It’s been over three weeks since I’ve been allowed to publicly announce my two-book publishing deal with St. Martin’s Press and a week since I started trying to write this blog post, because sometimes I’m not sure how to talk about success (and also because I’m busy and doing any kind of writing that’s not my books or my short stories feels like it’s not good enough).
In 2020 I wrote my haunted house novel, These Familiar Walls. I had only dipped a toe into writing horror shorts for a few months before that. I’d always written sci-fi and fantasy (though I did lean toward the dark in those stories). I’ve always loved to read and watch horror, and when I was a kid on the bus I used to make up scary stories to tell other kids, but I had never written a horror book before that one. When I entered it into Pitch Wars in the late summer/early autumn of 2020, I didn’t tell anyone other than my family that I was giving that a try.
A few days after the mentee picks were announced, I posted this tweet:
In early 2021 my entry did alright in the showcase, and then These Familiar Walls did not get an agent. When the 2021 Pitch Wars hype started up (and we didn’t know, then, that this would be the last time), I had already drafted my next book and was seeking beta readers for it, and I had no qualms about writing a blog post aimed at future Pitch Wars hopefuls to talk about what it’s like to not be one of the big, instant successes from Pitch Wars.
I never posted on Twitter when I got full requests for any of the three books I queried between early 2021 and late 2022—I rarely gave it a second thought when I saw someone else post their full requests, but thinking about posting my own felt like bragging, it’s one of those double-standards I inflict on myself. I did post on Twitter when I signed with my agent, but I had no idea what to post in my blog. Which I straight-up admitted in the post I did eventually write.
I didn’t post, either, when I went on sub. I did make a twitter post (and even pinned it) when I was allowed to announce my book deal, but here I am more than three weeks later still trying to figure out how to talk about that in my blog.
Failing and trying and persevering feels simple. You get a rejection and you process your feelings and then you knuckle down and keep going and going. It’s not pleasant but it’s not complicated.
Succeeding feels complicated.
Is that fucked up? It feels like it might be, but I think probably it’s pretty normal.
One of the reasons succeeding feels complicated is that the publishing industry gives you a lot more “no” than “yes.” So when you finally get all the “yeses” lined up just right for something like an actual book deal to happen, it’s almost hard to believe in it. And there’s almost a feeling of guilt—there are incredible books out there by incredible authors who don’t have an agent, that aren’t published, and it’s not because they’re not as good as the books that are published because they are (and a lot of them are better).
The importance of luck in publishing can also complicate feelings about success. I want to say “I worked hard to get here” which is true but so have a lot of people who are not here yet. I want to say “It was lucky my book landed in the right editor’s inbox at the right time” which is true but doesn’t mention my agent and his know-how and downplays the, well, the hard work I did to get here.
I worked hard to get here. My agent knows his stuff and is great. And I was lucky. All of it.
As I’m sitting here now, drafting this blog, I’m realizing that maybe a “luck” blog deserves its own whole post.
But for now this is supposed to be my big blog of celebration about my book deal and instead I’m meandering through the post talking about how weird it feels.
My books are more focused than my blog posts, promise.
Anyway, here, because this was supposed to be the point of the whole blog post originally: I have a two-book deal from St. Martin’s Press!
In my debut horror novel, The Cut, there's something in the water at L'Arpin Hotel, but pregnant domestic abuse survivor Sadie can't prove it. Guests disappear, her boss gaslights her, and monsters slither in the gloom. Until she and her toddler daughter get back on their feet after escaping her ex-fiancé, they're stuck here...unless they vanish, too.
In the second horror novel, These Familiar Walls, Amber inherits her childhood home after an old friend resurfaces and murders her parents decades after their falling out. When she moves her family into the house, lockdown stress and bitter memories haunt her—along with a hateful, smoldering presence that lurks in the mirrors and whispers from the shadows. Now Amber must resolve her part in a lifetime of tragedy, or lose the life she's contrived for herself.
Check back on the blog for updates about things like my forthcoming newsletter, novel release dates, cover reveals, preorder information, ARCs, and maybe some giveaways and other fun stuff!
Phew, there we go, that shouldn’t have felt so hard.
Anyway, I started this post talking in part about how writing stuff that’s not my fiction feels like I’m dropping the ball somehow, and I’ll end it by saying that in spite of that feeling I’m going to be putting together a newsletter pretty soon. I’ll post again when I’ve got that going.
Have a good weekend, friends!