Giving away PROOF BY SEDUCTION

So: Winners from last time:

My Lord Scandal: SylviaSybil
The DUFF: Elisa

You know the drill: e-mail me your address at courtney@courtneymilan.com, and congratulations!

Now, on to other matters! As you may well know, Trial by Desire comes out in… ulp! Two and a half weeks. And it occurs to me that some people–some few people in the world–have not yet read Proof by Seduction. And so I have been giving a few copies away–some on Twitter, some on Facebook–and now, I’m going to give them away on my blog.

So. If you don’t have a copy of Proof by Seduction, let me know. I’m giving away at least 5 copies. Maybe more, depending on how I feel and how many people enter and all that jazz. You have all weekend–in fact, until next Tuesday, when I make my Next Big Announcement (which makes it sound bigger than it is, but hey), to enter. Did you somehow miss out on Proof? Or, do you have a friend who needs a copy of Proof? (You do–you know you do!) Just let me know, and I’ll pick at least 5 of you, at random, to win.

Squirrels and books!

Today has been a day filled with work from about 6 AM to…um…it is still continuing now.

There were brief interludes to eat dinner and take the dog for a walk. The dog, incidentally, has hit a milestone in his life: today he caught his first squirrel. I am a little perturbed by this development, and he was utterly delighted. (For the curious: It was a ground squirrel. He nosed it up off the ground, shook it, flung it in the air. We called him off at that point, and–good dog!–he actually came. But he was very, very insistent in wanting to go back to where we found the squirrel, convinced that we’d made him leave behind the newest, best toy ever.)

Despite all that, here I am, to distribute copies of Warrior and to tell you about some books I read over the weekend during the few hours when I was not working, and which, incidentally, I have extra copies of. For you.

First, the winners of Warrior are: Llehn and Cris. Congratulations! Send me your snail mail addresses at courtney@courtneymilan.com.

And now, the books.

  • Emma Wildes’ My Lord Scandal. This is a book about a rake and a sheltered virgin. But it is not the book you think–the rake is actually really honorable at heart (even though he is, after all, a rake), and the virgin, while a virgin, is so matter-of-fact and straight-forward and in charge of her life. There is no misunderstanding. There is no kicking and screaming on the part of either of the characters, when they realize that love is descending with nasty, clawed teeth. There is no stupidity. In fact, one of the most delicious things about this book is that it’s a straight-up love story: you really do believe that Alex and Amelia are really, really good together, and that they are going to be deliriously happy together for the rest of their life.

    And yet there is constant tension throughout, with never a dull moment. These are two of the most likable characters I’ve seen–for their forthright honesty, their commitment to each other, and their ability to cope with some really awful situations. I’m not sure I can describe the awesomeness that is this book. It’s sort of like, I’m reading it, and thinking, “Oy, setting up for misunderstanding in three, two, one…Wha? They didn’t! Yes! He didn’t do that! Awesome!”

    Also, this book is incredibly hot. I’m just saying. Loved, loved, loved this book.

  • The DUFF by Kody Keplinger. This book is a YA book. It uses words like “asshole” and “fuck,” though. There is Cherry-Coke induced violence. I didn’t count the number of times that the main character has sex (with the same guy). So this isn’t precisely your grandma’s YA. It’s an edgy, raw book–one where the heroine does some things that feel almost dangerously self-destructive. But as the book progresses, we start seeing that her coping mechanisms aren’t as downright awful as you might think. And yeah, Bianca, the heroine of this book, is more than a little bitter. But we see that she has reasons–real reasons to be.

    Wesley is the romantic love interest, and he is not romanticized one bit–not by the book, the story, or Bianca, who is so straight-forward and clear-thinking, that I want to stand up on cheer. There is no “but he loves me so it is okay!” justifications going on here. There is no “I must prove myself to him by some act of painful self-sacrifice!” vibe, either. It’s just about Bianca, figuring out what she deserves, and realizing that she doesn’t have to be the sweetest little piece of docile cherry pie ever to get it.. There are some parts of this book that are laugh out loud funny. There are some parts that are downright brilliantly heart-stopping. There is one scene where I finally, finally start cheering for Wes. Neither Wes nor Bianca have to be perfect–nor do they have to apologize for their imperfections to each other. At the end of the day, I think these two like (and I do use the word “like” advisedly) each other for their imperfections, not in spite of them.

