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When I was first asked to write an
article for Update about how it felt to make my first
sale, I didn’t think it would be possible. I mean, words cannot
describe what something that extraordinary feels like, especially
after working so hard for so long. I do remember thinking
that after writing and working toward publication for nearly
ten years, finally getting "THE CALL" shouldn’t be quite that
surprising. I knew where all of my submissions were and my
heart skipped a beat every time the phone rang. I’d even talked
with the editor who bought my book only a few days before
"THE CALL."
But guess what? That phone call, that
news, was a major shock. Knocked me totally for a loop. It
all began, actually, after last year’s WRW Retreat in Harpers
Ferry, WV. I’d had a wonderful time, as always, and was charged
to get back to writing. When I arrived home, my dad told me
I’d gotten a couple of calls on the answering machine, one
from some bookstore. Hmm, that was odd. I didn’t remember
ordering any books. So I went into my office to listen to
the message, which began, "Hello, this is Alicia Condon from
Leisure Books. . ." Aack! "Dad," I screamed, "Leisure
isn’t a bookstore, it’s a publisher!" To which he responded,
"Well, how the hell should I know?" I guess he had a point.
This was Sunday night and I had
to wait until Tuesday, when Alicia would be back in her office,
to call. But don’t think I wasn’t on the phone much of Sunday
night, calling friends and fellow writers to see if they knew
what this cryptic phone message could mean. After all, she’d
asked me to call her back, but hadn’t said anything more than
that. And I’d only sent her the proposals for my three historicals
and knew she probably wouldn’t be making an offer on anything
until she’d read a full manuscript. So not only did I not
sleep very well the next two nights, I also lost my voice
from talking too much at the Retreat and screaming about
an editor actually calling me.
Tuesday rolled around and I was no
less excited or nervous. But I braced myself and called. And
sure enough, Alicia said she’d read and enjoyed my proposal
for CINNAMON & ROSES and could I please send the complete
manuscript? Like I was going to say no! And then she added
that as long as the second manuscript was finished, I might
as well send that one, too. More hoarse screaming, more making
phone calls to the same people I’d called Sunday night, and
frantic printing. I had both manuscripts in the mail by the
end of the week and, considering that it had taken her six
months to get to my proposals, I figured I had at least that
long a wait until I would hear from her again. So I settled
down, started breathing again, and got back to work on my
current project; ironically enough, a contemporary because
I’d pretty much "given up" on historicals. (Yes, I still get
quite a kick out of that one myself.)
So when the phone rang the following
Tuesday at almost 5p.m. (only two days after mailing the manuscripts,
not counting the weekend) I refused to answer it. I just knew
it was one of those bloody telemarketers bothering us at suppertime
again, and I was in the middle of stirring jell-o, thankyouverymuch.
And you know what happens if you stop stirring that stuff
before all the crystals are dissolved. But my dad--who actually
hates to talk on the phone and rarely bothers to answer--went
to the machine and listened to the caller’s message. A second
later, I heard him talking to someone and figured it must
have been important, after all. Then he came into the kitchen
and said, "Heidi, it’s for you. It’s that Alicia woman."
You can’t imagine just how many thoughts
go through your head on a five second walk to the phone. Akin
to seeing your life flash before your eyes, I imagine. In
a mere fraction of a minute, I wondered if she would actually
call just to reject me. And why the heck couldn’t she
just send a letter like everyone else? Or what if something
had happened to the manuscripts in the mail and I needed to
resend them? Well, okay, that wouldn’t be good, but it wasn’t
the end of the world, either.
I don’t think that it even occurred
to me that she might be calling to accept the manuscripts.
I mean, I’d just mailed them on Thursday; I knew she wouldn’t
be in the office that Monday, and even with the very best
postal service a Priority stamp can buy, she still wouldn’t
have had an opportunity to read anything prior to that day.
But she surprised me again by saying,
"Your manuscript arrived this morning and I had a chance to
sit down and read it this afternoon. I’d like to make you
an offer." That, I think, is the moment I lost consciousness.
I’m not sure; you’d have to ask Alicia. I remember nodding
numbly, just sort of listening and writing down every word
she said. And believe it or not, I actually remembered to
ask if I could have a couple days to calm down and think everything
over and get back to her about the offer--as all great agents
and authors recommend, instead of automatically agreeing to
whatever terms are offered.
That’s how it happened, and to this
day, I still cannot really believe it. For months, I’d catch
myself giggling like a schoolgirl because I just could not
believe I was published. Or about to be. I would pinch myself,
just to be sure I still had a handle on reality. (Which is
questionable most of the time, anyway.)
And every single thing that’s happened
since then is such a thrill. The first time I saw my cover
art. The first time I read the back cover blurb. My first
RWA conference as a published author. The first review of
my book.
If you can imagine just a fraction
of what I was feeling through all that, then you can imagine
what it’s like to make your first sale. But still, it’s different
for everyone; a different story, a different path to publication,
different pitches when you scream with excitement.
Just wait until it happens to you.
You’ll see.
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