Keowee Valley Has a Cover!

 

It's here. It's complete. And I am thrilled!

 

I couldn't stand it: I had to interrupt my family beach vacation to send the news.

 

A huge thanks to the talented artist M. C. Krauss, and to the design team at Bell Bridge Books, for a cover that truly speaks to the spirit of the novel. As is the case with most publishers, the final decision on cover art is out of the author's hands. But mine made me very much a part of the process, and I'm so appreciative of this.

 

Hopefully, after the novel comes out in September, you all will let me know if you agree!

  

Keowee Valley Cover Art Coming Soon!

Modern view of the ancient Cherokee country
(photo: Brian Zufall)

Just a quick note to say that my publishers have completed the cover of Keowee Valley. As soon as I'm allowed to share it here, I will!

It's gorgeous. I love it, love it, love it. 

As I type this, the last of the page proofs are being completed by the wonderful copy editors at Bell Bridge Books. I'll get another look at it, and at both the front and back covers, before it goes to print. And before it does, the novel will be available for pre-order on Amazon.com. Then, soon after, in book stores.

This is getting exciting, sportfans.

More to come from me on the whole process, but for now I'm headed to the beach for a much-needed and much-anticipated vacation with my family, including my parents, my sister and brother-in-law (who live too far away and we don't get to see enough), and all our dogs. 

Sand and sun and dogs and paws and adult beverages and boats and beach music and downright good times, here we come!

A Phone Call from Pat Conroy

I read The Prince of Tides for the first time when I was 10 years old. (Probably, this was too young, but there you have it.) I took the book from my parents’ study one summer day when the house was silent. I remember distinctly having to hoist myself up onto the bottom level of the built-in bookshelves—just like launching myself out of the Botany Woods pool minus the ladder, a skill perfected by all us neighborhood kids—standing with my toes poised, my heels hanging over the edge. I stretched, reaching into the family stacks until I found it. I can still feel the worn edge of the binding, the multiple old creases there. This was a book that had been read often by my parents. It was beloved.

As thorough as my education had been thus far, Lake Forest Elementary had not prepared me for the magic and mystery of Pat Conroy’s storytelling. Though by then I was an avid reader, nothing I’d read was so viscerally familiar as the spellbinding way in which he talked about my home state, South Carolina. Nothing I’d read had affected me so deeply. It sank into my bones, became part of my DNA. Part of family’s DNA, really, as we all—my father, mother, sister, and I—fell in love with his writing. Pat Conroy: literary patron saint of the Crawford family.

So when my first novel was sold to a small press, and all the cogs began turning in the creaky wheel towards publication, suddenly I had to find authors from whom I’d hope to gain endorsement. I could think of no one, at first, but Conroy.

It didn’t matter that my novel was historical, set about 200 years before most of his. Or that I was a writerly nobody. Or that in my mind he was so big, so beloved, he probably received requests like these every day. I decided that, since this was the one and only time in my life I’d have a first novel being published, I’d shoot for the moon.

I wrote him a letter, via his literary agent, asking him if he’d be so kind as to read an advance review copy of my novel, Keowee Valley, and if he liked it, to perhaps offer a quote (also known as a “blurb”: basically, an endorsement).

Most of the letter was heartfelt, genuine, thoroughly shameless fawning. It’s an odd thing, as a 30-something, to write a fan letter. But the man is my favorite living writer, and I knew no other thing to do than to tell the truth.

About a month later, I’d forgotten about it. (After mailing the letter I’d determined to put it out of my head. I figured he probably got a stack of fan mail each week—he’d likely never see mine.) Then, one afternoon after ignoring my cell phone all day like I tend to do, I noticed I’d five missed calls. My husband was giving our two year-old a bath; I could hear them giggling and splashing. Standing at my desk, I began listening to my messages.

Pat Conroy
Photo credit: www.patconroy.com

There he was. Pat Conroy. His voice boomed out of my cell phone, gruff but with a smile in it. At first, I thought, My sister is playing a very mean trick on me. I’m going to kill her. But as he continued, referencing the letter and his own response to it, I knew it to be true. I walked numbly towards the bathroom, calling for my husband. When he emerged with towel in hand, looking at me inquisitively, I had a hard time speaking.

