The Golden Ticket, Part 7, beyond the ABNA finals

Or, What Else Have You Got?

If your goal is to be traditionally published, make sure you can answer the above question. Writing the sequel(s) is a rookie mistake.

This post assumes you’ve got one idea that you’ve finished, polished, and are querying or submitting. Once you’ve gotten to that point, while you wait, here’s the deal: it’s time to put that idea down. If it’s something you’ve imagined as a series, make notes, make outlines, write down a few words you absolutely don’t want to lose, but then write something else.

Really.

It can be hard to switch gears, to take a breather on characters and a world you’ve been living in and undoubtedly love, but you don’t want to write books 2-infinity until you’re sure you need them. Because if the first book you’re pitching doesn’t land an agent or doesn’t sell, you need to be ready with the answer to the question that started this post. And if the answer is, “Well, I’ve completed three books in this series,” you’re stuck.

Don’t be stuck, or, like me, behind.

My last post told you all about where Lost in Thought is on the path to publication (or not). (Or not) being a good possibility. I admit to making the rookie mistake I’m trying to save you from. When I wrote LiT, and subsequently submitted to the contest, it was for fun. While it was in the contest, I worked on the sequel just because. I was still pregnant and on limited activity and the writing was fun.

When I made the ABNA finals, I underwent a rapid paradigm shift. Suddenly, what had always been an idle dream became a viable reality. I’d always imagined writing and publishing books, but never really believed it would happen. Hell, I’d never really worked at it either. It was just a dream.

Yes, LiT was the first novel-length piece of fiction I ever wrote. Some people probably don’t like me for that. (In fact, I know some don’t because one flat-out told my husband as much.) I’m sorry. My first peek at success came with some luck, yes, but also, some skill. That’s what the contest helped me recognize. I didn’t have to dream about it; I could be a writer.

When I made that realization is when I should have put aside working on the sequel to LiT and started one of the other story ideas I’d been collecting. It took me 8 rejections and a conversation with last year’s YA ABNA winner to realize it. It took me three starts and stops to settle on the next project.

And that has put me almost a whole MS behind. If LiT doesn’t sell, I should be done drafting my next MS, but instead I’m only about ¼ of the way there. Lesson learned.

If your goal is to be traditionally published, don’t make my mistake! Write one thing well, put it out there, and then write something else.

Traditional publishing is certainly only one goal. There are other options out there. If self-publishing is an avenue you want to pursue, this post may not speak to you. Go ahead and write the sequels. :)

I think this is the last in the Golden Ticket series (and a loose connection at that). Today, six 2012 ABNA finalists will be getting the calls that change their lives. Good luck to you all!

The Golden Ticket, Part 6... after the ABNA finals

This is the hard post. Why? Because while it’s got a little bit of luck, it’s not all sunshine and roses. It’s reality. It’s work.

Here is the truth: traditional publishing is still a hard business. Even for an ABNA finalist.

 

So you’re home from Seattle with some great memories, new friends, and a pretty trophy but no contract. I put my trophy on my desk and look at it when I need a reminder that, you know, people other than my family and friends thought my work was pretty good. The key word is work, because that’s what I was back to doing.

 

If you want to be published by one of the big or even mid houses, the usual way to go about it is by finding agent representation. There are a few ways to do that: get a referral, go to conferences to meet them, and, the most common, hone your query and research who to send it to. Or, you can do what I did.

 
While the contest progressed, I’d been working on my agent research and query-honing, but before I really had to test it, I lucked into one. My husband was out having dinner and drinks with an old friend of his, and after several beers started to tell him about the contest and my book. The friend responded with, “I think my aunt does something with books.” Turns out that thing his aunt does with books is represent their authors. And after she read and liked my work, and I talked to and liked her, now she represents me. The moral of the story is never underestimate the power of connections, spousal enthusiasm, and drunken conversations.

