Embrace the Edits

I'm in the throes of edits.

Some authors hate the edit process. Me, I love it. Yes, it can be uncomfortable when an editor is suggesting the changes rather than me, the story creator. But the truth is my editor's goal is the same as mine--make the story stronger. My editor wants my book to be a bestseller. If I keep that in mind, the edits go pretty well.

One of the reasons I like the editing process is that it forces me to see my story from a different angle and that gets my creative juices flowing. I see new connections between events. I delve deeper into motivations. Answering 'Yes, what if...?' brings me to places I hadn't previously imagined. All good. Maybe not all relevant, but definitely all good.

Relevance is the reason I like to sit with the edits for a while before diving in. For me, it's critical to thoroughly explore the inevitable questions that surface, to understand all the possible angles. But there's a difference between a possible angle and something that makes the story better. Some angles take you down a completely unnecessary path. I prefer to avoid those. Finding the time to mull things over isn't easy if the delivery schedule is tight, but it's essential for me. And it pays off when the edits start--the writing part goes much quicker when my brain has embraced the edits.

Titles

One of the things all new authors have to deal with is the possibility of a title change. As a debut author, the chances of your book being released with the same name you originally gave it is slim. Once in the hands of your publishing house, your book takes on a whole new life--and a whole new family--and that often means a whole new title. There are lots of reasons for a title change--including making it easy for readers to find the type of books they like to read.

Historical titles are often some form of "Ravished by the Duke" or "One Knight in my Bed". Paranormal novels are often some form of "Blood Moon" or "A Thirst for Darkness". Harlequin Presents titles are often some form of "The Millionaire's Mistress". Erotic romances often have titles like "Spurred On" or "Wild and Wicked in Vegas". Is all this similarity done to confuse readers? No. It's done to imply the sort of story the bookstore browser will find between the covers of your novel. It's done to encourage the reader who likes your type of novel to pick it up and at least read the back.

If you're lucky, you'll get some say in what the new title of your book will be. Your editor will ask you for suggestions, perhaps after giving you guidelines about what sort of phrases work for him/her ... and the publisher's marketing department. After some back and forth, you'll arrive at a new title--maybe one you coined yourself. The most important thing to remember during this process is that your editor wants your book to sell like hotcakes. The publisher wants you to succeed. They want readers to discover you and then hold you up as the next great talent. The change of title is their expertise at work helping you reach that goal.

So, if you're a brand new author, here's to an eye-catching title that encourages many, many readers to pick up your book and then carry it all the way to the checkout line.

By the way, my GH winning manuscript has a new title. It's now called Drawn into Darkness. Ten guesses what kind of story it is...

Fall Memories

I have a lot of memories tied to the fall. That's partly because a lot of our family get-togethers happen then--four birthdays, two anniversaries, and Thanksgiving--and partly because my feelings about school were most intense at the beginning of the year when tension/excitement was high. As the leaves turn magnificent shades of vermillion, orange and burnt sienna, I tend to get nostalgic. I have a desire to pull out the family albums and page through them. I want to watch movies I've watched a thousand times before. I suddenly crave pumpkin pie.

Strangely, I also have two paintings in my livingroom that are so realistic they look like you could step into them, and guess what? They're both depictions of the fall. One's an old farmhouse under a sweeping tangerine maple tree, with a big puddle in the front yard, a toy sailboat just waiting to be launched. The other's a brick house, the trees nearly empty of leaves because they've all fallen to the ground, and big puddle playing host to a gaggle of geese. Of all the pictures I could have bought, why did I buy those? Because they trigger my memories.

Memories of sitting 'round a table with my family feasting on turkey, jumping into mile-high piles of leaves, splashing in puddles, breathing in the cool, crisp air and the first tendrils of fireplace woodsmoke. Light rain, deep thickets of poplars--yellow on top and soggy brown at the bottom, the perfect shape of a leaf left on the sidewalk, the excited bounce in my dog's step. Surprisingly wonderful fall memories.

Off I go ... I'm inspired to write.

Conferences

This weekend I'll be attending the Ottawa Romance Writers' Sweet and Spicy conference. I haven't been able to go to any conferences this year, so I'm really looking forward to this one. I love being able to bond with my fellow writers and sit in on workshops hosted by editors, agents and other authors. There's always something new you can learn, some little gem you can add to your collection of valuable advice.

This will be my first conference as a contracted author. If you're attending the conference, look for me--I'll be the one with the huge grin on her face. I still can't believe it. Okay, I can believe it, but I definitely haven't come down off cloud nine yet.

I'm not going to miss next year's RWA conference in DC, that much I know. I refuse to miss my one opportunity to wear the coveted pink ribbon that identifies me as a new sale. By then I'm sure the glow will have worn off...a little.

Heroes

I lost my dad on Thursday, and the world lost a hero. Not a famous or flamboyant hero, but one of the quiet ones who rarely take credit for the great things they accomplish. My dad was seventy-eight when he died and when told by the doctor that he was terminally ill, he simply nodded and said, "I've had a good life."

And he did.



Not only did he remain faithful to my mother for the entirety of their fifty year marriage, he fathered five children, proudly served his country as a fighter pilot during the nervous years of the cold war, and saved many a life as a Search & Rescue helicopter pilot. He was the first pilot to break the sound barrier at a public airshow over Paris, France, he took a Canadian expedition to the North Pole to plant our flag, and he dedicated a huge chunk of his time to getting a fabulous memorial cairn built for the All Weather Fighter Association.



My dad did everything with purpose and energy. He walked faster than any one I know--as a child, I can remember running to keep up with him, and my mother would often admonish him, "Slow down, Gerry." When he decided to quit smoking, he did it cold turkey and never smoked another cigarette in his life. When he took up carving upon his retirement, he wasn't satisfied to simply whittle a few small pieces--he went on to win awards for his ducks, loons and other wildlife depictions. His passion for his causes was fierce and earned him the roles of president of his union and president of his local community association. When my mother became ill two years ago, he insisted on looking after her himself, and she died at home, with him. He thought she was the most beautiful woman he ever met.



Few people who met my dad ever forgot him. Not because he was some paragon of virtue, though. No, to this day, they remember his love of life ... and his love of a good party. If you spotted a crowd of laughing people at a party, chances were you'd find my dad in the center. Generous to a fault, he liked nothing better than to have everyone over to his place for some great food and a few laughs; even when he became blind in his later years, he insisted on hosting our family get-togethers himself, doing almost all the cooking.

My dad died as he lived, giving it eveything he had. He joked with friends, never forgot to thank anyone for their help, and winked at the nurses right up to the end. Sounds like hero material to me.





Gerard Rene Gagne
March 1930 - September 2008