Rants, Raves, & Random Thoughts

Shameless self-promotion of my writing skills or lack there of.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

The Day to Beat all Days (I'm going to be published)

Yesterday turned out to be a very hectic day. I had a couple of meetings in the afternoon that held me over until after 5. (I normally get off by 3 or so). As many of you know, my wife is in Germany this week, so I am a little off kilter as it is. I rush to the daycare to get my son, who is more than a little perturbed that he was there for as long as he was.

ìDad, how could you forget me?î He pouted as I signed him out.
ìI didnít forget to pick you up. I just had to work late.î
ìIf mom was here, you wouldnít have forgot me.î
ìI didnít forget about you.î I insisted.
ìIím not going to have time to play now, am I?î
ìI doubt it, but what were you doing in there when I picked you up?î
ìPlaying in the Jupiter jump.î
ìWell, then I guess you got to play today.î I snickered. ìDid you finish your homework?î
ìWas it done right?î

He just shrugged and of course, it wasnít even close to correct. So I threw some dinner on the stove and set about erasing everything that was wrong in his homework, of which there was plenty.

Once I had my son situated and working diligently on his corrections, I tripped over to the computer to check my email. I powered it up and went back to the kitchen to check on dinner. On my way back through, my son started asking several questions about his homework. I helped him out, but by the time I was through it was time to check on dinner again.

I logged onto my computer and just as I clicked on the Outlook icon my son starts shouting.
ìDad! Bhodi is peeing the floor!î
When someone informs you that a Great Dane has decided to use your carpet as a toilet, it demands your immediate attention.
ìDidnít you let them out when we came home?î I demanded as I ushered both dogs outside.
ìYeah, you saw me do it.î
ìDonít get smart with me. I was in the kitchen checking the messages when I told you to let them out.î I said, struggling to remain calm as I rummaged under the sink for some suitable cleaning products to take care of carpet. ìNow did they both go outside?î
ìWell, Gigi did, but Bhodi wouldnít go.î He replied, looking down at his desk.
ìThen guess who gets to clean up the mess.î I said holding up a rag and a spray bottle.
ìBut dadÖî
ìDonít but me. There is a reason for everything I ask you to do. I donít just give you chores because I like giving you a hard time.î I paused to smile at him. ìThatís just a bonus.î
ìI havenít finished my homework.î
ìYou can finish it when you are done cleaning up this mess.î

By the time everything was cleaned up it was time to wash up for dinner. It was a quiet at the dinner table. Clearly, Tyler was a little irked by the way the evening had went up to that point.

ìWhenís mom coming home?î He asked as he helped me load the dishwasher.
ìShe will be home Saturday night.î I said, patting his head. ìI miss her too, son.î

I sent him up to take his bath and settled in to check my email. As I scrolled through the messages, one in particular caught my eye. It read RE: Submission: Drums of the Nunneíhi in the subject line.

Well that was awfully quick. It must be a rejection I thought to myself. I opened it up and read it. I rubbed my eyes then read it again. I clicked on the from field and checked its properties to make sure one of my friends werenít pulling some sort of cruel trick, then I read it yet again.

The email was from Cyber-Pulp Press and they want to publish Drums of the Nunneíhi. It is the Dark Fantasy novella that I wrote a while back that kept me from posting to either of my blogs for a couple of weeks.

Here is a little teaser for you: A small community in Southern Oklahoma is rocked by a savage murder and the disappearance of six seniors at Castleton High School. Only a
Few members of a tribe that lives on the Red River Reservation know what really happened that night. A group of spirit warriors known as the Nunne'hi has avenged
the death of Carl Redoak, putting a new twist on an old-fashioned ghost story. The bodies of the missing boys slowly turn upÖin pieces. Tensions rise between the Res and their neighbors in Castleton as the accusations fly. When the truth is revealed, will anyone believe it?

I am still reveling in the early throes of being accepted. I havenít received the contract yet and I am sure that there are several details that I will need to work through. Once I have signed the appropriate paperwork, I will finally get to fill out the coveted deal report form and submit it to Publishers Lunch.

This is my first time, so I am really not sure what all to expect, bringing me to my next point. Are there any other aspiring writers out there that are curious about the process from being accepted to seeing the finished project?

I will post a blow by blow of the entire process as it happens to me. Those that are still waiting for their first break can live vicariously through me and those that have already been through this process can laugh at me as I stumble through it. Hopefully, it will be a good time for all concerned. So sit back, buckle up and letís put this puppy into gear. It ought to be a hell of a ride.

As it stands now, I have already been asked if I had anything specific in mind as far as the cover art goes. Now as I understand it, how much input an author has about their cover varies from house to house. Some publisherís welcome the advice and some will sigh heavily and tell you that what winds up on the cover is entirely up to their art department.

I submitted a couple of ideas, but was sure to make it perfectly clear that I would be happy with whatever the artist came up with on their own if either of my ideas were deemed unsuitable.

Stay tuned for the next step, whatever that is.


At 4:53 PM, Blogger JohnH985 said...

Congratulations! That first time when you realize you're going to be published is great...wait till you see the actual work in print, it's even better.

At 6:40 AM, Blogger James Goodman said...

Thank you. These are exciting times. I just hope the book does well.

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