“Pat Conroy left a message on my cell phone. Pat Conroy is on my cell phone,” I stammered. Then I sat in an ungainly heap on the hardwood floor, my legs giving out.

There are plenty of people out there who really won’t get how big this is. Not many folks these days go gaga over writers. My husband has known me for quite some time, and so knew how I felt about Conroy’s writing. But still, I tried to explain it to him thus:

“It’s like Bono leaving you a message on your cell phone,” I told him.

My husband went to college in Athens, Georgia, in the late ’80s. He saw U2 at the Omni in Atlanta during their Joshua Tree tour, and he’s taken me to two U2 concerts since we’ve been married. He loves those guys. He particularly adores The Edge. Perhaps I should’ve named him.

So, I sent an ARC of Keowee Valley to the address Conroy left for me, along with an effusive note of thanks. Then I waited.

I pretended like I wasn’t waiting. I told only my family that he’d left me the message. (They, of course, sent up a plane with a banner.) I told everyone I doubted he’d even remember, or that if he decided he couldn’t offer a blurb, I wouldn’t care. It was enough that he’d liked my letter—that he’d left a message on my cell phone.

I lied.

I wanted, more than anything, for the man to like my novel, for him to see something worthy in my writing. Of course I did.

Long story short: He liked it. He really did. And he offered a blurb I’ll treasure always.

Too often when we get a chance to meet or interact with our idols, we’re disappointed. They’re not the gods we liken them to; certainly, they’re not perfect. Sometimes, they can even be rude. Twice I’ve met other writers I’d admired, and they brushed me off. One, during a panel at a book festival several years ago, even told a snarky joke at my expense in response to a question I’d asked. (No, I’m not telling you who they are.) Maybe, she’d had a bad night. But I haven’t bought a book of hers since—not because I’m vindictive, but because I no longer see her, or her writing, in the same light.

Not so with gentleman Conroy. He took the time to call me, to leave a long, detailed, and unfailingly kind message. Who does that sort of thing anymore?

Apparently, the great ones do.

This has been a long, rough, exhausting journey to the publication of my first novel. Nothing about it has been what I’d expected. There have been dark moments when I wondered if the whole deal wouldn’t fall apart, when I doubted myself and my work. I still do.

But the light moments, like Conroy calling me and ultimately offering such praise for my work? Like the other incredibly gifted and generous writers offering kind words for this first-time author, a person they’d never met? They have been the glow of lightning bugs in the summer night.

Sheer magic.

Author Endorsements, Continued ...

Back in January, I wrote here about the process of trying to find published authors to endorse my novel. It's a tricky thing, asking someone you don't know, whose reputation is on the line, to say publicly that they think your work is worth reading.

Authors, especially the popular ones, are inundated with these requests--from their agents, their publishers, and from first-time novelists like me--on top of being on deadline for their own novels, traveling for book promotions, and taking care of their families, teaching, or doing whatever it is most of them do for a "real" (read: wage-earning) living. And I am quickly learning what these successful writers already know: there are only so many hours in the day, and if you have a life, finding time to write anything ain't easy.

My process of asking for endorsements, as I mentioned in the January post, was pretty straight-forward--mostly because I'd never done it before, and knew no other way. (In a nutshell: my agent reached out to one of his authors, the historical novelist Beverly Swerling, who offered an incredible blurb.Other than that, I did it on my own. In the post I explain my methods.)

To my amazement, it worked!

In all, I reached out to 16 authors. These are authors who, A) write historical fiction similar to mine, B) are regional/Southern writers, like me, and C) who are essentially my favorite living writers. I went big with "C." I figured, why not give it a try? Of course, all of them also have a readership I'd hope to reach.

(Quick word of advice to those of you who are seeking your own blurbs: Do it as soon as possible, even before you receive the ARCs of your novel. Like one of my publishers told me, authors are notorious for taking quite a long time to provide a quote or blurb. Some may even forget they said "yes" to you when you touch base with them months later!)

Out of those 16 authors I queried, 15 said they'd love to read my novel. One very nicely declined.

