New Website

Rejection can be brutal, as all writers know. (See the previous blog post, add the paraphrased reply, "No dear, your advance was too small to be considered a member of this professional group. Try again when you get a bigger advance," and you'll understand why I was feeling the ambivalence of fifth-grade rejection and hoo-boy-I-just-saved-$90-of-membership-fees elation. It was, after all, a conservative advance.)

But let's focus on the fun updates, shall we?

1. My publisher just returned from her cruise vacation, rejuvenated and ready to roll with this book.  After some delays with the printer, we are still on track for a timely release, according to Miriam.  Whew!
2. I've been contacted by UTD's Communications dept. (hi, Sarah!) and I have my first Reading/Book Signing scheduled for October 27th at 7:30 PM.  There will be more, but this is a welcome step in this process thus far. (<-- Say that 3 times fast.)
3. I do have to buy my own domain name, perhaps later today (?), but at the publisher's request, I've put together a website using Snappages.  So far, here she is: www.loriannstephens.com
4. I need help with #3.  Seriously.  I am not witty and charming like my dear friend Jim L.  I've had secret fantasies about having him ghostwrite my website (he's already established himself on Yelp! with his hold-your-belly humor, AND is grammatically and syntactically perfect.) Anyway. If you have suggestions, PLEASE email me.  Which reminds me: maybe a "Contact Me" button would be a thoughtful inclusion on my new website?  Jeez.
5. I am learning patience.  This, my friends, is a surprise.  I thought I had patience down.  

Love to friends and family!  And thanks for your encouraging comments and well wishes so far!

On joining "clubs" and feeling like a fifth-grader

I'm trying to become official.  An official writer according to other official writers.  Let me tell you, people: it's humbling.  Humbling and exciting.  And getting expensive.

First, I joined the Writers' League of Texas. $50.   (Actually, I first joined AWP, but that was a few years ago, and I joined that because I love reading about writing and writers.  It makes me feel like part of the "club.")  The Writer's League has a conference this summer on all-things-agent-related, which I would attend if I had the funds.  But there are many other advantages to supporting this group--workshops, contests, scholarships--all of which I'm still discovering.  If you're a writer in Texas, you should join this group.

Last night, I submitted an application to The Author's Guild.  This is the big one in New York, and the dues are a bit higher--$90.  You have to have a book already published or shorter works published in significant (The New Yorker, anyone?) places before getting accepted into The Author's Guild. The more I browsed the site, the more excited I became.  Look who I could be, I kept telling myself.  (Delusions of grandeur sometimes happen on these website excursions of mine.)  But people, you have to drool over a writer's association that has Scott Turow as Pres. and Judy Bloom as Vice Pres.   I've got the required book contract, but I knew the "significant advance" requirement was iffy.  After all, Blooming Tree is a small press.  This morning, I opened my gmail account to a lone, kind email informing me that the Guild can't process my application because they "lack sufficient documentation of your publishing credentials."  

What?  What about that beautiful cover on Amazon.com, on BN.com, and Borders?  What about my slick ISBN number? And what about my ultra-cool blurbs? That's not significant documentation? Ah, those dastardly vanity presses who have equal access to the internet!  It's their fault.  Anybody can post "publishing credentials" online and become a writer or a critic these days.  True, I think my spine it still too weak to take on the inevitable criticism to which my book will soon be subjected, but look at the pretty cover, Mr. Guild! 

My next step is to send The Author's Guild a copy of my book contract so they can scrutinize it to determine if my advance was big enough (ah--is it ever?) and if the contract deems that I am truly a "professional" yet.  At this moment, I am reliving my fifth-grade angst in the midst of pretty girls whose bodies are growing proportionately, in contrast to my own chubby flesh.  When I pack up the copy of my contract, I will say a prayer over the postage stamps and kiss the envelope addressed to NY, NY.  Please love me, Author's Guild.