Publishing one’s first novel is in some ways like delivering one’s first baby. Each facet of the experience, each milestone crossed, each sharp turn in the journey is stored up in a quiet, safe place so you can take it out later to relive some of the more memorable moments.
One of my most awaited landmarks was receiving that first bound copy fresh off the press. It came in an unassuming, padded manila envelope and though no one told me it was on its way, I knew what it was the minute it arrived.
I cut open the upper edge, reached in, took it out and stared. A book. A real, live book. With pages and everything. Just like the ones you see in bookstores. I plopped into my desk chair. A little stunned and a little scared and a lot happy.
I dreamt up certain scenarios on how best to reveal this momentous news with my family members. Do I reveal it at the dinner table? No. With everyone on the run, someone will miss out. So, individually, then. One at a time. But who first? That was easy. My man. My mate. The other half of me. (We’ll stop just short of saying the “better half,†eh?)
What would they say? What would they do? What would their reactions be? It was so long in coming, this book. Like Sarah and Abraham who were barren until their old age.
I tucked my tomb away and savored my little secret. One by one, the family began to return home. From school. From work. From basketball practice. I played it cool. Never let on that today my baby had arrived.
I waited until my man read his paper, had his snack, flipped through umpteen channels on the TV. Waited until he was all alone in his study.
I crept in, hands behind my back. “Guess what?†I asked.
He looked up. “What?â€
I pulled it in front of me, face out.
“It came,†he said.
“It came,†I said.
He reached out. I gave it over into his hands. He looked at the front, the back. Fanned the pages with his thumb, creating a whirrrrrrring sound.
“Well,†he sighed. “I guess I’ll have to read it now.â€
His face was bleak, pained. This darling man of mine. This six-foot-five, athletic, alpha male was going to have to not only read a book, but–heaven forbid–read a romance. I tried to contain the smile, I did. And the laugh, too. But failed. Miserably.
Shoulders shaking, I slapped my hand over my mouth, but still the laugh broke forth. I told him he didn’t have to read it. Truly he didn’t. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings at all.
But he shook his head. “No. I do. I have to read it. I sure hope it’s good.â€
He handed it back and I left him to his own musings.
Next came the eighteen year old daughter: “It’s so big! Wow!†She gave me a hug and went on her merry way.
The seventeen year old son flips the book over and looks at the back cover. “That’s a horrible picture of you. Did they pick it out?â€
The sixteen year old daughter: “Your book came! Your book came! Wow! That’s so totally cool! Are you, like, so excited?”
She reads up through the end of chapter one. “So, like, thanks for leaving me out of the Acknowledgements. I’m seeing how it is. You thank the husband. You thank the parents. You mention the kids with the dogs. It’s always been my dream to be dedicated. So, like, will you dedicate the next one to me? Jesus won’t mind.”
The fourteen year old son thumbs through it. “350 pages. Sheesh.â€
And the refrain to all that was: “What’s for dinner?â€
So, I tucked my baby back on my bookshelf and made my way to the kitchen. I served hot dogs with canned chili. (Not as a punishment, it’s one of their favorites. Really.)
And to this day, when I take out that memory and relive it in my mind, I smile, I chuckle, I laugh to myself … then head to the kitchen as I try to figure out what to cook for dinner.
No related posts.
Very cute story. Thanks for sharing!
(It took my husband a long time to read one of my books, but he finally did — and it was my first completed manuscript. To this day, he says, “I don’t know why it didn’t sell. I liked it.” God bless him! Now he reads all of them to help me keep my facts straight.)
Had he been my husband, I would have killed him. Right then.
Or served him liver and onions.
Don’t feel bad, Deeanne! My family doesn’t read what I write either, and it doesn’t bother me a bit! My husband has read a few, and he keeps up with what I’m doing as I use him for a sounding board. My middle daughter collects them all, and gets copies for her girlfriends who read romance, but for the most part my kids (26, 23, 21) are yucked out that there is sex in my books, LOL!
Nobody reads my books, either, although my husband, too, is my sounding board for my storylines. Even if — poor baby — with so many books in various stages, he’s always going, “Now which one is this again?”
My 24 yo son reads my blog, though. That counts, right?
My first book I held in my hands was one of my YA novels. I got all teary. (I write YA under a pseudonym). My middle son (13) tells everyone who will listen that his mom’s an author, it’s the best book he’s ever read, and he gave away copies to his friends, one teacher, the librarian… My oldest son (17) says, “That’s cool,” and did read it. My youngest son (9) says, “There are too many pages, I’m not reading it.” My dh says, “That’s really cool,” and read it and told his friends all about it.
My first romance book…that was another story. Didn’t tell the kids ’cause it’s erotic romance, but made my dh read it. Took him forever, but he did and said he was impressed. I guess that was the highest praise there is. From him! And he told his friends about it and they think he’s such the stud for having a wife who writes erotic romance. He tells them he’s the model for all the heroes. LOL.
Interesting — I wrote a “what’s for dinner” style post today, too.
I’m reminded of Hitchcock’s Frenzy. The homicide detective’s wife takes out her sadistic tendencies in the kitchen — her creations sound horrendous, and her poor bloke of a husband is obliged to eat them and make yummy sounds.
Ah, some kindred spirits! My dh did finally read it … but that’s another whole story!
LOL, Alison. Afterall, you only did that 3 times, right?
Robyn: He loves liver and onions. Tricked me into eating them once at a Luby’s. Said it was “beef” and did I want a bite? I did, and immediately told him he needed to take it back, there was something terribly wrong with it. Ha!
Cheyenne: My dh told my editor he’d be happy to bulk up, grow his hair and pose for my next cover. And the day after he read my novel, he came home and swooped me into his arms and said, “Oh, Connie!” (Connie was the name of the heroine.) Pa-leeeeeze!
Doug: My dh has no qualms about telling me exactly what he thinks of dinner. But, actually, I like that. I’d hate to expend all that effort if he’s gonna have to force the stuff down. But, he does have this thing against the way I make curry. He refuses to eat it, but I love it so much I’ll occassionally make it anyway. He comes in the door, immediately grabs his neck, makes choking sounds and falls to the floor. Needless to say, to this very day, my kids have refused to try it. *sigh*
a bit off topic, but why does it seem all romance writers are married to big athletic alpha males?
Or is it just that those writers are the only ones who publicly mention their partners?
Intresting blog you have here! Enjoyed reading your well-written commentary on the debut of your first book! One of these days, I hope to have the same experience.