You ARE a real author, dammit (still! always! yes!)

I've found myself at a lot of book signing events lately. The most perplexing thing about that is that I'm the one doing the signing.

I still can't wrap my brain around that, but if you happen to be in Oregon and you're craving a trip to the coast this weekend, I'd love to see you at the Northwest Author Fair on Saturday, where more than 60 authors from around the region will be hanging out hoping it doesn't rain on us.

The fact that I've been allowed out in public with my author hat on a lot lately has me thinking about a blog post I wrote 16 months ago – just a few months after my agent landed me this amazing three-book deal with Sourcebooks. I was responding to the way people began treating me differently once they learned I had a book deal.

Now that the book has been on the shelves a few weeks and seems to be getting a lot of very lovely buzz, I'm noticing it even more. For that reason, I want to resurrect the post.

I'm editing a couple words from the original to reflect a change in marital status because...um, well, it's my blog, and I can do stuff like that. And I suppose I should change my age from 35 to 37. Oh, and I guess I have to knock a few pounds off my weight because going through divorce means you eat a lot of cold cereal and frozen peas for dinner.

But otherwise, it's the same damn post that ran last April. I still believe every word of it.

So should you.

Friday, April 23, 2010

You ARE a real author, dammit

There’s a list of questions you aren’t supposed to ask a woman, and I’ve never minded answering any of them.

I’ll cheerfully tell you my age (37), my height and weight (5’4” and 113 pounds), or the reason I never had kids (I didn't particularly want them).

But until eight weeks ago, there was one question I truly dreaded:

How many books have you published?

Though the answer now is the same as it was eight weeks ago (none, yet), I can at least follow up by giving details of my upcoming releases.

But I still hate the question. Because let’s face it, the reason the person is asking is to determine if they’re talking to a “real author,” or…well, something less than that.

And that’s an implication that makes me uncomfortable even now that I have a three-book deal that apparently entitles me to carry the “real author” license.

It’s not just people unfamiliar with the publishing industry who seem hell-bent on distinguishing between “real authors” and whatever the opposite of that would be (unreal authors?) We do it ourselves as authors every time we sell ourselves short and allow people to make us feel inferior for the mere fact that we haven’t yet reached that next stage.

I guess this is why I find myself bristling now when someone suddenly treats me differently upon learning about my book deal. There’s a certain level of respect that comes along with that, and I’m not entirely comfortable with it.

I know I sound like an ungrateful bitch, but that’s not it at all. The thing is, I’m the same damn author I was eight weeks ago. Or eight years ago.

If you want to split hairs, two of the three books in my contract started with partial manuscripts I wrote nearly three years ago under a previous agent who just wasn't interested in them. These are the same damn books my current agent adores and my new editor recently gushed over, saying, “everyone here is just in love with your voice.”

So I haven’t changed, right?

But I have, at least in the eyes of writers and non-writers alike. In some ways, this makes my heart swell like a boner in a bad porn.

In other ways, it makes me angry. I’m angry on behalf of every author who’s ever felt sub-par because the magic wand of dumb luck hasn’t yet waved over her head and granted her an agent or a book deal or the level of respect she deserves just for trying to break into publishing.

Writing books is hard work. Everyone who’s ever attempted it deserves the “real author” label and all the respect that seems to come with it.

Whether you’re a brand new writer with distant dreams of publication or someone who’s lost count of the number of weeks spent on the New York Times Bestseller list, you’re still a “real author.”

You have to remember that. The world is primed to make the unpublished author feel inferior, and that can kill your self esteem even more than a bad critique or an outright rejection.

You are a “real author.”

Now go write some real books, dammit.