A WINNER

I would like to thank Devyn for stopping by and sharing such wonderful insights into writing and a fabulous excerpt. Thanks Devyn!

Now - we do have a winner..... drum roll please...... Deb Diaz! congrats! I'll be in contact.

Ok - so, I have to finish a book, revise another, and do galleys for still another. Be careful what you ask for - you might get it.

Happy writing all!

GUEST BLOGGER - DEVYN QUINN!

First, I’d like to thank author Jenni Holbrook for welcoming to her blogspot today. It’s generous of her to let me take over her space. Since her blog is devoted to writing related topics, I am going to continue that theme.

Have you ever wondered what happens to a manuscript once it’s been accepted by a New York publisher? Frankly, when I sold a title to Kensington, I didn’t have a darned clue of how the process worked. There really were not any books on the subject of the process that takes a raw manuscript and turned it into a finished book. So for anyone with a manuscript in hand who is thinking of submitting it to a publisher (large or small press), here’s the process, as experienced by myself.

To begin with, you need a manuscript. A finished one is good to start with. How you sell it is your business. Whether by your own efforts or your agent’s efforts, once you get an offer to publish your work, well I hate to say it, but your work has just begun! There you are, sitting on your collective laurels, tickled that you have 1: finished a book and 2: made a successful sale. That should be the last time you’ll lay eyes on that book until it’s published. Right?

Wrong! There’s still lots of work to be done by you, dear writer.

So what’s going to happen next?

Well, the first thing that will happen with your manuscript is that it will be handed over to a copy editor. In New York, this person is usually not the editor who acquired your manuscript, but a hired hand with (you hope) enough skills to go through your book and adequately correct any goofs you, the author, made. The things the copy editor will focus on, aside from your grammar and punctuation (not to mention those pesky typos you are sure the spell check caught), will be the plot and characters themselves. Has someone’s eyes changed color mid-book (I’ve done that), or has a character declared one thing and then turned around and done something totally, uh, out of character (done that one, too!) If the CE is sharp, she’ll take her little red pencil and correct all these things for you. If you have made a really huge boo-boo, she’ll attach a post-it note to the page, asking the author to address the problem she believes she has found. NOTE: It’s up to you, the author, to decide if there’s a problem there or not. That’s where the mighty STET comes in, which means “leave it alone!”

So, here I am sitting at home working on my next excellent book when the Fed-Ex man shows up with my edited manuscript. It’s a shock to open that parcel the first time. Not only is your whole freaking book coated in red ink, there’s so many post-its attached that it looks like Bozo the Clown exploded on the inside of the envelope. It’s enough to make a writer’s eyes fill with tears as they reach for the razor blades. You are, after all and according to the copy editor, an idiot.

But have heart. Once you’ve drank enough alcohol and smoked enough crack to calm your shattered nerves, you can begin to go through the edited manuscript. LO, you will find that the damage isn’t as bad as you first thought. Most of those post-its are simply addressing things such as word choice (I tend to find a favorite word and use it over and over) or a sentence that needs cut down and clarified. Usually the copy editor has made a suggestion as to how that can be done and all you have to do is okay the change. In some cases there is a plot problem and a rewrite is required, a scene needs expanded—or cut down to move the action along. Overall, you will find your book is okay after all and that the copy edit will actually make you look more brilliant than you really are. (It is at this point that you realize someone else’s college education is working to your advantage! Does that make you The Donald, or what!!??? )
Breathing a sign of relief, you can stick that book back on Fed-Ex and return it to your editor. Once again you’ve managed to lob that sucker off your desk so you can get back to your WIP. During this time, you’ve also usually received your cover flats, the actual printed cover your book will be bound with, along with the back cover copy and a few classy review snips that make you sound like God’ gift to the literary world. It’s kind of cool to hold half a book in your hands. Cover flats make great giveaways for fans and the publisher usually loads you down with tons for autographing. (Most e-publishers do not do cover flats if they put your book in print, so all you’ve got to show around is a jpg. Well, if you love your cover, have some nice prints made on heavy duty photo paper and autograph them anyway.)

But enough of kissing that sexy cover that’s going to sell oodles of copies of your book and make you THE NEXT BIG THING.

Guess what? In about a month that book you’d hoped by now you’d never see again is back. This time the Fed-Ex man is marching to the door carrying the unbound galley—the page proofs of your typeset book. This is how it will look when printed, cut and bound inside that pretty cover flat you got awhile back. Trouble is, you now have to go through that book page by page and look for errors. This is your last chance to fix mistakes and you’d better have sharp eyes and a lot of patience. Moreover, you have hit the point where you can’t start rewriting. Aside from fixing typos or deleting unnecessary text, no rewriting is allowed (except if it’s a terrible emergency that will affect the plot! And even then it had better be short and sweet!)

I know I wrote the book and the biggest millstone around my neck is having to reread it. I don’t like it, mostly because I see the thousand things I should have done (my middle name is “Shoulda Done”) better. Reading my own stuff makes me cringe and weep and gnash my teeth. It takes a sharp pencil and a sharp eye to make the final changes to your book. What you change, or don’t catch, will go into print. That thought alone will make you reach for that next bottle of malted liquor and your anti-depressants.