    I’m not sure how to describe this book to readers of adult romance, but just think about it this way: If Victoria Dahl’s heroines were in high school? Yeah. They would be Bianca. And if that doesn’t sell you on it, I’m not sure what will!

    This is one of the best YA books I have read this year, if not the best. Straight-up no-nonsense awesomeness.

So: there’s my last week’s reading in a nutshell. (Actually, there were more books–but these were the three huge standouts.) These books were such huge standouts that I actually went to the bookstore today for the purpose of getting extra copies to give away. Normally, extra copies just sort of magically appear, because I can’t help myself. These…these I went to get on purpose.

Also, as a note: the author world is very small, and quite often I know the authors whose books I’m giving away. This is not to imply that I’m less than honest in my discussions (alike Sarah Rees Brennan, I just don’t do negative reviews–so I keep my mouth shut, generally.) In this case, I’ve never met either Emma Wildes or Kody Keplinger in my life. We’re not friends. We’re not even acquaintances. And I loved both books enough that honestly, I had to buy extra copies and I had to give them away, because I want everyone to read these books. They are just that good.

So. There you are. If you didn’t win Warrior, you can win another book. And both these books are made of utter awesomeness.

Giveaway: Warrior, by Zoe Archer

When I was growing up, I was absolutely mad for awesome coming-of-age stories. The kind that stayed with me–the ones that I still have not forgotten, even today–are adventure stories. You know the sort. There’s an ordinary girl who lives what is otherwise an ordinary life, up until the point when she is snatched away by (take your pick) a trio of old women/a man in a desert cloak/an apparition from a dream. Thereupon she proceeds to kick ass and save her little brother/her country/the entire world. I’m sure many of you were right there with me, reading those books. Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword comes to mind, as do Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time or Jane Yolen’s Dragon’s Blood. I grew up on those stories. I read them over and over and over and over, until the spines of the books cracked and entire pages fell out, not that it mattered, because I had those pages memorized anyway.

Warrior by Zoe Archer

And so if you want to understand why everyone seems to be buzzing about Zoe Archer’s upcoming Blades of the Rose series, it is because the books capture that same sense of magic and discovery in the books I adored as a young adult–except this time around, they’re for adults. They’re not coming of age stories, of course; they’re much deeper, with emotions that resonate with the person that I am now, instead of the thirteen-year-old I once was. But there’s still that same sense of magical discovery inherent in them, that feeling that at any time in my normal life, I might meet someone who will slip me a compass, and the next thing I know, I might be the person who runs off on a voyage of discovery.

So let me tell you about Warrior, which is the first book in the back-to-back-to-back-to-back series filled with awesomeness. It starts when Captain Gabriel Huntley, newly returned from Crimea, happens upon a group of men beating up another man in Southampton, England. Huntley isn’t sure what is going on or why–all he knows is that the odds don’t look good for the loner. And besides, he’s not ready to settle down on English soil, not after all those years of adventure.

So he intervenes, and gets more than he bargained for. Over the course of the fight, he sees things that aren’t possible. And at the end, when the person he has helped has no other choice, he’s given a mission: to deliver a message and a stylized compass to Mongolia.

No, not even inner Mongolia; that would be too easy. Outer Mongolia. And Gabriel, who is deeply restless and unready to simply marry a fine English woman and spend the rest of his life getting fat over pints of beer, decides to go. And that is where the story, so far mostly familiar, begins to weave its threads of adventure.