And now, here are the stats:

Months of editing and revisions: 4.5
Words thoroughly chopped from my contest MS: over 30,000
Editor submissions round one: 13 subs, 8 requests for the MS, 8 declines

That hurts, right? In many ways, it’s actually quite good. 8 requests for the MS was incredible. Further, the rejections were at a minimum polite but the majority were incredibly complimentary. Still rejections though. Coincidentally, one editor we queried had already read the MS during the contest, so she didn’t need to request it from our sub. I suppose I could call my request count 8.5 if I wanted to.

 

We’re in the midst of our second round of submissions right now, so I’m going to keep the numbers under wraps while they’re still in progress. I will say that response to our initial submission continues to be excellent. And all that time I spent honing my agent query did not go to waste, because with just a few tweaks, and a single sentence about having been an ABNA finalist, that’s what’s getting our strong editor response.

 

There it is, the State of the Union. Lost in Thought’s been or being read by many editors, but none have offered to buy it yet. And you know what? Maybe none of them will. It’s entirely possible. It’s a tough reality that you can actually go all the way to the top three and still not make it. You might not. I might not. But in the meantime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my head in the work!

Up next: While you wait. Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.

The Golden Ticket, Part 5... ABNA Finalist and beyond

Congratulations 2012 semi-finalists! Now you’re all anxiously wondering about the phone call I talked about last time. Hope, but don’t expect. Know this though—it could be you.

Being a finalist is awesome. If you are so lucky to get there, savor every moment. I assume you’ve all read Jill’s blog series, so I’m not going to go into detail about the weekend. I’ll echo everything she said: Amazon, Penguin, and Createspace are amazing, generous hosts and you will meet great people and have a wonderful time. The winners will have been decided before you even get there, so just enjoy yourself and enjoy meeting and getting to know your fellow writers. The competition is already over.

Here’s my bit of advice about the ceremony itself: You will have to get up and say a few words, read a passage. I know the idea of this makes some people choke, but you will survive. No one is judging you. If you’re funny, be funny. If not, just be yourself. Thank the people you need to thank (including, of course, Amazon/Penguin/Createspace and your fellow contestants) and then choose a brief passage to read aloud. It can be from anywhere in the book, not necessarily part of your excerpt, but just make it brief.

Going into the awards ceremony, I already knew who was going to win, and that it wasn’t me, so I wasn’t especially nervous. I was first in line for breakfast and actually ate it. I won’t lie that though I knew, I still harbored a tiny bit of hope that I’d be wrong, again, and they’d call my name. But they didn’t. They called first Greg’s, then Jill’s, just as I’d predicted on the day the finalists were announced.

Pictures taken, goodbyes said, and you’re done. Congratulations, winners! Your Golden Ticket is punched.

For four others, you’re still holding yours. You go home with the title finalist and a great experience. Some accolades, some resume boosters, and a taste of the filling but no slice of the pie. So now what?

Now, it’s back to work.

Does it seem like I’ve said something similar in every post? Yep. Luck is awesome, but doing the work is what gets things done. The work you do depends on what you want. I’m chasing the traditional publishing dream, so the first order of business was an agent. More on that next time.

A last piece of advice I know no one wants to hear: Don’t hope and wait for someone at Penguin to call in the thirty days after the finals. They won’t. It’s all up to you.

Next up: State of the Union. Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.

In which I attempt to answer questions...

An excellent question came in via comment, and with the magic of the internet, I will replicate it for you below. Bibbidi bobbidi Boo!:

ProdigalWife Apr 22, 2012 02:38 PM
I've been following your journey with interest, and I had a question. I know you say early reviews don't help you move forward in the competition (which I think makes sense) but I wonder if you think having reviews would have helped in the final phase? I ask because you say you and one of the other finalists had basically no reviews but I looked up the winning entry and she had 16 reviews--14 dated before finalists would have been announced. It made me wonder if people coming in at the voting phase might have been influenced by the reviews. Or do you think it's mostly author friends voting so it doesn't matter because people know in advance who they want to vote for?

(Amazing, no?!)