Out of the 15 who said they'd read the novel:
- 3 said they ultimately could not provide a blurb (most referred to "lack of time," and some "health issues" as their reasoning--all were very kind and apologetic)
- 8 provided wonderful blurbs/ endorsements
- 4 are still reading (and I'm crossing my fingers they meet my publisher's deadline)

It's been incredible and humbling experience, having writers I admire so much say such nice things about my work. I'm not afraid to admit it: Sometimes I look at what they've said once a day ... just to be sure it's all real.

One, or two, of these endorsements will appear on the front and back covers of my novel when it comes out in September. (My publishers will choose which.) The rest will appear inside. And now, these wonderful words are mine: I can use them, refer to them, and hug 'em like a teddy bear until I'm old and gray.

The moral of the story is, GO BIG. Reach out. You never know what will happen.

Case in point: One of my literary idols, I writer I've adored since I was 10 years old, whose novels were so important to my family it's like the man was our literary patron saint, wrote an endorsement for my novel. And left a voicemail on my cell phone. In my wildest dreams, I never thought this would happen.

More to come on this, later this week.

For now, Happy Monday. Go big, my friends!

Advice from Peter Pan

Over the weekend, my daughter turned three years old and was baptized. Three years old. I'm more in awe of this fact than I am that she didn't turn to the congregation during the baptism and announce that she was going to get "big girl underwear" when she starts "tee-teeing and poo-pooing in the potty." I was sure it was going to either be that or, "Mama? Who are all these people? Why's that man putting water on my head?"



Witness our desperation.
We call this shot, "Waiting for the Tee-Tee"

And no, she's still not potty trained. I know. I don't want to talk about it right now.

Everything, however, went off  mostly without a hitch. We hosted a "pirate ship party"--per her exact instructions--at the Pink Beds Picnic Area of the Pisgah National Forest, had gorgeous weather, hung out with cool people, ate cake, and drank mimosas. It was a fabulous morning.

Yes, we drank mimosas. Not sure if this is legal in the national forest or not. My husband and I decided there needed to adult beverages to celebrate our reaching the 3-years-of-parenthood point. Like how I slipped that in there, don't you?

She was baptized at the United Methodist Church in our town. Her bear, Baloo, was also baptized. My Mom saved the day with an emergency purse sucker. And, we officially joined the church we've been visiting for a while now. Here we are before heading into church. See how neat and tidy we look? We didn't look quite like this afterwards.

All in all, a dang good weekend.

This morning, I turned to my calendar--which I have positioned on the wall, at eye level, next to my pristine and beautifully bare desk. (Cough.) But that calendar, egads! It said today is July 31! This should come as no surprise to me, really, since my daughter's birthday is July 29. And still, I am flummoxed.

What happened to the summer?

When I was a kid, my parents told me that this would happen. They said, "Life will only go by faster the older you get." They also said, "The nerdy boys will turn out to be the real catches, so appreciate them," "You'll regret it if you don't spend that summer in Alaska," and "Marry someone you can have fun with for the rest of your life."

Gems, pure gems. I, like most people, realized my parents were brilliant the moment I turned 21.

But this life-speeding-by-thing. Man, that's a kick in the pants.

J.M. Barrie
Photo credit: www.biography.com

On of my favorite writers, J.M. Barrie--the Scottish playwright who wrote Peter Pan--offers a little wisdom on this front, and I like to try to remember it.

On May 3, 1922, Barrie addressed the graduating class at St. Andrews University in Scotland. His speech was very much about courage--about how to walk through your life as a good person, and how to make sense of it.

(On a side note, his address is incredible, and Barrie seems a bit of the soothsayer. Consider this challenge he issues to the graduates before him, and remember that this was 1922:

"I want you to take up this position: That youth have for too long left exclusively in our hands the decisions in national matters that are more vital to them than to us. Things about the next war, for instance, and why the last one ever had a beginning. I use the word fight because it must, I think, begin with a challenge; but the aim is the reverse of antagonism, it is partnership. I want you to hold that the time has arrived for youth to demand that partnership, and to demand it courageously."

Wow.)

