My book releases tomorrow. I don't know if I'll feel any different or not, but it's pretty exciting to say that by this time tmrw I'll be a published author. And I suppose the timeline is not that bad, either. I started writing SPELLBOUND in February of 2010. I finished in May. I felt so proud of myself. I had read somewhere once that Stephen King said he usually took about two months to write a novel himself, unless it was one of those magnus opuses he has been know to churn out. I fancied myself part of "the club." I snapped closed my manuscript and buried myself in the GLA, looking for the agent I would allow to represent me. I woke up from the fantasy a few months after that.
Cut to forty-five rejections later. No kidding. Forty-five. I edited and revised and sent out partials and fulls and learned to stop holding my breath. I started getting really NICE rejection letters back, too. Personalized with suggestions, but never with an offer of representation. And I NEVER got any calls from the 212 area code. *Sigh*
I got really good about faking that they didn't affect me. Oh, another one. No worries. Whatever, Move on. Then the letter came from Astraea Press. I actually didn't understand it at first, which is funny because Stephanie doesn't mince words. It was hi, liked the story, want to publish it and oh yes, a contract is attached. Check it out. It was an amazing feeling.
So, tomorrow is the big day. New friends on Facebook are excited for me. And me, I'm still trying not to throw up.
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