It’s been 12 years since I wrote that first (awful) manuscript. Wow. Looking back, it’s clear I had no clue about publishing, and very little clue about writing. That’s not to say I didn’t >think< I knew a lot! Ugh.
 
Here’s a mishmash of what I’ve learned. Maybe it will help other writers or writers-to-be. Hopefully it will keep others from making the same mistakes that I’ve made.

Image via despair.com

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#1) Overnight success isn’t overnight. Marketing/social media makes it appear like it’s overnight. Rarely is this true. I don’t know if I can claim the robust definition of “success” yet, but I wrote my first book in 2005. My first published book (which was NOT my first book written, BTW), was printed in 2015. That was a goal achieved, even if a small one.
 
#2) If you’re going to be clueless, at least be pleasant. I didn’t know beans about publishing and etiquette, and thus I kind of Mr. Magoo’d into asking for something. And got it. (Stars and planets had to have aligned that day. No other explanation.) That conversation could have gone either way, and frankly, I got lucky.

​image via womensvoicemagazine.com


#3) Always have SOMETHING in the hopper. At this moment in time I have outlines and genealogy for a paranormal medieval series, two additional books for my current series, an idea for a novella to fit with my first series, and the first two books written in an edgy romantic suspense series. I talk a lot about switching gears. Sometimes switching gears means going from 1 revision that is a struggle to brainstorming a totally different project. And when I pitch a novel to an agent? If they ask “what else do you have?” then I can answer that question well.
 
#4) Take courses, either online or in person. Read craft books. Do not skip this step. Everyone can tell if you skip this step. I initially skipped this step. Everyone could tell.
 
#5) Think that book is ready to submit? Yeah, it’s not. No way. Not even close. Let it sit for an extra month. Have multiple people (not your mom or best friend, either) read it. Pay for a single professional critique. It’s SO worth it.
 
#6) Are you really really ready to submit? No you’re not. Trust me. Repeat item #5.

​#7) Ok, seriously, you’ve had 4+ people read it and give feedback and you had a professional critique done and you’ve improved the manuscript? All right. Submit. But not to large quantities of agents at the same time. Who has two thumbs and sent out 50 queries within a month? Yup. Writer fail. Semi-pro tip: Send out a batch of 4-6 queries. Wait. See what they say. If they give feedback, take it. This will also give time for the manuscript to sit for another month or so. When you look at it again, you’ll cringe. Promise.
 
#8) Don’t tell anyone you’re writing a book until you’ve done it and it’s published. Consider whether/when you want to tell anyone at all. Now, this piece of advice is this one woman’s radical opinion and I’m sure others would totally disagree. Because of Day Job, I try hard to keep my writing world and doctoring world separate from each other. Also, I don’t want anyone from my professional world to feel uncomfortable about the subject matter in the writing. With the way business and professional oversight is right now, frankly, it’s safer to remain separate.
 
#9) Get a website. And pick at least one social media site to use. Do this way early, like a year before you submit a manuscript. I did not do this, and I should have.
 
#10) Keep writing. Never, ever give up. Ever. If you can’t write a book, write a novella. If you can’t write a novella, work on a short story. If not that, then a blog or an article. A brainstorming session for a book idea. Something. Anything. Just keep writing.

Image via jilltupper.com


#Bonus) Always put the correct agent name on the query letter. Double check it. Twice. Trust me. It's the little things that will hose you. (BTDT) Most recent screw up was when I was doing the query letter at the same time I was answering a phone call about a patient. I hit "send" before double checking. Note to self: do not do work-work at the same time as writing-work. Yeah, I was like >facepalm< "You had one job!" Yup. Author fail.

​Recently, I responded to a series of colleague’s tweets regarding the way an intern was treated. https://twitter.com/CadenceDO/status/823300940895842311  The intern was part of a team that cared for a young adult in the ICU, and they had to withdraw life support. (I know nothing of the situation, but withdrawing life support generally occurs when brain activity is not present.) So, one of the most gut-wrenching events to experience not only for the family members, of course, but also for the medical personnel caring for the patient.
 
