Nerves of paper

It’s a strange process for me, print publishing. Having begun my career over at Ellora’s Cave in e-publishing, I’m used to the relatively quick turn around of that. From submission to publication can take as little as a few months, and print of course takes so much longer. I first submitted my short story “The Boy Next Door” (excerpt here) to Red Sage in the late summer of 2006, after pitching it to an editor at the RWA conference in Atlanta that July (Lord, the drama I went through with that – but that’s another story). I got the word that they wanted to publish it the following spring, in 2007, and later that year discovered it would appear in Secrets Volume 27. So it’s been nearly two years since anything really significant happened with the book, and now all of the sudden it’s coming out.

Which is really exciting, don’t get me wrong. I love this story, and I feel like it represents a turning point for me as a writer. I rewrote it at least twice before I submitted it, and once at the request of the editor looking at it. I sweated blood over this story, and the sense of accomplishment when it was finished and accepted for publication was incredible. And it was good, dammit. I'd worked damn hard to make it so, and I knew the finished product was something I could be proud of.

Which, now that it’s coming out, and now that the reviews are starting to come in, doesn’t mean I’m not nervous as hell. My stomach gets that “oh, we’re on a roller coaster!” feeling, my head gets a little buzzy, and I hold my breath.

But thankfully, I don’t have a lot of time to concentrate on being nervous. There’s too much to do! All the inactivity of the last two years has been transformed into a frenzy of scheduling book signings, guest blog spots, interviews and other promotional appearances. Ordering business cards, little give away gifts for book signings, and prepping for the workshop I’m co-presenting with Christine in July (jeez, we really need to work on that this weekend!).

So not a lot of time to focus on being nervous. But that roller coaster is there, in the background, just waiting for me to open my email and find a new review.

God is in the details

One of the best and most interesting parts of my job as a writer - you know, besides the fame and fortune (insert eye roll here) is the fun of research.

It's important for me as an author that the elements of my books be believable. I don't need to come across as an expert in all things, but I hate it when an inconsistency or error in research pulls me out of a story, and I never want that to happen to any of my readers. God is in the details, after all, and over the years I've had to research handguns, the CIA, the parts of a sail boat, Mackinac Island, restaurants in Chicago, what a house on the Jersey shore would look like, Irish ruins, bondage rope, medical conditions, hotel management, musical instruments, gourmet cooking, and magic spells.

While fiction writers are, by definition of being a fiction writer, allowed to make things up, there are some things I'm not really comfortable inventing from scratch. For example, settings - unless you're creating an entirely imaginary universe such as you would in a science fiction or paranormal novel, made up places don't go over very well. There are exceptions, naturally, and I I know some authors who do it very well. Jennifer Crusie, for example, sets most of her books in Ohio, and as far as I know the towns that her stories are set in are not real.

But Jennifer is from Ohio, and she knows what a small town in that state would look like, so she does a very credible job of making everything fit together. I myself am originally from Michigan, and I've lived for long periods of time in other states, so I suppose I could do the same thing. But I think it's a better use of my creative juju to keep the setting real and concentrate on the story.

Along with places, things need to be researched, and my method of doing this is slightly unorthodox. Instead of researching handguns or sailing terms before my story is written, I do it after. Leaving holes in the story where the details will go and filling them in later keeps me from getting bogged down in the possibilities before I know exactly what information I need. I developed this method after I spent nearly a week digging up information on weapons and became so overwhelmed by all the varieties and variations available that I didn't get any writing done.

Of course, some things need to be researched very, very thoroughly. Every detail thought out, scrutinized. And sometimes, one does need first hand experience of something to properly tell the tale. This is, of course, my preferred method of research in all matters; unfortunately, my budget doesn't run to me visiting Irish castles. Fortunately, some research doesn't require travel or sailing lessons. Sometimes, all you need is a willing boyfriend, an empty house, and a Sunday afternoon.

Did I mention I love research?

What Did You Call Me?

I am--according to my publisher, the quotes on my book covers, and the people who review my books--a "paranormal romantic suspense" writer. This is news to me. I see these words, and I want to ask, "Are you sure? I'm Christine Warren. Are you really talking about me when you say that?" Only the question kind of makes me sound like a lunatic, so I refrain from asking it out loud and blog about it instead.

In my own mind, I consider myself a writer. If asked for clarification, I'll call myself a romance writer; and if someone gets really annoyingly nit-picky about it, I might admit to writing mainly paranormal romance. But paranormal romantic suspense? I didn't even know that was a genre.

Seriously, is it a genre?

Writing it was never my intent, if we go with the assumption that it's an accurate description of my work, and I still don't see it. Not even in the books with the quotes about it right on the front. My intention is never to create a story that leaves readers in suspense. I don't purposely create mysteries. I don't think much about concealing the identity of my villains or the purpose of their diabolical plans. I just write. Honestly, if I had my way, I'd just write about what happens when a girl (who might just have a talent for more than filling out a bra) meets a guy (who might just show a whole new side of himself in stressful situations). That's the real story I'm telling, and to be honest, the conspiracies and murders and threats and attacks are just there to make the story last more than fifty pages and to force the girl and the guy to see something special in each other they might otherwise have missed. So does that make it paranormal romantic suspense? Beats me.

Oh, I'm not really complaining about the label (though I hope it doesn't scare away people who like more light-hearted stories, just as much as I hope that my comic situations and sense of the ridiculous don't disappoint people looking for tense, heart-pounding action). I'm just musing on whether or not it's entirely appropriate. Maybe it is.