Once those page proofs are finished though, they go back on Fed-Ex. (Are you getting the idea that Fed-Ex gets a lot of business here?) To be sure nothing goes wrong, you usually make copies of the changes you made. Just in case something gets lost, you have the back up. Since you only return the pages you corrected, I find it’s nice to put the galley back together and give it to a friend (once I am assured the publisher received my parcel). A lot of people are thrilled to get the original author’s galley. They make good prizes, too, a one of a kind version of that book.
So, that’s the last you see of that book, right? Well, no. It’s coming back one more time. Only this time the delivery truck is coming with a load of printed books. This is the time when you get to squeal and dance and hold your finished book in your hands. At last, at long last, that manuscript is a printed book. The process has taken anywhere from 9 months to a year or longer, depending on the publisher’s production schedule. In some cases that’s longer than it takes to have a baby.
Now that you’ve read through this ramble, does anyone have any questions they’d like to ask? I’ll answer in the comments section as I find them.

Now, on to a nice excerpt from “Eros Island”, the anthology collection I am giving away today. My story is titles “Thunderstruck” a play on Pygmalion, the story of the statue that comes to life for its creator:

Stopping a few feet away from the statue, Jack placed hands on hips. His gaze swept head to foot, then back again. “So this is my expensive block of Grecian marble.”
Dani pressed a hand against her nervous stomach to quiet her nerves. “You know damn well it is—or was.” Unveiling a new work was like stripping herself naked for flagellation. Everything in her soul was revealed. Other than the rain beating against the windowpanes, there wasn’t a sound in the studio.

Silence stretched on, stretching her nerves along with it.

“Well?”
Jack practically sparked with excitement. “My God, this is one of the most impressive pieces of sculpture I’ve ever seen.”

Suddenly awash in feelings she couldn’t explain, Dani stammered, “You like him?”

The flash of straight white teeth revealed boyish dimples on either side of Jack’s mouth. “He’s absolutely fucklicious.” He gave her a quick hug. “I don’t blame you one bit for pawing all over him. You capture the male physique so beautifully, my dear. I’d just love to have a bite out of that nice round ass.”

Fucklicious. Jack Wilde’s stamp of approval on any man he deemed attractive enough to sleep with.

Control returned. The muscles in Dani’s gut thankfully unclenched. “Back off, buddy.” She grinned. “I had him first.”

Jack grinned and playfully eyed the statue, giving ample study to the arresting cock. “Your hands have been over every inch, I’m sure.”

Heat crept up into Dani’s cheeks. “Just being thorough in my work.”

He laughed. “He’s the best you’ve ever done.

Reeling in the aftermath of his praise, Dani felt her lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Then you’re pleased with your investment?”

Jack Wilde nodded. “When I saw this piece in Athens, I knew there was only one sculptor who would know how to bring out its true form.” Their gazes caught and held. “You have succeeded brilliantly.” He clapped his hands in delight. “Bravo.”

“Thank you.” A pause. “I needed to hear that.”

“You’ve certainly earned the praise.” Jack walked around the statue, examining it again from all angles. “The realism is amazing. Looks like he’s going to step down from that pedestal any second now.”

God, I wish he would.

“So tell me the identity of your inspiration. Surely he is a great man.”

A sexy beast with bronzed skin and compelling eyes flashed across Dani’s mind-screen. Nipples peaking under the silky material of her bra, her inner muscles contracted with raw lust. The dampness between her thighs increased.

“Not a man. A god.”

“Fabulous!” Jack pressed his hands together as if about to have a heavenly consultation. “Greek or Roman?”

“Greek, of course. It’s Herakles.”

Jack chuckled. “An absolutely astonishing interpretation in the style of the old masters.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “My heart is about to burst with excitement. I knew you would do something wonderful, but not this fabulous! Allow me to say your talent for sculpture is unmatched in this present day. Marble is certainly your medium. It’s like the stone speaks through you.”

Dani couldn’t help smiling. That was Jack. Laying it on with a trowel. “The stone spoke for itself,” she answered honestly. “When you told me the block came from the same quarry that most likely gave birth to some of the greatest sculptures in Greek history, how could I not be inspired to create a god?”

“And fabulously so.” Jack turned around to study her, admiration in his gaze. “I really didn’t think you’d be able to finish it on schedule after Lucien—” Realizing his slip, he cut off his words.
The first unpleasant shock of the evening.

Spine stiffening, Dani cut a sharp look at her friend. Mention of Lucien struck like a slap across the face. Pleasure at her accomplishment vanished. Emotion tightened her throat, threatening to squeeze off her air.

A thousand conflicting feels converged in the intersection of her mind, threatening to jam up in a jumbled wreck. The elation and passion of her work mashed against the anguish and hurt of losing her husband to another woman. She’d been so busy sculpting her dream man that she hadn’t even noticed the one she’d married had slipped away until it was too late.
Thoughts churning in her mind, Dani rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. I made my choice and Lucien made his. The pain of her husband’s rejection hadn’t killed her. If nothing else, it had only driven her all the harder to succeed.

But it didn’t lessen the hurt one little bit.

“I’m sorry,” Jack started to say. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Lucien. Tonight’s your triumph.”
Swallowing hard, Dani sighed. “Marble doesn’t lie to me, Jack.” The words grated out between her teeth. “Marble doesn’t fuck my assistant. And marble certainly doesn’t tell me it’s walking out a right when I’m in the middle of creating my most important piece.” No, marble had never deceived her. What she’d found in its heart had always been true.

In it she’d place her fragile trust. In it she would find solace. In it she would rebuild her fragmented psyche.

Excerpt from Thunderstruck by Devyn Quinn. Copyright 2008. All Rights Reserved. Published by Kensington Books.