The magic of this story is that it takes you to the windswept steppes of Outer Mongolia, delivers on that same sense of breathless discovery that I remember and love, while still rendering everything accessible. I thought about this for a long time, trying to decipher what it was that made the story seem so different, and yet so instantly recognizable all at the same time. And what I decided was that while the setting is rare and the world that Zoe Archer builds is unique, there’s a real sense of universality to the story. When Gabriel meets Thalia, she’s used to wearing a native dress called a del–but because Gabriel is English, she dons a regular English costume…to hilarious effect. And most of all, it is her emotions that are achingly familiar.

For instance, when she first encounters him, she’s wearing an ill-fitting, ugly gown. When her father sees her, dressed as an Englishwoman for the first time in years, they have the following exchange:

“You look…”

“Hilarious,” Thalia supplied.

“Well, yes,” her father agreed. “But I was also going to say: lovely.”

And in that instant, it doesn’t matter that Thalia is something of an assistant Blade of the Rose living in Outer Mongolia, that her father knows secrets about magical things called Sources. Instantly, I understand the love and affection between them. Thalia’s the tomboy forced to play at dress-up. Without being told, I know that she’s going to ride fast, fight fiercely, and love with intensity. You know that she will lead you into adventure. It’s that same thread of human emotion that we recognize again and again in Thalia and Gabriel. Even though the book proceeds at breakneck speed across scenery that is larger than life, chasing prophecies, fighting off bands of mercenaries, running from with the villainous Heirs casting magic about that threatens their lives–throughout it all, Thalia and Gabriel remain people who we can identify with.

Near the end of the book, there’s a moment when Gabriel refuses to kiss Thalia. The scenery is new, but I still found myself getting just a little choked up right then.

Ultimately, that’s what makes this book so memorable. It’s not just that the scope of the story is sweeping. At the same time that Warrior takes you past monasteries and through magical outpourings of bright red flowers, it also tiptoes through territory that is both human and accessible. It precisely captures that feeling of magic that I remember so vividly from my childhood reading. And yet at the same time, it makes me feel so comfortable in Outer Mongolia that when the book ends, I’m surprised to lift my head up and discover that I’m still in my house, in the United States. For the space of a book, Zoe Archer makes Outer Mongolia feel as if it is truly my home. And that is dark magic indeed.

In any event, if you can’t tell, I am hugely excited about this book–and the rest of Zoe Archer’s series. I’m going to be giving away two copies of this book to commenters who answer the following question: Where would you like to see a romance set?

When to speak up

Over at Dear Author, there is a lengthy discussion on Red Rose Publishing. I have no first hand knowledge about what has happened over there. There are allegations that Red Rose Publishing has released, and made money, off of books that it has not contracted, that it does not send out royalty statements or checks on time, and that when questioned about this, the owner of Red Rose Publishing sent out abusive e-mails. There have been a few apologists, but nobody seems to have disputed the substance of the allegations. (Doesn’t mean that the allegations can’t be disputed, but nonetheless, fair or no, I have formed an opinion.)

One of the things that keeps coming up in the comments is the notion that dirty laundry should not be aired in public, and therefore these things should not have been talked about.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe that many–in fact, most–aspects of the author/publisher (and author/agent) relationship do not need to be made public. There’s a good reason for that: The publisher wants to do what’s best for the book, and so if there are disagreements–and I list these, not to imply that I have had these disagreements with my publisher, but because they are common things–about what needs to be accomplished in edits, about how to present the book to the public via the back cover copy or the cover itself, and so forth–ultimately, even if our specific reasons differ, our goal is the same, and generally, nobody is served by taking the issue public.

This is a reciprocal rule, too. Your publisher will generally not badmouth you in public, either, even if you are months over deadline, or you make unreasonable demands, or you ask for covers that make no sense in the modern market, or you scream at your editor because she says that the black moment in your book isn’t working for her.

But there is a point where a line gets crossed. Think of it like a boyfriend. Imagine you dated some dude and you never really clicked and you decided he was a total poser. Now imagine that you find out that this dude is dating a distant acquaintance. You don’t go up to her and say, “You know, Eric is kind of a poser.” You don’t want to be the gossipy cat who is out to hurt people out of sour grapes.

