CROSSING is born

Tossed and turned last night in excitement and anticipation.  Checked to see if my Amazon sales rank had jumped since the last time I'd checked (ten minutes previously), as if anyone would buy a book at 3 am.

When it was close enough to dawn, I jumped out of bed.  There was something I could do, I realized.  I bought the Kindle version.  Within seconds, I was reading it.  It was neat to see Crossing and my name right there on the Kindle, right down to the chapter markers.

That's the thing about having your book released in paperback and Kindle format.  It's like you're giving birth to twins.  Fraternal twins.

Arc de Triomphe

Monday was one of those pinch-me days.  My ARCs arrived.  An ARC (Advance Reader Copy) is what publishers send out to media outlets in the  months leading up to publication in the hopes of snagging reviews, interviews, etc.  The ARC is basically the book itself, without the final edits and with the words Advance Reader's Copy - Uncorrected Proof emblazoned on the front cover.

So I tore open the box like a kid on Christmas morning and this is what I saw:

I went into a delirium for a few minutes.  Caught myself stroking it Gollum-like, whispering My Precious, my Precious...  The colors on the cover, especially on the edges, were a little darker than expected, which I liked: it captured the sense of ominous and impending danger well.

I showed it to my oldest son who asked if there were any pictures inside.  Hiding his disappoint when I told him there were none, he took the book into his hands.  What impressed him the most wasn't the cover design, or even my author photo inside, but was - strangely - how it smelled.  He kept rubbing his nose on the cover, inside the book, sniffing hard.  He liked the smell.  Now I know why I wrote the book.

But what a feeling to be finally holding the book in my hands!  The visceral physicality of it.  So I did what came most natural.  I turned to the first page and started reading.  Hours later, I was still at it.

reconnecting...

Over the past few weeks, I've been letting family, friends, and work colleagues know about the upcoming release date of Crossing.  Most people - after getting over their initial surprise (few had any inkling I've been working on a novel) - have expressed genuine happiness for me, and their sincerity shows in their eyes.  Their encouragement and enthusiasm for the book has been awesome and humbling.  They've asked, for example, what is the best way to buy the book (online or in-store purchase) so as to "help my career as an author."  They've asked about the plot, the editorial process, the cover design; their curiosity and interest in the book move me deeply.

It's also been an awesome way to reconnect with college buddies.  Facebook is great for reconnecting, but most of my previous interactions with college friends have been limited to clicking the "like" button, or writing "cute kids!" to photos.  With the Crossing's imminent publication, however, there's been communication at a deeper level with these college friends, many of whom I haven't seen or really even spoken with for over a decade.  That's been an unexpected benefit to Crossing's publication.

One of the things I've realized in speaking/writing with a few of them is just how far back my dream of authoring a novel goes.  I thought that dream was something that began post-college, but apparently a few of them remember how even back in my college days I had talked about it.  How I used to tap away on my Macintosh Classic, punching out stories.  And suddenly memories have come back: my freshman roommate reading my short story, liking it so much that he passed it around among our circle of friends; the affirming look my creative writing professor gave me after he finished reading aloud one of my short stories to the class; being intoxicated in my Hemingway class by the austere beauty of his literary craftsmanship.

It goes back so far.  Probably even further back if I really think about it.  Maybe that's why April 27, 2010, feels like the culmination of something almost four decades in the making.  A destination of sorts after a long journey.  Or a way station.  And why I find myself waking up an hour early each morning, my heart thumping with excitement.

Children of Invention

I came across a trailer for a movie called Children of Invention that has won a ton of awards, and was featured at the Sundance Film Festival. It's really seems to capture a certain mood and tempo about immigrant life that comes across as authentic. I'm hoping that the movie is as good as the trailer indicates. Something tells me that it will be.



And here's a wonderful clip from the movie:

CHILDREN OF INVENTION HD clip - "Pyramid Scheme Party" from Children of Invention on Vimeo.

it takes a village

I used to think writing a book was a solitary journey.  And I still believe that, because no matter how large your writing/support group may be, in the end it's still just you putting down your own words.  Often alone in the dark of the night, scribbling or typing away while the rest of the family lies sound asleep.

But one thing I've never fully realized is how it takes a village to publish a book.  The moment I signed with AmazonEncore, my editor immediately pushed a button.  A team of experts immediately descended upon my work, each member specifically assigned to a niche role.  And what a team they've been.  I've heard horror stories from other authors who've experienced road blocks, fading interest, unreturned phone calls or emails, horrible title changes, and vomit-inducing cover designs they had no say in.  And these were with top-name publishing houses.  Not so with AmazonEncore.  They've been professional to the T, yet personable as Oprah between takes.

