Privilege

This past weekend, I had the privilege to open the UPS box containing Golden Heart entries for 2010. I did say privilege. I could be a bit biased. I conduct judge training for our local writing contest, Great Expectations, and I'm not convinced everyone has it in him/her to judge another's writing. Or, the luster from my two previous Golden Heart finals could be blinding me. Quite possibly, it could be the RWA networks I am part of have been buzzing for weeks speculating on the delay in shipping entries this year. But as I sat down at the kitchen table and slid the five-entry stack from the box, it came to me. The privilege part. For that, we have to go back one year.

Same table. Same favorite chair. Identical box. I had read other entries, maybe three, already. While waiting in my car. At a coffee shop. Between appointments. But for one in particular, I remember that chair, the morning sun slanting across the table's oak rings, steaming mug in hand. I read the title. I couldn't believe I hadn't picked it first. Two words, their complete juxtaposition wholly captivating. I dove in.

I can't say exactly when the writer had me. It might have been the first sentence. It might have been a half-page later when I realized this setting was unlike any in romance I'd ever read. I'm sure on the first page I sensed a kinship with her for writing outside the box, writing from her heart, and I know I admired her courage to commit something thought of in romance industry circles as "unpublishable" to paper, an entire novel to completion.

Soon, however, all of that fell away. I was in her world and didn't want to leave. I devoured her entry in one sitting, seemingly at one breath. My steaming mug grew cold, its contents untouched. When I'd finished reading, I walked to the computer, logged into RWA's site and entered a score of 9, the highest possible for an unpublished manuscript.

In March, when RWA announced the Golden Heart finalists, I looked for that two word title before the title of my manuscript. It's hard to explain how I could have been more excited to see another writer's work held up to prestige before my own, but I'd often wondered in the weeks and months after I typed in that 9 if the other judges who had read it believed in it as I did. Had they rewarded courage? Seeing that title, those two words, meant that what I write might have a chance in the publishing landscape, too.

When the finalists introduced themselves, I hesitated. I wanted to send her a private, unassuming email, but I didn't want it to seem look-what-I-did-to-help-you-final. So I stalked her website and blog for weeks. I wanted to know if she had acquired an agent or had contest wins. Did others get her story as I had? Finally, I wrote her. I wished her good luck on placing first, but told her she didn't need luck. She already had a winning story.

At the national conference, I met her in the afterglow of a publishing offer. Moments before, her agent had called her to say Harlequin had offered her a deal and she would be headed to their international markets. She had tears filling her eyes and gave me the most sincere thank you and a hug overflowing with dreams come true. She explained that finaling in the contest was the beginning domino, her open door. That night at the awards ceremony, she won the Golden Heart for her category and tears filled my eyes. Privilege.

She is now a Ruby Sister alongside me. I can't wait to see her debut take flight and read the rest of her story.

And I can't wait to get back to that box.

Conference Redux, Part One

If I could go back in time, I would take more photos. I really would. I promised everyone and their monkey's uncle. But conferences require such copious amounts of stuff. And changing bags. And, well, there's no excuse, but to say everyone around me has always been a shutterbug and I get side stream photos from them. And, really, did you need a photo of the surly Italian waiter with the Elvis lips for the blog? In three months he'll have transcended anything captured digitally to be the perfect secondary character for my next book, anyway.

The Romance Writers of America conference in D.C. gave me enough material to coast on for a good two weeks, but for now, know I appreciate all the warm, generous support the Vortex followers gave me this past week. Yes, it's an honor to be nominated. And, yes, it's exciting to cheer whole-heartedly for the wonderful, classy authors-turned-friends who go on to win their categories. I want to extend my congratulations to humor writer Diane O'Brien Kelley who won the Novel with Strong Romantic Elements Golden Heart for her manuscript Death, Taxes and a French Manicure and gave an eloquent acceptance speech that left no doubt as to her ability to pen a great novel.

Also, congrats to frequent Vortex visitor, fellow Bond-girl, and friend Maureen McGowan, whose short story "Lost and Found" just became part of the Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance project. Actually, it is an excuse to post this great cover again. Can't wait to read it, Maureen.

