Lynn Raye Harris

I just found out that my manuscript is an Honorable Mention in the Romancing the Tome contest! I was one of the top 5 non-finalists in any category. I’m pretty happy about that! And my judges comments were very good, so who can complain? Not me. This is a good day in my book.

For all the detractors who claim romance novels are unrealistic fluffy trash meant to be devoured at beaches when you want to give your brain a rest from the hard parts of life, this anonymous letter ought to make you realize that romance writers aren’t lumpable into a single category, nor dismissable as hacks. (NOTE: This letter is not for the faint of heart. I believe there is a warning when you start reading, but if not, consider yourself warned.)

For a look into the life of a brilliant, beautiful, and talented romance writer, this article about my fellow Hawaii chaptermate Jane Porter shows you just how smart and well-spoken a romance author can be. Yay to Jane for not making excuses about her writing! She tells a good story and she’s proud of it. She’s an auto-buy for me, not simply because I know and admire her, but because she writes thought-provoking stories that resonate with me.

I’m not really blue about the company being gone. The holiday was great, we had a wonderful time, but I just can’t work with people around. Maybe if they lived down the street instead of in another state. But since they come so far, and are here for about a week each time, I feel like I need to be available to go sightseeing and shopping and stuff.

The hubby was off from Thurs through Sun. We stayed home on Thanksgiving, naturally. Friday, we drove to Tennessee and went sightseeing at an old mill. We also headed up to Sewanee and enjoyed the beautiful grounds of the University of the South.

Saturday was this place. I bought an espresso machine. Saturday evening, we toured the Galaxy of Lights.

Sunday, we went to visit my parents and see how their house is coming along for the Christmas Tour. I’m tired just recounting all we did. This morning, my house is quiet. Oddly quiet, though I usually like it that way. But it takes me a little while to get used to it again.

I have to get my GH entry out the door this week and I don’t feel like doing any of it today. But I have to. This is the danger zone, that period of time between when you work hard on a regular basis and when you take a break that’s a little too long, a break that makes you start thinking maybe you really aren’t cut out for this business. One rejection at a moment like this could set you back for weeks.

I’ve been there before, been vulnerable and listened to the demon of doubt when the Christmas Eve rejection came in the mail. I won’t do it again, but it’s easy to think I might on a gray, cold morning when the house is quiet and my mind hasn’t yet settled down to business.

Do you have trouble getting into the groove again after time away? Or do you keep working even when the company is there?

I don’t feel Grinchy, but I couldn’t resist the pic of the Grinch carving the roast beast. My turkey is in the oven, the pumpkin pie is made, and the dishes I’ve used so far are washed.

This year, for the first time in the many years we’ve been married, we’re having both sets of parents together for Thanksgiving.

Not getting any writing done this week, which doesn’t make me happy, but I’ll just have to burn the midnight oil next week. Ah well.

And now I must get back to the holiday grind! Potatoes to cook, veggies to prepare, etc. Hope your Thanksgiving is grand.

Fellow Heart of Dixie chapter member Linda Winstead Jones is in the running for Best Romance Novel of 2007 on Amazon.com! Her book, Raintree: Haunted was one of the Raintree trilogy stories (Linda Howard and Beverly Barton wrote the other two). If you read and loved the series, you can vote for her here.

Does it get any better? I’m admittedly behind the times with television, but when I saw this guy on my favorite channel, HGTV, my brain just kind of stopped working. Carter Oosterhouse, carpenter, model, and humanitarian, host of “Carter Can.”

Oh dear.

He has so got to be the inspiration for one of my heroes. Just not sure which one yet.

My personal hero, the hubby, was out of town this week. He returned yesterday. And I realized something while he was gone. I cannot be a hermit writer, much as I like to think I can. I love being home alone all day, working on my writing, but I really need that evening time with my honey.

Long days stretched in front of me with nothing but time to write? Nope, need the hubby to come home at the end of the day and make me think about something else. It’s amazing how tangled up your life can get with one person, but we’re like the roots of two plants that have grown together and entwined to such an extent that one can’t survive without the other.

And that’s what I love about romance novels. Love is the most wonderful, important, life-altering emotion in the universe. Amazing how romance gets bashed as “those little books” or “bodice rippers” or “easy, mindless trash.” Really? Love is mindless trash? Interesting thought.

Got any thoughts about love, romance novels, or fabulous hunks? Do share!

I’ve had to rethink my Sven goals just a little. I didn’t realize that revising the first book would take as much time as it has, so I’m not actively working on the next WIP.

There seems to be mass confusion with the GH requirements. Some folks say to worry about the 55 page entry only, because if you make it to the finals and your book is requested, they’ll give you a chance to provide an updated copy.

Others say the book should be revised all the way through and as polished as you can make it. I guess I’m erring on the side of caution, but it’s making me quite unhappy to work on this thing non stop. The more I revise, the more I see what I could change to be even better.

And I know that’s a trap.

