Kerry Allen

It has been a hectic week. One of these days, when it’s all over, I’ll tell you all about it in a manner that will make it all seem like a regular laugh riot.

No cause for alarm! I have consulted the Magic 8 Ball at length, and almost everything is going to work out for the best.

Like I need $27 mascara.

No, seriously. I NEED this $27 mascara. Standard mascara wands and my absence of fine motor skills do not combine with glamorous results. If you ever see me with sexy, smudgy, smoky eyes, it’s merely an attempt to rectify a mascara application gone tragically awry.

At least with that teeny little thing, when I twitch or fumble or blink or sneeze or in some other fashion stab myself in the face (or drop down my shirt—it happens), it will make only a teeny little mess.

This was my delivery room book.

Everything an Eighties book cover should be and more.

Way more.

Her blue eye shadow. Her stripe of rouge. Her feathered hair. Her poofy ruffled dress. Her heaving bosoms.

The half-nekkid dude who, seriously, looking at him right now, kinda puts me in mind of Jet Li.

The “Catch me, I’m passing out” “Never fear, my love, that’s just the chloroform kicking in” pose.

The clashing colors (lavender and tangerine—there’s a bridesmaid’s dress from hell waiting to happen). The PURPLE FOIL embossed title.

The fine print at the top: “Her heart was innocent, but her body cried out for his touch!”

And the back copy is no doubt cringe-inducing pr0n of the worst sort to the sort of people who cringe:

BRAZEN INNOCENCE

Wide-eyed Caitlin McGlory [yeah, I know, isn't it great!] had no illusions about Quinn Jones. From their first meeting, she knew he’d be a fearsome enemy, a powerful ally, and a magnificent lover. With his jet-black hair and storm-grey eyes, he seemed dashing, devilish, and utterly desirable. Perhaps it was foolish—even dangerous—to flirt with such a man, but Caitlin couldn’t resist. She wanted to see his eyes grow dark with passion, feel his arms pull her close to the heat of his lean, hard body…

WORLDLY DESIRE

Cynical Quinn had no doubts about Caitlin. The instant he saw her, he wanted her in his bed. With her glorious auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes, she was bold, beautiful, and completely bewitching. Perhaps it was unwise—even reckless—to toy with such an innocent temptress, but Quinn couldn’t stay away. He wanted to whisk Caitlin off to his isolated Canadian castle and treat her silken flesh to long nights of endless loving. He would worship every luscious curve, every hidden treasure, until she begged for more of his tantalizing

TENDER TORMENT

Any clue whatsoever what the plot might be, based on that? *pfft* We don’t need no stinkin’ plot on the cover! We gots a prettiful picture!

Inside: I love you. I hate you. You’re acting like a spoiled child. And you’re being a bully. Train me so I can bag a rich, titled husband. Screw that, I’m not letting another man have you. My game, my rules, prettyboy. Wh-wh-what do you mean, he got tired of my games and left me for good? But I loooooooove him! Silly chit, I could never leave you.

That is the spirit of Zebra circa 1985 right there, ladies and gentlemen, and in spite of it all (or is it because of it?), it was motherhumpin’ awesome when I was 11 and remains one of my enduring faves.

There’s this lovely site called Query Tracker. There’s tons of agent information. You can even look up an author to see if there’s an agent of record. (Double and triple check all information, of course—by no means depend on any one source for your agent search. It’s going to have a big impact on your career, so do your homework like it counts. QT makes that research a little easier by linking to agents’ web sites, Agent Query, Publishers Marketplace, and Preditors and Editors, for starters.) It’s free to sign up. You can keep a list of agents you like, keep track of your submission status, and monitor the agents’ stats (particularly handy for those agents with 1,000 queries and 2 responses reported, so you know not to hold your breath waiting for them to get back to you).

There are also user comments entered on the agents’ pages. The good: Provides an idea of turnaround times and level of feedback given. The bad: Holy monkeybeans, so many prime examples of how not to respond to rejection.

I can relate to the disappointment and frustration. I may even have experienced some hostility a time or two under extenuating circumstances. However, it seems counterproductive for anyone looking for an agent to pitch a hissy fit about any agent in a public forum where agents are known to pop in to verify their info, particularly if your username bears some resemblance to your actual name and/or you’re including identifying details about your deathless prose.

I’m going to reveal the big secret behind rejections—right here in this very post!—in hopes of preventing even one future spaz attack.

Rejection says: “I might not be the right agent for your work.”
Recipient’s interpretation: “I stalked you at conferences and all over the web until I was certain you’re the right agent. WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?!?!”
Secret meaning: “Not interested.”

Rejection says: “I am looking to take on new clients, but only with material about which I feel very strongly.”
Recipient’s interpretation: “Unfortunately for you, feeling very strongly that your writing is crap doesn’t count.”
Secret meaning: “Not interested.”

Rejection says: “Not right for me.”
Recipient’s interpretation: “Not right for me, as I prefer to represent clients who write way better than you do, loser. And you’re ugly.”
Secret meaning: “Not interested.”

Rejection says: “I can’t offer any editorial feedback.”
Recipient’s interpretation: “Your writing is so godawful, it would take me a month to point out everything wrong with it, so I’m not even going to try.”
Secret meaning: “Not interested.”

Are you sensing a theme here? No need to analyze a rejection for its secret meaning. It means NOT INTERESTED. Whether it’s polite or curt, rubberstamped or personalized, hundredth generation photocopy printed on toilet paper or handwritten in calligraphy on vellum, it means NOT INTERESTED. It’s a subjective decision not to become involved in a long-term relationship with words on a page, not a rejection of your worth as a human being.