Here is my honest answer to the question of whether or not reviews help you in the actual voting phase: Maybe. I can’t say for sure.

Reviews do influence readers, and if there are many good reviews (ie. not of the generic friends-and-family plan variety), it may possibly garner a finalist a few more votes. But that would really be from random voters/readers with no interest in the contest or any of the parties… and those voters I think are few and far between.

I predicted it on the day the finalists were announced and I’ve said many times since that Spookygirl won in YA because it deserved to. That’s really what it boils down to. It was a polished, tight story that appealed to readers. Many of Jill’s early reviews came from fellow contestants; her excerpt was frequently mentioned and recommended during discussions, and for good reason. It was an excellent excerpt, with a great peek at Violet’s character, world, oddities, and humor. It was far, far superior to mine. Rich’s was too. (As I’ve also said many times, I think he may be the best writer of any of us.) However, his story from last year, and this showed in the excerpt, was high concept and not obviously YA. So, based on excerpts especially, as well as the guest judge reviews, I thought the eventual winner was pretty clear, and it proved.

Let’s just acknowledge that most votes come from the authors’ personal networks or people with outside interest in the contest. There aren’t a lot of random Amazon customers just stumbling upon the contest during the brief window of opportunity to vote. IMO, those are the only ones on whom customer reviews may have an influence. So could it get you a few more votes? Yeah, maybe. Could it be the difference between winning or not? Maybe too. You’ll never know how close or far you were.

I hadn't exactly planned this entry, but I'm callin' it Golden Ticket 4.5.

The Golden Ticket, Part 4... So now you're an ABNA finalist

The semi-final round announcement is coming up for ABNA 2012 and I know 500 people are anxiously awaiting it. Last year, I was too, sort of. I just wanted my PW review, believing wholeheartedly that I’d reached the end of my run. It was shocking and delightful to have been wrong. Again. I did as much of a happy dance as I was able. At that point, I was almost nine months pregnant, and was absolutely, not 100 but 1000% sure my contest time was over.

When you’re a semi-finalist, your anticipation day is not the day they announce the finalists, but a week prior. If your phone doesn’t ring, you’re not* a finalist. For me, it became a running joke that I was going to miss a phone call that day, 1) because I didn’t think it was remotely possible I’d get one, and 2) because it happened to be the day I was due to deliver.

Well, the baby had plans of her own, and decided she wanted out on Mother’s Day. In fact, she was in such a hurry, she landed herself in the NICU for nine days (she’s fine, no worries). And so it turned out on the week before the finalists were announced, I did indeed miss a phone call anyway. Because I was napping.

Best. Voicemail. Ever.

I was, um, overly emotional at the time for a number of reasons, which explains why my mom discovered me weeping great big tears over my cell phone. SO now you’re a finalist—CONGRATULATIONS! And here comes the hard part. You actually have to sit on the news for an entire week. Why? Because you have things to do.

During that week, you sign and fax many documents, including a pre-acceptance of the winner’s contract and an NDA. (What the documents say, I am not at liberty to tell you.) They verify that you are eligible and willing to be a finalist. You arrange your travel, send in a picture, correspond with the ABNA team on your bio and your novel’s summary, work with the PR department. It’s a whirlwind, and you keep it all to yourself.

When that week, one of the longest you’ll ever pass, is over, and the finalists—including you!!—are announced, then what?

YOU GET TO WORK.

Do you want to win? Start stumping for votes, immediately and with gusto. It may feel awkward or uncomfortable or like begging and you hate it and you want people to vote because your book is good, not because you asked them and blah, blah, blah… SO. WHAT. You need votes to win, and if you don’t work for them, you won’t win. Consider it practice for when you’re published, because the biggest cheerleader for your book will always have to be you.

Amazon/Penguin do PR and you work with their people, but do your own work too. All press is good, and seek out any media opportunities you can, especially ones that will publish quickly—blogs, twitter, web features, a local paper(s) that can get you in the next day. The voting window is short, so get on it right away. Don’t overlook networks like your college alumni association, even your high school.