But what if Eric isn’t your poser ex, but he’s the guy who date-raped you that one night? Assuming you are comfortable sharing that information, yes, you tell your friendly acquaintance. She might still think you’re a catty bitch–alas, such is human nature–but your disclosure under those circumstances is actually very courageous, and you should feel proud of yourself, not ashamed.

As a general rule, you and your publisher are in a symbiotic relationship, where you are each trying to make each other as much money as possible. You’re trying to write really, really good books, and promote them; they’re trying to produce them in an attractive package, and get them into as many venues as possible. You both want to produce really good books that people will love.

But. If a publisher is regularly and willfully releasing books without a contract [!!!–side note:  I just can’t get over this. If it is true, and I do not have first hand knowledge that it is, then not only is RRP unethical, which is bad enough, but it is also monumentally stupid–which is, in my book, unforgiveable.]  that’s not a symbiotic relationship. It’s date-rape, clean and simple. You do not have to sit there and take that in silence. And you should not feel ashamed for having the courage to speak out.

What am I writing about?

First things first: the winner of Trial by Barbed Wire is… SonomaLass! Congratulations, SonomaLass! Send me your address.

Second things second: I’m in the mid-book frenzy of writing my fourth book, which is titled Unclaimed (Unclaimed follows Unveiled, my third book, which will be out in late January of 2011–it will be out sometime in the fall of 2011). Back in June when I was in England, I was doing research for this book (among other things). And if you’re curious what this book is about… well, you can read the basic description on my website, for one. But I decided to add the research books I have open on my desk at this very moment to my research shelf on Goodreads. And that will…not give you any idea at all, except that the book is set partially in Shepton Mallet and partially in Bristol.

I’ve become a little hazy about talking books while I am writing them, because I have written enough to know that it’s rarely a good idea to talk about a book while writing it, because I am either wildly optimistic or wildly pessimistic about its worth.

My process looks like this.

Step One: I write the first scene of the book. Sometimes I write the second scene of the book. Usually, these scenes are the work of some wild and crazy genius, and I can’t believe how perfect I am. This is it! This is going to be the easy book, the one that writes itself with just a hint of work on my part!

Step Two: I write a synopsis for the book. The synopsis highlights two or three things I know have to happen, talks a lot about back story which is unlikely to be the actual backstory of the characters, and makes vague allegations that other things, in fact, also happen. It is designed to convince my publisher (and myself) that I am writing a Real Book, with a beginning, middle, and an end.

Step Three: I write enough scenes near the front of the book to make it look like I have a good start. These, I send to my editor along with the synopsis, so she can see that I am in fact, writing a real book. (Sometimes, these scenes actually end up in the middle of the final book, or get cut altogether, so I’m really faking this part.)

Step Four: I write whatever scenes I think have to happen in the book without reference to when or wherever. I write totally out of order. For a month or so, it is a frenzy of writing–these are the easy scenes, the ones that automatically spring to mind. These scenes suggest still other scenes that must be written. I am exuberant. I ride on a heavy wave of exhilaration. This is the point when I am convinced this is the best book I have ever written, bar none.

Step Five: I have written all the easy scenes, in no particular order. Now I have to try and weave them into a story–filling gaps, figuring out how to get from Point A to Point B. I realize that Brilliant Scene Number 3 conflicts with Brilliant Scene Number 8: they cannot have two first kisses! I grudgingly start deleting, editing, revising, tweaking. At this point, I also begin to realize that Brilliant Scene Number 3…is not so brilliant anymore. In fact, it’s kind of stupid. I rewrite it. I try Brilliant Scene Number 8 in its place. Nothing works. Heck, it’s not even a cogent story. It’s a set of anecdotes. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Step Six: I feel as if I am this close to finishing the book, if only I could solve this one persistent problem! But solving it means that I just have to close this last gap…and then that creates another problem here…

Step Seven: I decide this is the stupidest book ever written. All my efforts to fix it only make it stupider. Why am I working on it? It’s never going to be good anyway. This is the worst book ever. My career is over. Eventually, I can no longer stand to look at it any longer without shrieking. I save the file and send it to my editor in a fit of pique. Often, it is accompanied by a note that declares something like: “This book is plagued by three unfixable problems, and it sucks. Sorry.” Or, perhaps: “There’s a long stretch of crap in the middle and I don’t know how to fix it.” (I have toned down what I actually say for public consumption.)

