by CJ Lyons

Twice a Virgin!

Thought that would get everyone's attention!

Ask any published author and they can tell you about their first time…first time getting The Call, that is. 

They will remember exactly where they were, what the weather was like, who was there.  They'll tell you about that giddy feeling when their editor (or agent) said those magic words: we want to buy your book.

My Call came in 2004.  I experienced all the usual spectrum of emotions: elation, terror, skepticism—this must be a joke, right? Or some horrible mistake?  Followed by the glow of accomplishment. 

By Kelli Stanley

I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never considered myself a thriller writer. Oh, I hope I can generate thrills when needed—a description of a damp, dank underground religious temple, especially with a corpse on the altar, can coax a few goose bumps. But here I was, already madly crossing genres with historical mystery-cum-hardboiled noir. I never considered joining ITW.
Until ...

Until I heard about the Debut Author’s program. Until I realized that, like my own writing, ITW crosses genres, crosses labels, and crosses expectations. I soon found that mystery writers, romantic suspense writers, true crime writers—all were comfortably ensconced, all working toward a shared vision of exciting writing, all with a place around the table. ITW was a bubbling, creative melting pot.

Enthused by the potential, energized by the camaraderie, I dashed off an email to David Morrell, who personally echoed the welcome. I was particularly happy to see Eureka, California as a headquarters of sorts—thanks to Vice-President David Dun. Eureka is a largish town and a smallish city, located in way-up-northern California. It also happens to be a place where I travel often—my parents live up that way. And working with David Hewson, our web king, made me feel as warm as a cup of English Breakfast on a cold London morning.

I sacrificed a body part to write my debut novel – No One Heard Her Scream. Now that's commitment. I suspect there are more than a few aspiring authors out there who by now are looking down at their own bodies and wondering what they could do without. Anything for the cause—but let me explain.

While recovering from major surgery, I wrote No One Heard Her Scream in six weeks during a medical leave from my day job. The best remedy for the body is to fill it with passion and I did that. I kept insane hours and my body pumped full of adrenaline instead of pain meds. I wrote and edited until the day prior to my return to work. Since the start of my journey toward publication in 2003, I had completed my fourth manuscript (my second suspense plot).

January 8, 2007 might not seem like a particularly memorable  date to most people, but it will always be a red-letter day for me. That's the day my thriller about an environmental disaster in Antarctica sold to Berkley. Think Jurassic Park on ice — a solar energy company melting icebergs into drinking water while environmental extremists plot to stop them --- neither realizing that the water is contaminated with an unknown, deadly disease.

 I happened to be in a bookstore when I got the call. My agent asked if I could talk for a few minutes, and then wouldn't tell me what was up until I found a place to sit down. I was mildly annoyed with him, because I couldn't think of a single reason he’d call with needing-to-sit-down news, since it had been some months since the novel went on submission, and I was deeply involved in writing the next. But after he told me we had an offer, and who it was from, my knees actually did get weak, so it was a good thing I was sitting down. After that, I walked around the store grinning like an idiot. Fortunately, my daughter was with me --- otherwise, I would have had to hug a stranger. My girls bought me flowers and fixed a nice celebration dinner, and then we broke open the gift bottle of champagne I'd been saving for this occasion for SEVERAL YEARS.

It's been months since the novel sold, and I'm still over the moon. I hope every author who's working toward publication gets to experience this very soon. The reality is even better than I had imagined. Selling a novel changes you --- it validates all the years of learning the craft; all the querying, all the rejection. Someone believed in my work enough to associate their name with mine and put their own reputation on the line using my words. No matter what happens from here on out, I'll never be an aspiring writer again. I’m going to be published!

 

by CJ Lyons

Twice a Virgin!

Thought that would get everyone's attention!

Ask any published author and they can tell you about their first time…first time getting The Call, that is. 

They will remember exactly where they were, what the weather was like, who was there.  They'll tell you about that giddy feeling when their editor (or agent) said those magic words: we want to buy your book.

My Call came in 2004.  I experienced all the usual spectrum of emotions: elation, terror, skepticism—this must be a joke, right? Or some horrible mistake?  Followed by the glow of accomplishment. 

By Kelli Stanley

I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never considered myself a thriller writer. Oh, I hope I can generate thrills when needed—a description of a damp, dank underground religious temple, especially with a corpse on the altar, can coax a few goose bumps. But here I was, already madly crossing genres with historical mystery-cum-hardboiled noir. I never considered joining ITW.
Until ...

Until I heard about the Debut Author’s program. Until I realized that, like my own writing, ITW crosses genres, crosses labels, and crosses expectations. I soon found that mystery writers, romantic suspense writers, true crime writers—all were comfortably ensconced, all working toward a shared vision of exciting writing, all with a place around the table. ITW was a bubbling, creative melting pot.

Enthused by the potential, energized by the camaraderie, I dashed off an email to David Morrell, who personally echoed the welcome. I was particularly happy to see Eureka, California as a headquarters of sorts—thanks to Vice-President David Dun. Eureka is a largish town and a smallish city, located in way-up-northern California. It also happens to be a place where I travel often—my parents live up that way. And working with David Hewson, our web king, made me feel as warm as a cup of English Breakfast on a cold London morning.

I sacrificed a body part to write my debut novel – No One Heard Her Scream. Now that's commitment. I suspect there are more than a few aspiring authors out there who by now are looking down at their own bodies and wondering what they could do without. Anything for the cause—but let me explain.

While recovering from major surgery, I wrote No One Heard Her Scream in six weeks during a medical leave from my day job. The best remedy for the body is to fill it with passion and I did that. I kept insane hours and my body pumped full of adrenaline instead of pain meds. I wrote and edited until the day prior to my return to work. Since the start of my journey toward publication in 2003, I had completed my fourth manuscript (my second suspense plot).

January 8, 2007 might not seem like a particularly memorable  date to most people, but it will always be a red-letter day for me. That's the day my thriller about an environmental disaster in Antarctica sold to Berkley. Think Jurassic Park on ice — a solar energy company melting icebergs into drinking water while environmental extremists plot to stop them --- neither realizing that the water is contaminated with an unknown, deadly disease.

 I happened to be in a bookstore when I got the call. My agent asked if I could talk for a few minutes, and then wouldn't tell me what was up until I found a place to sit down. I was mildly annoyed with him, because I couldn't think of a single reason he’d call with needing-to-sit-down news, since it had been some months since the novel went on submission, and I was deeply involved in writing the next. But after he told me we had an offer, and who it was from, my knees actually did get weak, so it was a good thing I was sitting down. After that, I walked around the store grinning like an idiot. Fortunately, my daughter was with me --- otherwise, I would have had to hug a stranger. My girls bought me flowers and fixed a nice celebration dinner, and then we broke open the gift bottle of champagne I'd been saving for this occasion for SEVERAL YEARS.

It's been months since the novel sold, and I'm still over the moon. I hope every author who's working toward publication gets to experience this very soon. The reality is even better than I had imagined. Selling a novel changes you --- it validates all the years of learning the craft; all the querying, all the rejection. Someone believed in my work enough to associate their name with mine and put their own reputation on the line using my words. No matter what happens from here on out, I'll never be an aspiring writer again. I’m going to be published!