I got my first official review this week, and surprised myself. As much as I thought I’d be prepared for it, I was terrified. I avoided opening it for almost twenty minutes before I convinced myself to read it — it wasn’t like the review might improve if I let it age……
And it was good! Someone besides a friend or my editor, someone who reads TONS of romance books, read mine and enjoyed it. I was so relieved I cried. Yes, you read that right. I got all wimpy and weepy and water worked over my first official review.
It’s a very odd feeling for me, not knowing where I stand. If I knit a sweater that has no arm or neck holes, then that fails as a sweater. If I bake a pound cake that you have to drink through a straw to enjoy, then that fails as a cake (and it’s gross). But there’s really no way to tell how people will receive a book. What seems amazing to me might seem pedestrian to you. I call this the Titanic Factor.
Many people — dear friends of mine included — claim this movie is the most romantic movie of all time. The best thing I can say about it is that Kate Winslet looked gorgeous throughout the movie. I only watch it to scoff. I actually laugh and roll my eyes quite a bit and I won’t even tell you the things I yell at the screen. But I digress.
I know that not all reviews will be so glowing, and I don’t expect them to be. But for now I’m going to sit here and hum “My Heart Will Go On” for just a while longer.
Sasha, who wants you to click & read her review:
Filed under Sasha, writing
It probably says a lot about me that I can’t hear the phrase “lowered expectations” and not think of an old MADtv skit about a dating company gone horribly wrong. But this post is not about my inane sense of humor.
Rather, it’s about my writer insanity. After the euphoria and panic of last week’s HaulAssDraft, I should have sat quietly in my corner and nursed my aching wrists. Instead, the flag went up that Round Two would be starting and before I could stop myself, I had yelled MEMEMEMEMEME!!! on Twitter.
Sometimes I want to shake myself.
Same rules as last week, and though I’m doing better word count wise, I’m still in danger of tweeting the Tweet of Shame (this time it’s something about having a lint & ear wax fetish). My friendpetitors (I like it!) are kicking my butt. I don’t begrudge them words (after all this means more for me to read!), but I was starting to feel a bit losery (another fine Sasha-ism).
Logically, it occurs to me that all of us have different things on our plate, and therefore the expectations shouldn’t be the same. A race between a newly legless man and a 7-time Boston Marathon winner *is* still a race, but only an idiot would expect it to be an even race. (And yes, I did just compare myself to a newly legless man, don’t judge.) The legless man could finish the race (yes I will beat this analogy to death!), but it’ll be harder, bloodier, and maybe, once he catches his breath more rewarding.
Legless Man Out!
#HaulAssDraft Rd2: 8,472
Not to get all woo-woo mystical, but sometimes the Universe just gives you what you need. Last week I was lamenting the fact that I was trying new words for the first time in FOREVER & I was struggling.
Not even twenty-four hours later, some writer buds tweeted that they were going to do a week long Fast Draft. The rules were just balls to the wall word count harvesting for a week. Those of us who could would try to avoid any editing. And there was the push I needed.
I joined up and the #HaulAssDraft hashtag was born (because I never pass up a chance to swear!) and you can search that on twitter to see how the competition is doing. So far I’ve done 6,588 words since Thursday night, which is more than I’ve done all year on my own. I will definitely be doing this again.
I’m not sure what the winner gets, but I do know that the loser has to tweet that she’s a dirty, filthy Charlie Sheen lover. *shudder*
Down with ego-maniacal celebs and up with wordcount!
I’ve been in super Edits Mode since November, and my brain is having trouble switching over. This is not unlike the time my aunt tried to teach me to drive her stick shift and I spent twenty minutes trying to drive up the street.
The mechanics of what she wanted me to do was clear; however, my execution sucked. Every time I tried to shift to the next gear, I stalled the car. Move a foot, jerk to a stop. Move two feet, jerk to a stop. That for twenty minutes before I gave up. For the record I didn’t even make it past the next neighbor’s house.
Don’t worry, the car analogy stops there. But I’ve been doing the writer equivalent of that since I turned in Light. Start a story, write a couple hundred word, jerk to a stop. Start a new story, same. Return to a WIP from before EditMania, same.
I’ve heard of the sophomore slump for tv shows and albums, but never in any writer circles. I will admit it: I’m struggling. It’s almost as if I feel that since I’ve been published, the rough drafts should be prettier and they are to an extent, but they are still not Light worthy.
It’s discouraging, but unlike the car incident, I’m determined to push through. There is no fuming co-pilot to point out where I’m going wrong. No incredulous crowd watching who can’t believe I’m doing so badly. And most importantly, as much as I hate it, there is the safety belt (!) of edits.
Sasha (who’s written 2k new words)