Once you’ve done your work, then what? Pack your bags, and make sure you’ve read the other finalists’ excerpts. All of them, even the category you’re not in. I feel that should go without saying, but I’m saying it anyway.

And again, congratulations. Take some time just to feel awesome about your accomplishment.

*Don’t get the call? Technically, you could still be a finalist. Someone may turn out not to be eligible or may have to decline. (That was, in fact, almost me.) But the odds are pretty slim.

Up next: Congratulations!… someone else. Now what? Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.

The Golden Ticket, Part 3... journey to the ABNA finals and beyond

Advancing in the contest is exciting in general, but especially at the quarterfinal round. For one, you’re going to get a PW review of your whole manuscript, and that is a fantastic opportunity. BUT, for some people, even more exciting is the publishing of the excerpts, download- and comment-able by anyone! Including your friends and family, complete strangers, and your fellow competitors. This round gives you something to obsess over on a daily basis. What’s your ranking? Have you gotten any reviews? What do they say?!

Here’s where I address strategy. And I am completely pantsing my way through this blog, much like my writing, so I’ll start by addressing a strategy that maybe would have fit better in the first post. I told you to submit to the contest, even if your manuscript wasn’t entirely where you might have wanted it to be, and I meant it. But if you can, spend a little extra time honing your excerpt. Your first 3-5,000 are what get you through to the quarterfinals and reviewed by the public and your peers. Those first few pages are critical, and not just in the contest. Agents and editors, if you seek them, judge your work on even less. Your first page. If you’re lucky, your first five. Make them count.

So now you’re in the quarterfinals, and your excerpt is all pretty and ready to download… what do you do? Well, if you’re like me, you cry a little, do a happy dance in your bedroom, and go out to dinner with your husband to celebrate. That’s it. Why wasn’t I shouting it to the world?

Because the quarterfinals is not the time for that.

Be excited about your accomplishment, but not too excited. Not yet. There are more rounds to come, and possibly more exciting news. I recommend you wait and see what happens. If the quarterfinals is as far as you go, your network will still be able to download your excerpt and share in what you accomplished. Ditto the semi-finals. The FINALS is when you NEED them to rally. Their excitement—and their votes—could earn you a publishing contract.

Don’t stir up the crowd until it’s time for the show.

But what about reviews? And my lonely excerpt? And getting feedback on my work? I know we all want them, and obsess over them or the lack thereof, but the reviews on your excerpt do not impact your success in the contest. At the time of the finals last year, I think my excerpt had one or two reviews and Rich's had none. All the reviews do is make you feel good (or possibly bad) or, if you’re very lucky, give you some thoughtful criticism. If you rally your friends and family to give you reviews, it may make you feel good, but it’s not going to get you into the semis or beyond, and it may lose you their attention when you really need it.

If you want to get involved in the circle of reviews between contestants, that’s up to you. I didn’t. I have pretty strong feelings on publicly reviewing fellow authors (which boil down to one word: don’t). But if you want to, there’s nothing stopping you. Again though, it doesn’t impact your success in the contest. Only do it if you feel comfortable and really want to.

Now, if you listen to one thing I write in this entire blog, make it this: Please, please, for the love of Oreos, words, and all that is great in the world, PLEASE resist the temptation to comment on your reviews. Ever. No matter how off-base or great they are. Read them, digest them, bask in them, laugh at them, shrug them off... do all of those things, but please don’t comment on them. You don’t need to thank your reviewers and you never, ever need to argue with them.

If you want to have any kind of dialogue with your readers, that’s what your facebook or your blog is for. :)

Up next: Sitting on your hands. Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.

The Golden Ticket, Part 2... my journey to the ABNA finals

I honestly did not expect to advance a single round. I hit refresh with shaky fingers every announcement day hoping to see my name there but expecting it wouldn’t be. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried, just a little bit, every time it was. Once I passed the pitch round, the one I was least sure of, I hoped most for making it through the second round and into the quarterfinals, because that was based on writing. I thought my writing was good and I hoped the judges would agree. Luckily, they did. That got me to the stuff I was eager to see: the reviews!