Step Eight: My editor reads it. She gets back to me. She says things like, “I really like this book!” Secretly, I doubt her taste, and I decide that she must be a liar, since she can say all that without bursting into hysterical laughter. Then she points out lots and lots of things that would make the book better, and I decide that even if she is lying about liking it, she is a genius.

Step Nine: I tackle her list of things to make the book better. Some of the stuff is easy, like clarifying sentences. Some of it looks like it will be easy–things like, “isn’t her reaction a little understated here?”–but when I try to fix it, I realize the whole scene is wrong and I have to rewrite it. Eventually, I get to the point where I can send it to her again. If I am doing really well by the book, I say something like, “Okay, it’s not that bad any more.”

Step Ten: She sends it back, with another list of things to fix. Repeat. By the time I get to the end of fixing these, my eyes are usually bleeding.

Step Eleven: Mercifully, I get a little rest. Then I have to look at the final typeset version of the pages for errors. I pray I find them all. While reading, I am filled with impotent fury at all the things that I want to change, but cannot, because I am only looking for errors.

If you cannot tell, once I get past step four in the book writing, I start to grumble.

Right now, I am on Step 5 in Unclaimed. This is the “everything sucks!” phase. Luckily, once I get through it, I’ll be in the “this book is almost done…once I write one last scene and fix that little bit in Chapter 14!” phase. I’ll be there for a solid month. And that is why I’m not talking about this book until it’s done–because until then, just about everything can (and at some point, will) go.

The stigma of happy (a rant)

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
-Fyodor Doestoyevsky er, that would be Leo Tolstoy, and I don’t know what I was smoking

I’ve heard this sentiment echoed a thousand times, in a thousand ways: that somehow, happiness is simple and formulaic and less worthy, while pain and suffering is unique and harsh. You see this same assumption undergirding much of the dismissal of romance as a genre. Romance, after all, must be formulaic, because it demands a happy ending.

Other people have taken up that gauntlet. Romance is no more formulaic than mystery, which demands the mystery be solved, or sonnets, which are even more restrictive as to form, or cooking on Iron Chef, which demands that every dish contain mushrooms. All this falls on deaf ears; somehow, happy endings are easy, trite, predictable, and above all generic. All happy families are exactly alike; it’s the unhappy ones who are somehow different, and by nature of their unhappiness, subtly elevated.

I call bullshit. I not only call bullshit, I call stupid, self-indulgent, asinine bullshit. Anyone who has worked to make a relationship–any relationship, not just a romantic one–function knows that this is bull. When you and your best friend have a fight, it is much, much harder to work through the mix of anger and love than it is to simply walk away. And as anyone who has worked through one of those hard times knows, the happiness that you get from a friendship that you’ve worked for isn’t interchangeable. Happiness isn’t some easy, fungible thing that you can purchase. Happiness is hard work.

No, it’s the emo-teenager I-can-never-fix-the-pain-that-is-my-life crap that’s easy. It’s easy to wallow in misery. Anyone can do it. Everyone has. It’s hard to do something about it.

The way I write my books, I think of the problems first: the ones that drive the start of the story, the one that will nearly break my couple apart to the end. Those are easy; I have thousands of them in my head, just waiting to be written. I start writing, and it’s those problems that drive me. Make them harder; make them more impossible to solve. When I start writing, I don’t know how I’m going to bring my couple through it. I don’t know the answers.