The tweet story went on to explain that once care had finished, the intern asked to step away for a few moments in private and collect himself. (Or herself. Interesting side question: would this story play differently if the intern were male or female?) The intern was then given a negative evaluation comment by the attending physician because the intern displayed emotions.
 
Because there are times when when I get drained and need to recover, this story generated a ton of thoughts and concerns.
 
#1) Are there instructors out there teaching our medical students/residents to “not feel”? Let me be clear: if medical professionals lose their humanity, then health care is no better than being treated by a robot. Quite frankly, I don’t want to be treated by people who have zero emotional response if I live or die. And also, I don’t want to BE a treating physician who has no emotional response to my patients’ situations.
 
#2) Let’s talk burnout. There is a direct correlation with suppressing emotional distress/stress and the development of burnout. There are papers upon papers written on this subject. People have developed freakin’ CURRICULUM about how to “talk through” these stressful times with peers, family, or counselors. Training a doctor to suppress the very thing that makes them human? Cruel. Destructive.
 
#3) Have I broken down in front of patients? Yes. A little bit. I’ve teared up, choked up, and got the tight chest before. It’s happened when someone is telling me something awful. It’s happened when I’ve had to tell a patient something horrible. And you bet I’ve stepped away to collect myself. I’ve sat in a quiet room and sobbed for a few minutes. After work, I’ve needed to take a long drive to clear my head. There are key people I talk to, when things build up inside.
 
#4) But doctors have to stay professional, right? Yes. That is a true statement. It’s a fine line. But basically, if I go to pieces, then no, I’m not able to care for my patients. So yes, there must be a degree of separation. A degree. Not total separation. Is it hard? You bet it is. Necessary? Yes. Does that mean I don’t feel as deeply? No way. What this intern did to manage his emotional response to a painful situation was completely appropriate. The attending physician completely missed the opportunity to teach, nurture, guide, and build upon this event. 180 degrees missed the point. So badly missed that I’m confident that it hurt the intern and anyone else who is subject to this type of training.
 
 
I have years of trying to learn how to manage the emotions on the job. With that having been said, situations always come up where that response occurs and we need to manage it.
 
Let me share my example. I was on call recently. The ER doctor called me. A mid-career colleague’s wife had unexpectedly died and they were in the ER. So I went to the hospital. Not for a patient, but to support my colleague. (He recently moved here, and has no family in this area.) Another colleague joined us, and there we all three sat, in the family room. Three physicians. One in misery, and two hurting in empathy. We chatted. He cried. The other supporting colleague and I teared up. After several long hours, I had to leave him to continue my call duties. Numb. (Nothing compared to my colleague who lost his wife.) But I still needed to function and help people.
 
The next day, after two intense hospice discussions with patients and families, I was drained. Then, that evening, I saw the name of one of my Ob patients pop up on the hospital list. I dropped by the ER. My patient was having a miscarriage. I had a choice to make: let the ER doctor tell her or I can go talk with my patient. The right answer was obvious. I waded through the thick emotions in her patient room and broke the very bad news to the patient and her husband. They cried. I teared up, but tried to stay present and available to help, either by answering questions or empathizing.
 
So at the end of a series of those days, you bet I’m drained. If I couldn’t step away when needed? I’d be useless for all of the other duties during that time. And I’d burn out. To a crisp.
 
But if I didn’t feel pain along with my colleague and patient? Then I’d be useless as a physician.
 
I’ve been lucky that along the way, a few attending physicians and colleagues have taught me how to step away and how to balance emotions and duties.
 
This intern? His attending physician taught the exact wrong lesson. The attending taught what NOT to do. Hopefully someone will mitigate the damage done. Because learning to suppress humanity will fry the average physician and any healthcare professional to an emotional crisp within a few short years. If we are going to succeed as professionals and as humans, we have to help ourselves so we can help others.

