Rogue’s Curse: Happy Release Day!

I’m about to embarrass the hell out of Jason Beymer. He deserves it.

You know what day this is, right? Of course you do. It’s the release day for Rogue’s Curse, Jason Beymer’s debut novel, available from Lyrical Press. (For only $5.50. My lunch costs more than that. C’mon. It’s worth it.)

Seeing this book debut is like watching my firstborn child leave for their first day of school. If I had a firstborn child. If I wasn’t as child-friendly as an uncovered electrical socket. The point is, when a book is published its successful release isn’t just the pride of the author and his family, friends, and demon minions. It’s the pride of all the people who worked on it: the copy/content editor(me!), their senior editor(s), the line editors, the cover artist, the production manager, the review coordinator…the list goes on and on. It’s a group effort, one where the author is central but not entirely alone in their investment in the book. There’s a whole team of people who care about that book, who take pride in its success.

I definitely take pride in Rogue’s Curse, and in Jason.

It’s only by random chance that I ended up working on this book. I’ve only been with Lyrical Press for about six months now; before that I was working as a freelance editor. When I first started I was told I’d be taking on some previously contracted authors they thought would be a good fit for me, until I started to pick my own from the slush pile. So here I was, several books already on my list, all of them interesting, exciting, fun. Apparently my senior editor gauged my tastes well, because I’ve yet to edit a single book that I didn’t love.

Jason, though…Jason was my first.

I’ll be honest: I didn’t know what to expect. I was used to authors coming to me as a contractor, hiring me because they trust my expertise, and generally placing the reins in my hands. The relationship works a little differently when you work for a publisher. I’d heard horror stories about dealing with difficult authors on the publisher’s side: everything from delayed releases caused by author meltdowns to month-long arguments over non-conventional apostrophe use as visual art. In truth, I expected Jason to be a nightmare. Arrogant, stubborn, utterly lacking in common sense, and refusing to budge on so much as a misspelled word or a godawful pet phrase.

Instead he proved why you should never make assumptions or believe stereotypes.

His sense of humor caught me from the first page of Rogue’s Curse, and proved utterly infectious – to the point where my senior editor made me tone down my silly comments when I left editorial notes throughout the book. (I believe there was something in there about Godzilla and octogenarian poontang.) Before I’d even really had a significant dialogue with him, I learned to like him through his book, his characters, his humor, his storytelling, his style – but I learned to value him from an editorial perspective when I sent his first round of edits back. Rather than whine about the amount of work asked of him or argue that his book was perfect as-is, he threw himself wholeheartedly into editing with all the enthusiasm and professionalism anyone could hope for.

Not only that, but he took my questions about plot points and went one step further: he refined the entire story to the point where it was practically a new book. Rather than viewing criticism as a negative point, he instead used it as a jumping-off point to come up with some wildly creative solutions that more than proved his talent and ingenuity. Sometimes I almost couldn’t keep up with him as he spun through ideas, changes, and cheesy one-liners that left me spraying diet coke at my screen on an alarmingly regular basis. His wife, too, has a wonderfully sharp eye; she was always there, looking over Jason’s shoulder and catching that one letter out of place that neither of us noticed after staring at the manuscript for the eleventy-millionth time.

Oh, there were a few points of contention. A few things had to be deleted for the sake of house rules, and darlings (and sheep) had to die. There was a particularly knotty wrangle about italics that left us both so confused we didn’t know if we were coming or going, but we never wanted to see another verbalized sound effect in our lives. Renee, She Who Commands All, nearly killed me over a slight oversight on the cover text. (Seriously, never make a pregnant woman angry. I swear I found three more grey hairs the next day.) Jason had to be threatened with a ruler across the knuckles if he didn’t stop picking at things that were already tweaked to the point of exhaustion. He’s a bit of a perfectionist, in case you can’t tell. He’s also paranoid, neurotic, and utterly hilarious when he starts biting his nails over every tiny little thing. One of these days he’s going to stress himself to a heart attack. I’m probably callous enough to point and laugh. I’m an editor. It’s what we do. All part of crushing your spirit and destroying your artistic vision.

Ahem. Back on topic. More than anything, Jason is a witty, fun, engaging person, and a wonderful author to work with. Just by being himself and dedicating himself to polishing his book, he made my investment in Rogue’s Curse personal. He proved that when an author and editor work together rather than against each other, a good book can transform into a great one. We may not be friends, but I’m damned happy to be his editor.

Maybe if Jason hadn’t been my first author, I wouldn’t love working for a publisher so much. Maybe if Jason hadn’t been such a delight to work with, I would have doused myself in holy water and run screaming back to the freelance life and my private client roster. But “maybe” never happened, and I consider myself lucky that out of all the contracted books pending editorial assignment, my senior editor decided to send Jason (and my other starting authors, because yes, I love you all) to me.

So thank you, Jason. Thank you for being my first Lyrical author, for being wonderful, and for trusting me with your next book, Nether.

Thank you, and happy release day for Rogue’s Curse.

…

Now excuse me. I need to go drown something small and fluffy before people start thinking I’m human.

