMC, one of the best and most helpful books on writing I’ve ever had the pleasure to buy and use. If I’d had GMC (goal, motivation, conflict) when I first started writing, I’m sure the journey would have been one helluva lot easier. If you don’t have a copy, mark it down as the next book on your to buy list.

Another person I met at that first conference was a fellow Canadian who is still a close friend to this day. She’d just published her first romance novel (later she went on to win a RITA), and was then living in Toronto. Between her, another woman who taught romance writing, and myself, we formed the first Canadian chapter of RWA. And for the next couple of years, my writing took something of a back seat as the three of us learned how to run a group, attract members, and, most importantly of all, how to keep the members coming back month after month. I remember at one point, I had the combined job of secretary, treasurer, program chair, and newsletter editor, so it didn’t leave much time for me to write or do anything else.

But I’ll never forget those years or the ones that came after--the people I met and got to know, the conferences I attended from one side of the USA to the other, and all the things I learned along the way. I’d never had reason to get up and speak to an audience before, but suddenly this was a requirement and either I did it and did it well, or I could fail and make myself look like a fool. So, I learned to introduce speakers, accept awards for friends in absentia, and even give seminars on my own or as part of a panel.

I remember one year being asked to do a seminar at one of the conference with another author (whose name I’m happy to say escapes me). I worked for weeks beforehand, honing my speech and refining what I wanted to say. Then the big moment arrived. The other writer asked that I not sit on the podium with her because she said it would make her nervous, so I found a seat in the front row and watched her pace back and forth, back and forth, all the while yak, yak, yak, yak, totally ignoring the seminar coordinator who was trying to tell her time was up, until about 3 minutes before the seminar was scheduled to finish, when she finally decided to shut up and let me do my thing--which was read my carefully prepared 15-minute speech at warp speed. Aaaaargh…..

Attending those conferences became the focal point of my year--meeting and catching up with old friends, attending dozens of seminars, enduring the agonies and the ecstasies of agent and editor appointments, learning what was hot and what was not in the wonderful world of publishing, and sightseeing in the city where the conference was located.

I didn’t intend to do any name-dropping, but this one is just too good not to share. One great conference memory was when a friend, who needed to rush off to catch a plane, pushed a twenty dollar bill into my hand with the request that I get her an autographed copy of any one of Nora Roberts’ books--whatever she had would be fine. We all know Nora has written a ton of books, so when I reached Nora’s spot at the table, I gave her my friend’s name and asked if she’d sign a book for her. Nora said, “Which one?” I said, “Doesn’t matter, she has them all.” At which point, Nora reached into her purse and pulled out what I later realized must have been the advance copy of her next best seller. “Bet she doesn’t have this one,” she said, smiling as she proceeded to sign it.

I also remember attending a day-long seminar at one of the conferences--I don’t recall the name of it or many of the details, except that it was about achieving goals and making choices. What I do remember is from that day forward I have never again said, “But I have/had no choice.” If you really think about it, you always have a choice. You may not like the options you have to choose from, but you still have a choice.

I could really name drop like crazy at this point, but I’m sad to say that some of the amazing people I met and learned from are gone and the world is a poorer place for their absence. Some were writers, some were reviewers, and some were just a part of the publishing industry as a whole.

The years up to 1999 were filled with writing, submitting to publishers, rejection, trying to find an agent (which I did and then wished I hadn’t when I heard she’d been arrested and jailed), conferences, and the determination to never stop learning, and to never stop trying to achieve my dream of publication. During the day, I wrote legal documents--agreements, minutes, wills, codicils, whatever came across my desk. At night, after dinner, I retired to my fantasy world of romance where I dreamed up new ideas, expanded them into full-blown plots, grappled with character arcs and building up to the famous black moment when I could finally push my characters off the cliff and pray they landed safely to enjoy a wonderful hea. Sometimes I wrote to three, four even five in the morning, and then I’d snatch a couple of hours sleep before making it to the office for 9a.m.

Sometimes I wonder how I existed on so little sleep, and where I found the energy to keep going. But if something is really important, I’ve discovered you can usually find the wherewithal, or intestinal fortitude as my mom used to call it, within yourself to do it.

Then the year 1999 arrived. Myself and another writer friend had wanted to attend RWA Chicago, and we’d decided to go on the train. That year and that particular conference turned out to be the most memorable for reasons that were both good and sad: it was the last RWA conference I attended as an unpublished writer, and it was the also last time I saw my dear friend, Joan Shapiro, long time member of Detroit RWA who died a couple of months later along with her husband and friends in the Air Egypt disaster. But good things came from that conference, too. I met up with two old friends, a husband and wife writing team, who’d been suffering rejection for the same length of time as me, and learned that they’d finally sold their first book earlier in the year. If they could overcome the massive odds against getting published, then so could I.

Although e-publishing had been around for a while prior to 1999, I knew virtually nothing about it, and that was the year it really burst into the headlines. Writers who’d been suffering rejections for years, were getting published by the dozen, and suddenly the chances for the rest of us wannabees was growing brighter by the minute.

The e-pubs who attended weren’t part of the main RWA conference in Chicago, but they’d rented rooms in the hotel to strut their stuff and, just for fun, I dropped by a couple to check things out. One of helpers in one of the rooms said that particular e-pub was looking for books, and offered me an interview the next morning with one of their editors.

Of course, I went to the interview, trotted out my usual spiel, and SURPRISE SURPRISE! This wonderful, fantastic, amazing woman wanted to see all my work.

I was in seventh heaven, floating on cloud 9, I couldn’t wait to get home and send her a manuscript.

After a couple of days spent revising and last minute editing, I sent in the book as requested, and in early December (actually it was Dec.7), she e-mailed me that she wanted to buy it. I was so happy, I wanted to run out into the street and scream my good fortune out loud for the whole world to hear. But it was almost midnight, my husband and main supporter was fast asleep, so I called a night-owl girlfriend instead and we did a little yelling and crying over the phone.

A few months prior to making my first sale, RWA had dropped its bomb. We were only published if they said we were published. However, I refused to allow RWA policy to rain on my parade. Someone had bought my book, and I had a contract to prove it. And within the next few months my book would be on sale to the public. What do you mean this doesn’t constitute being published?

I’m not going into all the fors and againsts surrounding that particular piece of RWA policy, they’ve been done to death far too many times, and there’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said. I’m just happy a compromise was eventually reached and it’s all behind us.

At the time I sold my first book, I’d been actively writing for fifteen years. I’d learned my craft, paid my dues, and earned my stripes. If someone out there didn’t want to acknowledge my accomplishment then that wasn ‘t my problem, it was theirs. I had my foot on the first rung of the ladder and, as far as I was concerned, the only way for me now was onward and upward.

What happened next? I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

Chris/Christiane