Bringing my couple to a happy, satisfying ending is the hardest part of writing the book. When I was working on Trial by Desire, there were a lot of hard parts. The hardest, bar none, was coming to a satisfactory resolution of the external hardship that Kate and Ned faced. I thought I had a solution, but when push came to shove, I could see that it wasn’t permanent, that I would always fear a reprisal in the future. If I had that fear, so would my readers. My solution wasn’t good enough. After weeks of writing a thousand unsatisfactory scenes, that was the one time I broke down and called my editor, unable to figure out how to go on.

We did eventually get it right. (And I hope you agree!)

I wonder what world these people live in, where they think that throwing up one’s hands and saying, “Oh, well, life is just one unending bitter cup of misery, and then you have to pay taxes on your deathbed,” is somehow hard and worthy and nonformulaic.

No, guys. Getting up off your duff and finding some kind of sweetener to add to that bitter cup of woe? That’s hard. Walking away from something that doesn’t work? That’s easy. Anyone can walk away. It takes a real hero to stick around and try to make things better. It is a thousand times harder to solve problems than create them, and dismissing the triumph of victory trivializes the hard work and heroism that every happy person puts into being happy.

I am sick and tired of the notion that all happiness is alike, that it’s easy, and that it’s formulaic. There are a thousand ways to triumph and find joy over sorrow. And every single one of them will give you a different kind of happy.

Cover-up, part two

Trial by Desire

Okay. I haven’t really talked about the problem with my book cover much on this blog, because, you know, you never want to insult anyone.

But…take a look at this cover. No, really. Take a very close look at it, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Do you see it yet? Hot guy, check. Provocative pose, check. Indication that characters might, in fact, enjoy themselves at some point during the course book? Check. Intimation that the characters might, in fact, engage in some kind of hanky-panky during the course of the book? Check, check, check.

Now that I’ve pointed out all these undesirable characteristics, no doubt you’ve caught on to the difficulty I’m having with this book. It’s one that Lisa Solod Warren over at the Huffington Post would recognize in an instant.

The answer is really kind of frightening, and so I have to whisper. Lean very, very close to the monitor.

This looks like a book that you would read for pleasure.

Trial by Barbed Wire: A book about exclusion and semiotics for, like, extremely smart people. Like you. Yeah, you.The horror! The horror! Now, truthfully, I can’t deny the claim. Yes, I admit. There are parts that are intended to be funny. And if you press me, I have to admit that there are parts that are supposed to be hot. My hero and heroine…touch each other. For the purpose of giving pleasure. And, even worse: it works at the time. There’s even a happy ending. Animals do not grace its pages for the sheer purpose of killing them in a heart-rending moment at the end. Children do not succumb to mysterious illnesses in the final pages.

And so we all know what that means: this book is meaningless drivel, and anyone who sees you reading it will judge you accordingly.

Luckily, I am a writer of fiction, and so I’ve decided to come up with an alternate cover for this book. Just as I did for Proof by Seduction, I’ve created a printable book cover that will convince anyone who takes their reading selections solely from the New York Times book review section that you, yes you, are a brilliant person.

Trial by Desire? Pah. Smart people don’t have desires. They certainly don’t feel anything below the waist–at least, not anything good. Let’s face it. If you want to be smart, you can’t admit to desire. That’s why my cover repurposes itself as “Trial by Barbed Wire.” Please note the subtitle. This is not a book about love or desire. It’s a book about exclusion and semiotics.

But, of course, one can’t judge a book by its front cover. That would just be gauche. One must see the back cover copy, too.

(You might need to click on the graphic to read what it says.)

But there you have it, in plain black–er, blue–and white: People who are merely intelligent read for pleasure. But you’d have to be a real genius to read for the mind-numbing pain.

(and for those of you who are following along at home, the sarcasm tag goes off…now.)

If you would like to win a copy of Trial by Barbed Wire, just let me know in the comments section by Wednesday. One lucky person will get the recovered-Trial by Desire. And if you want to download and print your very own personal book cover, so that you, too, can impress random people on the subway, the file is here. Directions on how to use it are here.

Enjoy!

TRIAL winner!

The winner of Trial by Desire from my blog contest is: Rene! Congratulations, Rene!