There's my copy editor, for example.  Not only tightened my language but also found some subtle time discrepancies and factual inconsistencies.  Here's one small example: in one scene, I described how two characters (who work in a food court) went to bed early on a particular night.  My copy editor jumped in: food courts typically close at 9 p.m. on weekends, so after clean-up and the commute home, the two characters would not have been home soon enough to turn in so early.  That's a great catch.  Not a big deal to the overall plot and it was an easy fix, but it gave me a lot of assurance that my book was being so thoroughly vetted for the big time.

Then there's the cover design.  Let me just say this: there are certain milestones in an author's career, and getting the cover design to your debut novel is one of them.  A heart-thumping one.  In my case, my editor sent me not just one, but three design concepts.  Two of them blew me away.  There's a story in how I ended up with the final cover (and I'll blog about it one day), but let me just say this: AmazonEncore pulled me in early on and made sure that I was an integral part of that process.  They respected my input ("please, no faux-Chinese fonts and dragons") and the design team did an incredible job.  The cover is totally amazing; not only is it aesthetically pleasing, but it also captures the ambiance of the novel perfectly.

The marketing team has been likewise top-notch.  The publicity aspect of this business is one I know next to nothing about.  Left to me, I'd probably craft a signboard and walk up and down Main Street in a costume.  But my publicists - seasoned experts with great contacts - have been great in explaining the process, working behind the scenes, and doing an awesome job in getting word of this novel out there.  ARCs are now landing in the hands of media bigwigs all around the country.  There's a lot of work for me as well, but at least I'm working with direction and not like a headless chicken.  And pre-publication buzz is building by the week, enough to keep me awake at night.  So exciting.

I could go on, easily.  There are so many more people to mention, I'm realizing that this will probably become a blog series.  Is that advisable, to have a blog series on one topic?  I don't know.  I'll have to ask Sarah or Terry or Julie or . . .

Because one thing I do know: it takes a village.

my first sale!

For the past few days, I've been watching my Amazon sales rank (for the paperback) go from roughly 600,000 (yes, there are 5 zeros in there) to a mind-staggering, truly-humbling 1,587,465.  Yes, as in over one million five hundred thousand.  Who knew there were that many books out there for sale?  I tell myself not to get caught up in the numbers, I just went public with this after all, and we're still 3 months away from the release date.  But still...1.5 million?

Well, I just checked my depressing numbers, and suddenly I've leap-frogged to a sales rank of 130,595.  Somebody pre-ordered my book!  Maybe more than just one.  Whoever you may be, you just made my day.  The nightmare scenario of being the first person in publishing history to not sell a single copy...is officially over.

And now I feel like a bonafide author.

So whoever you may be, thank you, thank you, thank you!

breaking the news

Even though I've gone public in the sense that this website has gone up, I've actually only told a handful of people.  Mostly family and, because "I had to," my superiors at work.  Since so few people know about the book, this website is secreted somewhere in an obscure nook in cyberspace.  I'll probably go public and proactively inform friends, colleagues, and acquaintances sometime next week.  Truth is, my natural inclination is to actually wait until the day of publication and say something like: "hey, please buy my book, it's on sale now."  But I can already see the disapproving look on my publicist's face as she somberly shakes her head.  She wants build-up, she wants momentum before the release date.  She wants news of it to break out now.  Yesterday.  She even set up - without my knowledge! - a Facebook fansite.  What can I say?  She's the perfect publicist.

Truth is, I'm chomping at the bit to let people know.  I think this must be how expectant women feel just before they let the world know (at the 3 month mark?).  I can imagine how they feel: elated, bristling with the anticipation of letting friends know, the sharing of joy, the joy of sharing.  (And a chance to explain the extra poundage and perhaps gloominess from morning sickness).

I feel like that.  Except I've been pregnant with this baby for a decade.  It's been a baby that has kicked me hard at times, filled me with seasons of self-doubt and despair, only to be followed by seasons that percolated with creative energy.  Then back to despair.  Solitary nights slogging away in front of the monitor, days of frustration when whole chapters are trashed, the piles of rejections letters, the close calls that ended in 11th-hour rejections.  And all finally leading up to that moment last year, when I received that magical phone call ("Hello, is Andrew there?  I'd like to talk to you about your novel...").  And that's when the water broke.

And so when I make the announcement next week, it's going to be with a parent's pride and joy...