But I also hope that it won't freak out too many people when I finally getting around to writing that regency romp I've been planning for the last couple of years. There isn't an Other or a mystery or a conspiracy in sight of that one! What will people say then?

That never happens!

My boyfriend and I have this little game we play. Well, it’s not really a game, since we don’t keep score and there’s no winner. So maybe it’s more accurate to say my boyfriend and I have a thing we do, and we call it That Never Happens In A Romance Novel.

Here's how it started: a while back we were having sex, and things were hot and sweaty and progressing very nicely, when all of the sudden I got a hip cramp. Like, a big one, and it hurt a lot, so my chant of “ooh yes baby” turned into “ow, shit, get off me!”, and my hands, which had been clinging to his shoulders, suddenly pushed him away. Caught off guard, he went flying backwards – off the bed and into the nightstand.

So the sexy times had to stop for a bit – for me to stretch the cramp out of my hip, and for him to put everything back on the nightstand. And I remarked as I watched him put a new light bulb in the now slightly bent lamp, “You know, stuff like this never happens in a romance novel.”

So that’s how it started, and now it’s like a game – or rather, a thing – where we try to point out the million little things that happen in real life relationships that never or rarely seem to make it into a romance novel. For instance:

• Instead of cuddling up and going right to sleep after sex, having to get up to pee lest you get a UTI – or sometimes because you just have to pee.
  
  
• The need for a towel. Mind you, this is only necessary if condoms aren’t involved, and thankfully most romance novels portray characters practicing safe sex…but still, in real life, there are wet spots, people!
  
  
• When the woman is on top and leans down to kiss her guy, and instead gets a mouth full of her own hair.
  
  
• And speaking of hair, I have two words for you - fuck hair.
  
  
• Lost orgasm – you know what I mean, when you’re on the right path and you think you’re almost there, it’s close enough you can almost reach out and grab it, and then….gone. And you try to, but you just can’t get it back.
  
  
• Being too tired for sex.
  
  
• Forgetting to shave your legs or underarms so you come to bed fuzzy and/or bristly – I swear, every woman has done this at least once.
  
  
• Yeast infections!

And I’m sure there are a million more.

Now, as a writer and a reader, I certainly understand that some things are just a little too real - like farting. I really don't ever want to be reading a sex scene and run across something like this:

Suddenly, a sound rent the air, and Miriam was jolted out of her blissful haze. There was a grimace on Jeff's face, his cheeks growing ruddy with embarrassment, and she realized what had happened.

He avoided her gaze, never pausing in his thrusting, obviously hoping the gaff would go unnoticed. But a moment later, as a fetid stench filled the room, they both realized that would be impossible.

That, boys and girls, just ain't sexy. And while romance novel sex can be a lot of things - funny, sweet, loving, intense, dramatic, silly - it should always be sexy.

But I do like a certain amount of reality in my books – the ones I read and the ones I write. I like to see the characters as real people. I want them to have flaws, and quirks, to bicker and be unreasonable. That's what makes them real to me, and what makes the story interesting. You can have the greatest sex scene ever written, but I'm not interested in the people who are having it, it might as well be a copy of Penthouse Letters - after the scene is over, I'm not going to care much what happens.

So I always try to inject a little reality into the fictional relationships I craft - I think it adds dimension to the characters, and by extension the story. But I don’t think I’ll give any of my characters a yeast infection. That might be a bit too much reality, even for me.

~ Have something to add to the list of things That Never Happen In A Romance Novel? Leave a comment!~

Old Habits

Last week was a busy one for me. I spent it playing Crazy Animal Lady, which is different from usual only in the amount of time dedicated to that particular pursuit. You see, rather than being a vocation or even avocation for me, CAL is actually more in the way of being a fact of my life--it's not what I do; it's who I am. And this past week, it morphed into an all-consuming passion as there was a week-long dog show located in my own backyard and attended by lots of people I know with lots of dogs I admire, so naturally I spent at least a bit of time there each day, either with my own dog or routing for other people's dogs. I even neglected by horse to do so, which meant that when I finally spent time with him on saturday, said horse felt compelled to express his disappointment with me by throwing a mild little tantrum when I first climbed on his back.

Anyway, I bring this all up because it happens to be my excuse du jour for having gotten absolutely no work done all week on my current project--the latest, all-new installment of my Others series of paranormal novels. I'm really, really good with excuses. In developing an endless stream of new ones, I exhibit extraordinary powers of imagination, creativity, fantasy, engineering, anal-retention, and occasionally even cleanliness. All of this has nothing to do with whether or not I enjoy my work. I love it! I have the best job in the world, but in my philosophy, even the best job can be made better by avoiding it for as long as humanly possible and doing other, more constructive, things instead. Like playing endless hands of Spider solitaire, giving myself exacting manicures, alphabetizing my DVD collection, catching up on laundry, or teaching myself how to do a professional grooming job on my dog. Then, in two months, when I realize that I only have four weeks left to write a novel, panic will set in and I will lock myself in a small room with no television, radio, windows, or company and pound out a book while emerging only occasionally for meals and fresh glasses of Diet Coke.

And that's when I will vow that next time, I'll start early, write every day, and have the next book done with time on my deadline to spare and maybe even time for a real live spell check before I turn it into my editor.

Then, I'll decide that grooming my dog is so last month, and I'll need to learn to shoe my own horse instead.