Didn’t win? You still have until noon today to like my Facebook page for another chance to win early.

And there will be other opportunities to win. Next week, I’ll be posting the downloadable-cover for Trial, for those of you who inexplicably do not like red. And I’m thinking when Mr. Milan posts his review this time, you might get a chance to win a copy of the book…signed by both me and Mr. Milan. So stay tuned!

TRIAL BY DESIRE: giveaway

So, I got my author copies of Trial by Desire last Friday.

Getting author copies is always a huge deal. They’re shiny and pretty–even more shiny and pretty in person than you can imagine from the cover. This book is even more striking in person than Proof by Seduction was. They’ve used a spot gloss on the cover to highlight the name of the book, and on the spine, so that the image of my heroine’s face on the spine is shiny. (In fact, I think the spine for Trial by Desire is much, much, MUCH prettier than Proof‘s.)

The first thing I did was sign a copy to Mr. Milan. The inscription reads like this: “To my most wonderful: May you appreciate all of this book’s brilliance, and overlook all the bad parts.” Then I signed a copy to my older brother, since I dedicated the book to him. I signed some more copies for some other wonderful people who deserve it.

Finally, I spent a few days, hugging all the copies (but gently! gently!), and building forts with them (again, gently!), and otherwise reveling in being surrounded by many, many copies of my book.

But, alas. It is time for me to let go. And that means I’m going to be giving away not one, not two, but three copies of this book. One of those copies will be here on this blog: all you have to do to get it is leave a comment on this blog entry on either today (Wednesday the 25th) or tomorrow (Thursday the 26th), and be one of the randomly chosen people. A second copy will be given away on twitter: all you have to do is send me an @reply, saying “Courtney, I want to win a copy of Trial by Desire!”–one of you will be randomly chosen as the winner by today at noon, PST.. The third copy will be given away on Facebook, to one of the people who likes my new Facebook author page, by this Friday (the 27th) at noon. The only rule is this: if you win in one venue, you’ll be disqualified from winning in the others–it’s only fair, after all.

So there you have it: three ways to win a very, very early copy of Trial by Desire. Enjoy!

Authorial Integrity

I’ve decided I want to be Nora Roberts when I grow up.

I don’t mean that in the sense that I want to be as wildly successful as she is (although I wouldn’t say no). I don’t even mean that in the sense that I want to write as many books as she does (with the day job, that’s just not an option–and even without the day job, I’m not so sure).

No. What I mean is this: I want to have her integrity.

I’ve read fifteen or so books by Nora/J.D. Robb–a tiny percentage of her output, to be sure, but a respectable sampling,  with the books spread across maybe a decade and a half of her career. I have loved some of those books–absolutely loved them to tears. I have merely liked some of them. I haven’t hated any of them, ever.

The one thing I have never thought of a book written by Nora Roberts is this: “Wow, she really phoned it in. It’s obvious she did no research, put no thought into this, and just let this one slide because she had better things to do.”

Nope. Every single book that Nora has put out, I’ve basically thought she gave it her all.

Just think about what that means. At this point, Nora could write a handful of stinkers for years and years on end, before her millions of fans gave up on her in disgust. She could sell a kazillion copies, make millions and millions of dollars for herself and her publisher–and put in easily a quarter of the effort that she does.

Let’s face it. Human nature being what it is, most people upon being told they could make millions and millions of dollars while making a modicum of effort, would not go far.

So why doesn’t Nora do that? Why, after all these years, can I walk into a store and pick up a book by Nora and know that it will be well-researched, well-written, well-edited?

There’s really only one reason for it, that I can think of: Nora has integrity. She knows her readers deserve her best, and so that’s what she delivers.

So when I say I want to be like Nora Roberts when I grow up, that’s what I mean. I don’t ever want to get to the point where I think it doesn’t matter any more, that I don’t have to do my best. I don’t ever want to look at something and say, “enh, that’s good enough.”

Good enough is for dishes. (Don’t tell Mr. Milan I said that.)