True story: when I was about 6, I had a playmate who was four years older. She had the patience of Job, because I remember one day wanting to play Barbies. I got Barbie and she got Ken. And I made her reenact the “meet” so many times it wasn’t funny. I came up with all sorts of scenarios, including casting Barbie as Jeannie and Ken as Tony Nelson (I Dream of Jeannie for you whippersnappers). I was never satisfied, and we replayed the meet over and over. Finally, I think she gave up.

But as I revise, I remember my 6yr old perfectionist. And I tell her we don’t have time to rewrite this story in every possible incarnation she can imagine.

How do you revise? Do you have a limit, say two times through, or do you revise until you’re satisfied? How do you resist the perfectionist inside (if you have one)?

Really, I don’t know the number, but I’m sure I’ve learned quite a few things over my lifetime so far. This next one is one I thought I knew. Obviously, I did not.

Never, ever drink anything the party host calls Artillery Punch, especially if you aren’t a hard liquor drinker in the first place. It will knock you on your *ss.

Now, I am a careful drinker. I’m old enough to know better than to a) mix a variety of beverages or b) to keep drinking long after the room has begun to swim. My preferred beverage is red wine and I know exactly when to stop.

But the host had this beautiful glass decanter filled with what looked like sangria. Even had fruit in it. I should have dumped the little cup after the first sip. No, I did not. I drank it. I drank three more over the course of about 3.5 hours. (We’re talking a small plastic cup, like a whiskey tumbler.) I think that’s a reasonable rate of consumption quite honestly.

Or it would have been if the punch had been normal. Yeah, I could tell it was heavily laced with booze. I should have watched the man mix it before I drank it. Because, later in the evening, he mixed more. It was whole bottles of booze, basically. I forget what gave it the pink color, but I don’t think it was anything with Vitamin C in it.

Sunday, the headache from h*ll descended upon me. Not a migraine, so I couldn’t shoot up for it. Just had to endure the awful pounding and the queasy stomach that arrived a bit later.

Life lesson # 339? I am too old for a hangover.

Learn any life lessons of your own lately?

I went through a contest phase when I first joined RWA (we won’t say how long ago that was) and had some early success with the first book I ever wrote. I kind of wish I hadn’t had success, to be honest, but that’s another story. Basically, if I’d realized I needed to keep writing and improving and that first books don’t typically sell, I’d have been better off.

Anyway, starting to look at the contests again for a variety of reasons. Though having bad things potentially said about my writing or my entry won’t make me happy, it won’t stop me either. I have reached the point where negative comments make me pause, but don’t ultimately affect me. I know the secret to staying in the game now. The secret is to KEEP WRITING NEW BOOKS. There, I said it, so now you know.

As I look at the contests, I consider a few things. Cost, yes, but it’s not the biggest factor. I love being able to enter electronically, and those contests get a harder look from me. Final judges are the biggie though. Prestige of the contest is a consideration, but lack of prestige won’t stop me if the final judges are acquiring agents or editors.

Which brings me to research. Do you research the final judges? I do. I’ve noticed a couple of judges in contests lately who either aren’t acquiring or who don’t have sales to their name. I realize that a fabulous story can make a non-acquiring person take on one more. But what about the final judge who has no sales listed in Publisher’s Marketplace? If it’s a new agent, sure, that’s okay. But one who’s been around for a while?

If all I want is feedback, that’s different. (But I have a great CP who does that for me, so I don’t necessarily need contest feedback.)

On the flip side of the coin, I think judging contests is a good thing to do. I’m judging two right now, and it really opens my eyes to what works and what doesn’t to see so many entries arrayed before me. Some shine. Others are painful. Most are well written. Very few are poorly written. But even when the language is good, you can tell when a story doesn’t pop. When it isn’t fresh and new, when it probably won’t sell as written because there’s nothing there to make it stand out.

I am a conscientious judge. Maybe I’m too easy, but I never give anyone the lowest score possible. I don’t want to batter someone, though I give copious comments if it’s allowed. And I never sign my comments, not because I don’t stand behind them, but because you just never know how someone will receive what you have to say. If someone sends me a thank you note (which they rarely do, btw, even though we are told we should thank our judges), I might out myself. I have mixed feelings about not signing, btw. I want to stand behind what I say, but I don’t want to get abused for saying it. It happens sometimes, unfortunately, which is why I remain anonymous for now.

Have you entered any contests lately? Do you also judge contests and have you learned anything from that experience?

VAPID – Virginal Angry Prudes in Denial. Used by Lynn Viehl to describe the people who got Wal-Mart to put wrappers on romance novels.** ROFL!

In fact, the whole post — where a vampire shows up at an editor’s office to protest the portrayal of his kind in romance novels — is hilarious. Go read The Vampire Smythe and have a laugh.

**She’s also the coiner of SOILS, Sisters of the Immaculate Love Scene, which describes romance authors who bitch about too sexy sex in books today.