The whole speech is incredible, truly, and worth reading. But it's what he says about time that stands out for me, especially in these quickly passing summer days when I've got ten different roles I need to play--and be good at--and a million things to do. On a larger scale, I think it speaks to our desperate need as modern Americans to slow ourselves, to calm our brains, to put away the (mostly electronic) nonsense--even temporarily--and to remember what it's like to be human, corporeal and flawed, flesh and blood and bone with only a limited time on this planet.

Barrie said: "You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by. Yes, but some of them are golden only because we let them slip."

All summer, I've been trying to let "the golden hours" slip. I've written about it here. Most of what I write about here, it seems, are my aspirations. Sometimes I reach them, but mostly I fall short. And even as I write the first sentence in this paragraph, I realize I'm sort of lying to myself.

So, as July moves into August, and we're faced with truly terrifying calendars and the threat of a busy Fall to come, here's to letting "the golden hours slip by."

I think we could all benefit from a little advice from Peter Pan.

Photo credit: www.en.wikipedia.com

Continuing the Publication Countdown: Cover Art, Page Proofs, and Author Photo, Oh My!

A good gulp of hot whiskey at bedtime — it's not very scientific, but it helps.

~ Sir Alexander Fleming

The publication process of my novel just keeps rolling on toward the finish line. And, let me tell you, it's a whole lot of work, and a heckuva lot of fun.

Last night I returned from a whirlwind trip to Columbia, South Carolina, where I spent a couple of nights with my aunt, zipped down to Myrtle Beach and back for a photo shoot (more on this), perused the stacks at The South Caroliniana Library for research for the novel on which I'm currently working (slowly, painstakingly slowly), and as a bonus, got to have lunch with an old friend.

Before I detail the trip, let me just say that I was by myself, in the car, for a total of 9 1/2 hours. I can't remember the last time I was alone in a car. I think it was about three years ago. I played my music, loud.

My road trip playlist:

Sugarland

U2

The Pogues

The Dixie Chicks

REM

Sam Phillips

Grace Potter & the Nocturnals

Brandi Carlile

The Corrs

Aimee Mann

Dolly Parton

Robert Plant & Alison Krauss

Suzy Boggus

a mix my sister made for my bachelorette weekend (back in 2004)

"Here Come the 1 2 3s" by They Might Be Giants (yes, this is a kids' CD. I forgot about that fact until halfway through the first song, but it didn't matter, because these guys rock)

and soundtracks from Crazy Heart, Sweet Home Alabama, and Alfie.   

Yes, there's some serious woman power happening there.

I sang at the top of my lungs. I had a milkshake. It looked like this:

Photo Credit: www.grubgrade.com

 It was heaven. (I'm conveniently forgetting about Myrtle Beach traffic.)

In the short time I spent at my aunt's gorgeous 1930s bungalow in the Shandon area of Columbia, we drank adult beverages, ate delicious food, visited with another aunt and uncle, talked to her cat, looked at old photographs, went for a walk around the neighborhood--which is one of the prettiest, if not the prettiest, in Columbia, and just talked. I slept in my aunt's huge sleigh bed, and didn't open my eyes from the time my head hit the pillow until my alarm went off in the mornings. Much as I adore the little voice at home who shouts, "Mama! Daddy! Come get me! I had a very nice sleep! Mama! Daddy! Where are you?! I want out!" this. was. divine.

But back to work.

On Monday, I jetted down to Myrtle Beach for a photo shoot (for my author photo which will appear on the back of the book) with my ridiculously talented and gorgeous cousin-in-law, Paula Player. (You really should check out her web site, especially if you're planning a wedding or event anywhere in the Grand Strand vicinity, but also just to peruse her incredible photographs.) We met at Paula's friend's studio, Paula did my makeup (because I am, still, a tomboy), and had a great time. After, we went to lunch, talked nonstop about life and marriage and our kids, and the seeds were planted for what I foresee to be a beautiful friendship. 

I'm excited to see how the photographs turn out. And nervous. I asked her if she could make me look 10 years younger and 20 lbs lighter. She laughed.