​​Okay, roll up the sleeves, it’s year two of the judging adventures for RWA’s 2017 RITA awards! Cannot wait for my packet of books to arrive. It’s really like Christmas! I talked about my first experience of judging RWA around this time last year and how, well, not super duper qualified I was to judge the contest.
 
So, from that basement, there's nowhere to go but up this year! How am I going to up my scoring game for this year’s RITA’s? As I described in the March 2016 post, there’s really no consensus explanation of how to score or what the numbers really mean. What does a 6 mean? What does an 8 mean? Is Judge A's 9 the same thing as Judge B's? I don't know. I haven’t even tried to figure out decimals, and therefore, we will work on that later when I arbitrarily award decimal bonuses. Yeah. I said it. Decimal. Bonuses.
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​Well, first of all I’m applying a dose of kindness because…man, after this last year, we all need support and love. In addition, for this year, I'm going to also use the “cast no stones” approach.
 
Because, who am I to judge anyone, anyway?
  
With that preamble/ramble in mind, and in all transparency, I present to you – how I score RITA entries. Updated for 2017!
 
#1) Just like last year, my grading scale will start at 5 and stop at 10. That’s because the world is cruel, and it takes amazing guts to put your book out there. I know that those pages contain the last drop of blood from the innermost chamber of your palpating heart, and then you put all those pages out there to be criticized. That’s right. From a base of 0, I’m awarding an automatic 5 way-to-go points just for entering.

photo courtesy of Flickr commons ydant

#2) Genres I don’t read. Less of an issue this year than last year, since my genre base has expanded widely. And I opted out of the categories I simply never read. (Sorry, Obadiah and Sarah, but no matter how totally awesome your inspirational romance is, I’m not a big fan of that particular genre. Nothing to do with thou.) So no bonus points for genres I don’t read since I’m hoping that issue is not applicable this year.
 
#3) Awesome characters. Real, life, jump-off-the-pages hero/heroine (in whatever combination and number) with complex motivations. Not perfect/gorgeous people. Real people. If you make me think I could run into this person on the street tomorrow and want to talk with them, then I’m awarding 0.5 extra character points.
 
#4) Something new. If you have a new spin on an old tale. If you come up with a story where Cinderella is a dude and he meets Princess Charming… and you freakin’ sell it? Extra 0.5 de novo points right there.
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#5) Awesome cover bonus. This concept hasn’t changed since last year. Don’t do what I wanted to do with my first cover: Minimum of 4 characters, one must be a “floating head”, toss in a few random pets, a vehicle of some sort, and maybe some molten lava. So, the exact opposite of what I had in mind on my first book. In short, if your cover is awesome? Add 0.5 cover-me points.
 
#6) Superb grasp of English language. Also known as: grammar. If you don’t know the difference between “your” and “you’re”, then I will stroke out my frontal lobe. And that doesn’t make me a bad person, it makes me OCD. There’s a big difference, and you bet I know where to go for help. Minus 1.0 points for bad English.
 
#7) Show me the money. If I read this book and now I want to purchase every word this author has written? If it’s that fabulous? Automatic 1.0 extra rock-my-world points.

​#8) World explorer points. If the book truly teaches me something new in a way that’s super entertaining, then that’s 0.5 Encyclopedia Britannica points.
 
#9) Call points. My call comes in 10-day blocks. They sometimes can be brutal and loaded with sleepless nights and frequent interruptions. (Dude, the area nursing homes have my number on speed-dial.) If I’m reading your book during one of these call periods, I’m adding 0.5 bookus interruptus points. Because bad timing on my part does not constitute a lower score on the author’s part.
 
Welp. That’s my scoring scale, and I’m sticking with it. Let me know if you have a method or scale that you use to judge RITA’s.