This week, I'll have more post-conference bull, a Vortex 10 from the International Spy Museum and photos I've pilfered from my friends. For now, here's one of me with my roommates, who tried tirelessly to dry tears of laughter long enough to remedy my Princess Lea up-do into something that looked slightly-less awful:

(l-r: Melanie Atkins, L.A. Mitchell, June Love)

And my favorite, capturing old friends and new, BFFs in all our finery:

(front l-r: Mary Karlik, Teresa Southwick; back l-r: Angela, Sherry Davis, L.A. Mitchell)

Oh, and the only place I considered MacGyvering my way at conference was in the Ritz Carlton ladies room. Floor to ceiling stalls. Thankfully, the lock only stuck once.

First thing's first: What did I miss this week? Tell me what you're up to.

Estrogen, Unleashed

I leave tomorrow for D.C. and RWA's National Conference. Imagine almost two thousand romance writers, the industry's top editors and agents, one hotel, three bars, one hundred workshops, a 300-author book signing event that benefits literacy charities and one spectacular formal awards event very much like the Oscars. Except there's no Hugh Jackman. Or red carpet. And the paparazzi is your critique partner from twelve states away who just borrowed your clear nailpolish to avert a nylon disaster.

This year is my second time with a princess pink Golden Heart finalist ribbon. The first time around, so many strangers asked me about my book, I pitched more than Roger Clemens before his mid-career slump. The opportunities were amazing, the days inspiring (and exhausting). How many other times in a writer's career is it so decidedly optimistic? For all the rejection and years and isolated determination, that pink ribbon of possibility fuels me for whatever pothole-ridden road awaits. And it will await. It always does.

Be good to yourself and others this week. Wednesday and Friday, you'll revisit some older posts, a spectacular display of time travel, don't you think? Okay, maybe not spectacular, but a cool perk of technology, nevertheless. If you're so inclined, RWA will be updating their site as Golden Heart and Rita winners are announced or you can follow the ceremony Saturday night (8-10pm EST) via Twitter. I'll be back next week with tons of photos, including a visit to the International Spy Museum. I'm channeling my inner Bond girl, you know.

Bye for now,

InkyLuv

No Cooter Jokes. I Promise.

I was going to post this today...



because I'm feeling snarky and the 1-2 combo of Lost(Holy Volkswagon on fire, Batman!) and Life on Mars trapped in the 70's is really doing a number on my nostalgia gene. Then I received this super-sweet celebratory card from Pam complete with The General Lee and I had to post it:


from Pam's blog Wednesday:
Then, when the nominations were announced and I frantically checked my category, I didn’t see my name there, but I did see somebody familiar—my separated-at-birth friend L.A. Mitchell. Somehow seeing that she had been nominated eased my pain of not. And she’d also better watch out in D.C. because I’m bringing a freaking bullhorn to the ceremony and when she wins, the only thing the crowd is going to hear is me yelling and my bullhorn playing “Dixie”, just like the horn on the General Lee.

The General Lee is now the perfect symbol of our writing journey. It's road-weary and the doors don't always open, but it takes flight on rare and special turns and it'll get us there. Thank you, my friend!

Vesper has bestowed a sisterhood blog award on me and a meme of twenty five authors who've influenced my writing (thank you!!). Though I feel very Daisy Duke to her Elizabeth Barrett Browning in the blogosphere, I shall give it a go on Monday. Until then...

Favorite Dukes of Hazzard memory...go

Golden Hearts and Vortex Winners

My novel Until Midnight has just been nominated for Romance Writers of America's 2009 Golden Heart Award! Could have been the "Waiting-For-The-Call" t-shirt I'm wearing today. Good mojo there.

Here's the blurb:

Ryan Beck is an agent assassin for The Assembly, a rogue government organization he's grown to despise. His allegiance to their top-secret agenda marked his descent from patriot to criminal and cost him his wife and his honor. He wants out, but must complete one last misison to stay alive: obtain a serum from a ruthless scientist and use it as a bargaining chip for freedom.

Medical researcher Emma Parrish believes the time serum her brilliant but misunderstood father never completed is the holy grail of medicine. The same men who hunted her father want the formula, along with an unforgettable stranger who seems to know the future as completely as the part of herself she shields from the world.

A sniper's bullet reaches Beck's target first and shatters his mission into a reverse maze of deceit and time-altering events. His only chance for escape is to find the moment the deadly chain of events began, somewhere at the cross hairs of loyalty and desire.

~

And on the Vortex Scavenger Hunt, we have a winner! Whoot for Todd and for his love of a frozen Ted Williams. Be sure to pop back here and let us know what you get with your Amazon spending spree.

That's all for now. A happy hump day, indeed.