Back in Columbia, within the lovely and hushed walls of The South Caroliniana Library, I played with research for the novel I'm currently writing. It's set in the 1850s in Charleston, South Carolina, just before the whole world is about to explode and change forever with Civil War (or as some refer to it down here: The Late Unpleasantness), and it's narrated by Josephine Scott, the great-great granddaughter of my characters in Keowee Valley, who's a sort of Southern Jo March. On advice from my new friend and pen pal, the writer Philip Lee Williams, I started to create a timeline for the novel by sifting through old newspapers of the period. I pray that this will help my complete inability to outline (or even really plan at all) the story.

Photo credit: http://library.sc.edu/socar/books.html

But The South Caroliniana Library. Oh, that library. It's gorgeous. Quiet. The staff are wonderfully helpful and kind. (Yes, they let me in the place in spite of the fact that my blood runneth orange.)

There's something so wonderfully old-fashioned and high-academic about it. You fill out a request, and they retrieve books from the stacks for you. You get to sit at these lovely desks with your own lamp. I could've spent hours there.

But I digress.

Currently, two booky things are going on in the world of Keowee Valley:

1. My publishers just sent me the Preliminary Page Proofs for the novel. This is exactly what the pages will look like inside the book itself. What I have to do--and what I'm doing now--is to go through the novel line by line, looking for any sort of mechanics errors. This ain't easy. It's a long novel. But fun, still fun!

2. My fabulous publishers have recently commissioned the artist M. C. Krauss to create the cover of Keowee Valley. While she mostly works in fantasy, she also works with individual subjects and covers. Her digital work is stunning, ethereal and cool, and I'm thrilled to see what she dreams up.

So that's what's going on in my world, at least on the book end of things. Add every day life to the mix, and in the words of my husband, minus the expletives, "It's a crazy-fest."

But I honestly wouldn't trade it for a thing.

Enough about me. I want to know: How are y'all? How are your summers going so far? What have you been up to in your writing, working, and reading worlds?  

Countdown to Novel Publication

The official publication date for KEOWEE VALLEY is September 15, 2012!

I say "official," and that's what I've been told ... so, hopefully, this won't change.

It's hard for me to believe, and oh so very exciting: in 60 days, my first novel will become a real book, out in the word, corporeal, for all to see and hold and--dear Lord, please--read. I've spent a good deal of time avoiding this thought--my publication date--because, much as I hate to admit, I've got a bit of the fatalist in me. I need to hold that sucker in my hands before I truly believe that it's real.

There are a great many things that will occur in my writing world before September 15th.

1. The cover design must be completed by my publisher's design team.
2. More endorsements/blurbs from authors who are reading KEOWEE VALLEY need to come in. (Man, oh man, I hope they do. Though I've thankfully had some wonderful advance praise so far, I've got more great authors reading the ARC right now. Fingers crossed.)
3. A book launch party must be planned.
4. An author photo for the back of the book must be chosen.
5. I've got to do all sorts of pre-publication organizing, having to do with promotional materials, press releases, book store events and speaking engagements, etc.  

Here are the things that have to occur in my personal world: (What? I can't just smile and carry my book around like a blankie?)

1. My daughter's 3rd birthday (and party). Yikes.
2. A photo shoot with my very talented cousin-in-law, Paula Player, a photographer in Myrtle Beach (more to come about this), about 6 hours away from where I live.
3. A beach vacation with my family (including my parents, sister and brother-in-law, and all our dogs). Woohoo!
4. Planning for the English courses I'm teaching this Fall. Which begin next month. Oh, law.
5. A total body makeover, including toned abs, sculpted arms, and legs like Gwyneth Paltrow. Why are you laughing?
6. The possible almost maybe perhaps chance consideration of starting work on Baby #2. Did I just type that out loud?
7. Oh, yeah, and I'm still in graduate school.

All of these things are good things. I feel very lucky, and most fortunate, to have them occurring at this point in my life.

But the book, my novel ... the book is the thing.

Right now, it still looks like this:



The Advance Review Copy of KEOWEE VALLEY

Sort of like an elegant phone book, right? I can't wait to see what cover design my publishers put together. It's been an interesting process, the back-and-forth about the cover, but I'm confident it'll be a good one because I promised them my third-born child if it is. Did I just write that out loud?

More to come on the novel publication countdown, the process, and how I'm handling (or not) motherhood, wifehood, teacherhood, studenthood, and writerhood along with it. That's a lot of hoods.