Have you ever been NOT INTERESTED in something—a person, a TV show, elections in a non-Presidential year? Were you obligated to explain, courteously and in detail, your reasons for being NOT INTERESTED, suggest improvements, and invite further attempts to win you over? Did you spare even one thought for the wounded feelings of that person, TV show, or election? Would you have become INTERESTED if that person, TV show, or election demanded more from you, acting all entitled and becoming insulting toward you when you failed to meet his, her, or its expectations?

Mark that submission “closed.” Cross it off your list. Burn it on the grill if you must, but for the love of monkeybeans, quit agonizing over it to the point where it seems like a smart idea to go online and hurl insulting adjectives at the agent who sent it.

Say a year passes, and you’re shopping around your next project. An agent may not remember your name from the last time you queried, but he’s a bit more likely to remember it if you assassinated his character on his listing.

Aren’t there enough reasons for being rejected without adding “because you’re a douchebag” to the list?

… I hate hijacking other people’s blogs with my 5,000-word rants in response to a response to a comment of reasonable length I made:

Until a Sneering Cynic actually reads a romance novel she likes, there is no conversion to “romance reader.” Sneering Cynic doesn’t wander into the romance corner at B&N on impulse and decide to give it a chance. The only way Sneering Cynic finds that book is through a romance reader she knows and respects putting that book in her hand and insisting, “Try it.” Sneering Cynic has never been impressed by an author or reader or reviewer discussing characterization and conflict and world building and research and all the other nonsexual elements involved in crafting a romance. (Never mind that writing a good sex scene is an art unto itself.) The internet abounds with such discussions, but Sneering Cynics never seem to find those, and that is because they seek evidence to support their existing prejudice that romance novels are silly, ill-crafted smut. Do they go to Teach Me Tonight? No, they go to the 16-point reviews at Mrs. Giggles because that proves they’re right.

I continue to not care what Sneering Cynics think. They’re the ones missing out on some amazing storytelling—the genre with its $1+ billion annual sales isn’t missing them, and neither am I. I continue to oppose revamping the genre to make it more appealing to people who don’t want to be appealed to because that’s a slap in the face to the millions of readers who are already here and loving it for everything it is—including sexy.

There’s sex in music, movies, TV shows, non-romance fiction, advertising everything from beer to eyeglasses, and I’ve even heard some people have it in real life. So why should a sex scene in a romance novel be a dirty little secret?

I firmly believe romance is so easy to pick on because so many people are embarrassed to be associated with it, and that does far more damage than any potshots from Sneering Cynics.

I do my part by not hiding my reading material in shame and by suggesting to Sneering Cynics I know that if they think I’m a worthwhile human being, maybe there’s a worthwhile reason I’m reading that romance novel. (I’ve converted a few, too—never strangers, though, because strangers have no reason to listen to anything I say that conflicts with their opinion.)

As for those Sneering Cynics I don’t know and who are never going to have any effect on my life, rather than surrender even a teeny bit of control over my behavior to them, I’m gonna stick with “fuck ‘em.”

Seems like I’m not doing a whole lot more than I am lately.

1. Gabe’s book (sequel to WL). I have a first draft. Love, love, love Gabe. Love, love, love this story. No point investing more time in it if WL goes nowhere, though.
2. “Cover” for mini-novella. No, I haven’t heard anything on that submission (and might not for another month or so), but I found a near-perfect stock photo for a cover, in the event it ends up being a freebie. We spent a couple hours removing the sunshine (sunshine + vampire = epic fail) and changing the gal’s white tank top to leopard print spandex to make the image story-consistent. It will take another couple of hours to add a frame and some texture to prettify it. It occurred to me while I was searching for materials for the next step (Obsidian Dawn, how I love thee) that this could easily turn into eight solid hours of wasted work if the story’s accepted by NB. *sigh* Drop the stylus and back away from the Photoshop…
3. SC-1. Stalled at a chapter and a half. No reason not to keep working on this book, other than being committed to finishing The (Much Less) Interactive (Than Initially Intended) Web Story. This one, at least, is next on my to-write list, barring unforeseen developments.
4. Romance Cooties. We now have hosting—premature in terms of putting up content, but the price was right and soon to expire. First priority there is artwork (ah, Photoshop, there is no escaping you), and then I’ll get back to stressing about the rest of it.

What’s everybody else working on… or not, as the case may be?

IWS: Wrote a little of the werewolf part. Tinkered a little with the vampire part. Seriously considering removing the initial Option #3 and the later Switcheroo Option in the interest of finishing it sometime this decade because the transitions are killing me. (Although I will use the initial Option #3 elsewhere because I never throw away a good torture mechanism.) Seriously, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Too ambitious a project for a gal once described as having “a dismaying lack of ambition.”

Wreading Week in Review: Read three “man books” in two days. Read half of a “woman book” in two days—it’s good, it’s just slower going because chick POV involves a lot more introspection than guy POV.

To the reviewer who complained because Robert Parker’s books are all dialogue: That’s why they’re great. Quip, inform, threaten, shoot, pet the pooch, repeat. I know Spenser wanted to beat that obnoxious kid with a folding chair because I wanted to beat that obnoxious kid with a folding chair, and all it took to get me there was the obnoxious kid’s dialogue. That’s a skill, not a shortcoming. Sometimes that spareness and simplicity are exactly what’s called for, and anything more is a waste of words.