Only one other person had read my entire MS before the contest, and she’s a good friend. It so happened that she loved it, and that felt great, especially because she’s a picky reader and honest. I had accomplished something if she enjoyed it. But she’s still my friend. I didn’t think she was just fluffing my feathers, but I looked forward to hearing what complete strangers had to say.

To my further surprise, my reviews in the 2nd and quarter-final rounds were almost entirely positive. That felt great too! I was disappointed there wasn’t more critique, but I couldn’t complain. (The negative comments would just come later!) Onto the semi-finals and, I was certain, the end of my already miraculous ride.

I used a key word above: luckily. Luck is a factor in the contest, landing with the right readers at the right time. Not advancing in the contest does not mean what you’ve written is no good. This is one contest, judged by humans, with a format that favors some things over others. Undoubtedly some great things are cut at every round, a few only because they lacked some luck.

Now I’m going to say something controversial: But not advancing might also mean your work needs work. Maybe just a little, maybe a lot. Not many people want to hear that, but it’s true. Artists can be sensitive creatures. I see many new writers, who’ve to date only been told how good their work is, buckling under their first constructive or critical words, even worse if they’re negative words. So here’s my advice for this part:

First off, I lied last time. Everyone does have something to lose by entering the contest: a bit of ego. Be sure you’re ready for criticism. If you’ve never heard anything but praise and encouragement, you may be on dangerous ground. Try to prepare for tremors.

Hope, but don’t expect.

Don’t be afraid of criticism. In fact, welcome it. You need it. (We all need it.) But don’t accept it blindly either. Digest it and apply what you’ve learned. Something I’ve said before: If praise is the air we breathe, criticism is the stuff that keeps us from floating away on it.

...don't be afraid of pure negativity either. Learn to take your blows and move on. (This is a skill I honed by teaching middle school!)

Lastly, if you do make it to the review rounds, don’t expect too much from them. This is not a writing clinic. PW reviews all follow the same format and have only a few lines of real commentary, geared more toward telling a reader why (or why not) they’d like to read your book. The 2nd round Vine reviews may offer a little more in the way of helpful critique, but possibly even less. Some are incredibly thoughtful and some are no more than a few words. A handful are awful. Again, what you get involves some luck.

I hope you’re all lucky.

Up next: Be excited! But not over-excited. Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.

The Golden Ticket, Part 1

I was asked to do something I probably should have done already--write about my experience as an ABNA contestant and finalist--but now is a lovely time of year too, don't you think?

Everyone wants to win the contest, but the reality is most of us won’t. Only two people get to do this. The rest of us just get varying degrees of close. Me, I was lucky enough to get about as close as you can. Someone commented that being a finalist was not a golden ticket to success, and that got me thinking. Actually, in a way, being a finalist is a bit like getting a golden ticket. All the ticket gave Charlie and the others was a chance, an invitation into the factory. Only one kid walked out with the keys to it. So what happens to the rest?

But I’m getting ahead of myself. What I’m going to start with is before. At the beginning, because I was also asked to give my advice to those entering. So here goes, my ABNA story:

It all started with a challenge to myself, because my husband randomly asked me one day why I’d never written a book and I told him I didn’t think I could finish one. About a day later, I couldn’t get that answer out of my head. Really, Cara? That’s all the try you’re going to give it? So I set out to prove myself wrong.

I did.

Entering ABNA became a motivator and a deadline. I made it with moments to spare, but the good news is it doesn’t matter if you enter on the first day or in the last few minutes. So my first piece of advice (which you can all use next year, I suppose) is:

Don’t be afraid to enter. Use it as a motivator. Plus, it’s free. Free! If the deadline is coming and you’re not sure your manuscript is exactly where you want it to be, enter anyway. You have nothing to lose.

Next: Round and round. Follow this story with the golden ticket tag.