10 (11) Ways To Tell Your Editor Hates You

Everyone knows editors are the natural born enemies of writers. We’re…uh. They’re mean, narrow-minded, ruthless people without an ounce of human compassion in their black, shriveled, gin-scented hearts. Bitter and entirely destroyed by the rigors of life, they hate everyone – but especially hate writers. And books. With a passion. And it’s likely that your editor hates you. In fact, it’s pretty obvious. Not sure if your editor hates you or not? Look for these 10 11 signs:

1. He points out your errors. It’s impossible to be perfect with some asshole constantly griping at you about comma abuse, homonym misuse, and proper apostrophe placement. You never do anything wrong. The dude needs to just back off.

2. He explains things to you about grammar, proper usage, plotting, characterization, etc. What does he think you are, five? Of course you know these things. You know everything. He just doesn’t get that you’re exercising your stylistic freedoms. And why is he giving you lessons in history, physics, Cantonese slang, Kelvin-Helmholtz instability, and the limits to which the human body can strain in that particular position of the Kama Sutra? You’re creative. You don’t have to be factually accurate.

3. He suggests improvements to your story and style. If you’d wanted to write it the way he suggested, you’d have done it that way in the first place. Even if you’d never thought of it before. Jesus. What an ass. He’s probably a failed writer with nothing better to do than try to undermine your talent. If he’s so smart, he can go write a book. You don’t need to improve anything. Ever.

4. He makes you do all the work of implementing his recommended changes. Cripes. You wrote the book once already. Why should you have to retain ownership of your characters and storyline to write it again? All that BS he spouts about trusting you and your talent, and about not taking over your story…pfft. He’s just blowing smoke up your ass because he’s too lazy to do it himself. He should just whip everything together and take care of it; it’s not your problem anymore. Editors are really just glorified proofreaders anyway. Everyone knows that.

5. He actually thinks your writing should mature with each iteration of edits and each new story. Why should you have to change what’s already perfect? So what if you just had to rewrite ten pages of action because he decided the existing scene created a plot hole the size of a mutant manatee? You’ll just dash it off and send it in as-is, flaws intact. Nevermind the fact that he’s spent the entire manuscript griping like your mother-in-law about semicolons can’t be used that way or make sure the modifying clauses agree with the main subject, verb, and object. Whine, whine, whine. If your writing style changed from edit to edit and book to book, he wouldn’t have anything to do. You’re just being considerate and keeping him from getting bored. After all, he wouldn’t have a job without you.

6. He’d rather go without sleep than miss another chance to go through your manuscript. I mean, obviously he’s just trying to create problems and he’s got a grudge against you. Does it really matter if every instance of the word Green in the Manuscript is CapitaLiZed? Get a life, man. Maybe if he slept more than three hours a day he wouldn’t be so nitpicky.

7. When you halfass your edits, he makes you do them again. Clearly he doesn’t understand that you skipped 75% of his editorial commentary because it was all asinine and destructive, demonstrating that he doesn’t get what you’re doing. Also, see previous comment re: getting a life. Doesn’t he think you have anything better to do?

8. He makes you kill your darlings. You spent months crafting that perfectly placed piece of purple prose, with its precisely poetic palliteration. You love that particular figure of speech and damn it, even if it’s not appropriate, you’ll make it appropriate. Your favorite 20-page scene detailing the movie the lovers watched in chapter 40 just touches your heart and reminds you of when you first watched it at a slumber party 72 years ago. You adore the way you always write “ocular orb-thinguses” instead of “eyes;” it’s your signature. You love your art. You are your art. And he’s trying to destroy you by making you cut out the things you love most. Nevermind that the narrative makes more sense without them. He’s ruining the beauty of the thing.

9. He challenges you. He pushes you beyond your comfort zones and asks you to write things you’ve never written before, try things you’ve never thought of, learn new ways to do an old art. What is he trying to do, give you nightmares? New experiences are traumatizing. If you take risks, you might fail. Wait. That’s it, isn’t it? He wants you to fail.

10. He gives you deadlines. You have other priorities. Your hair appointment is this afternoon, your dog needs a mani-pedi, you’re working on a brilliant new story that will blow the NYT list out of the water. Look, those deadlines can wait. It’s not that hard to put a book together. You can just turn it in the day before the release date and it’ll be fine. It’s not like there are any other books in the pipeline, anyway. Yours is the only one that matters. If your editor really cared, he’d prioritize you above everyone else.

11. He makes you self-promote. And he’s out there promoting you, too. I mean, really. There are marketing and PR people for that. You shouldn’t have to self-promote; you are the author, the diva, the prima donna who watches from an ivory tower as the fans come flocking. You shouldn’t have to do anything to draw them. And heaven forbid anyone expect you to speak with them or engage them in any way. They aren’t authors like you.

If your editor meets even half these criteria, it’s obvious that he or she hates you and wants your book to fail. Or at the very least, they’re trying to make you as insane as they are. You should take up drinking. Make sure you drink while you write and while you edit; it’s a bonding experience, and you’ll be keeping your editor company. It won’t affect the quality of your work at all.

Besides, even if it does, your editor will fix it. That’s what he’s there for, after all.

I just know someone out there will take this seriously. And then I’m going to cry. You wouldn’t want to make a poor, defenseless, exhausted editor cry, would you?