I’ve recently been asked to comment on first lines and it made me realise how important they are.  I always need the first line(s) exactly right before the book ‘fires’ into life. The right beginning always gives me the idea for the end as well.  For example, in MR IMPERFECT my first line was:

I knew the ending would have to include Christian crying at his wedding. It was a perfect growth arc for a strong character. At the start, he's unaware and burdened; at the end he's happy and proud of his softer emotions.

The second book, MR IRRESISTIBLE, published this June 07, gave me real trouble.  The first book I ever wrote, (I wrote four manuscripts before I got an offer of publication), the first line was poetic but lacked impact. Here’s the original:

Here's the new version.

Yep, that's it. My first line. The second is:

I wanted lines that suggested conflict and a ‘sensual’ tone to the book, which is carried through in the interactions between two very strong characters, Jordan King and Kate Brogan.

Now I’ve plotted out the third book in the series, MR UNFORGETTABLE, and have begun writing it. This is the first line:

Notice I’m not giving away the endings of books two and three. I’d hate to spoil it for you. J

For years I wanted to be a romance writer without actually doing much about it. I read ‘how to’ books and attended NZ romance writers’ conferences, then wrote a paragraph and rested until next year. I waited for it to become effortless but it never did. Once I decided to make a concerted effort it still took five years before SuperRomance bought my third completed manuscript.

The key lessons from the wilderness years were:

~ Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain

~ Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass

~ On Writing by Stephen King

~ Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

~ The Elements of Style by Strunk and White

~ Heroes and Heroines by Cowden, LaFever, Vivers

~ The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler

~ Story by Robert McKee

Okay that got your attention. Why the hell would any sane person do that? Here’s two reasons:

Why? Because you’re inexperienced and need to learn and practise your craft. It doesn’t mean your writing’s crap, just that it’s not yet to a publishable standard (in the early years) or suitable for the editor or line you’re targeting (in the later years).

Handling rejection successfully will determine whether you achieve publication and probably (as a two book author I’ll get back to you on this), build a career as a romance writer.

M Scott Peck’s book, The Road Less Travelled, starts with the memorable line: “Life is difficult.” Accept that fact, says Peck, and you can transcend it.

Well, getting published is difficult. Oh sure, we all want to be the exception, the shining talent, the Charlene Dickens whose unmistakable genius is picked up on the first book. I just rang the only person I know who had their ‘first’ book published, the fantastic historical writer Helen Kirkman and she told me the book that sold was her fifth manuscript. She just didn’t submit the first four.

Rejections will tell you whether you really, REALLY want to get published and force the commitment of time, study, and writing that makes that possible. Or not...you may decide you don’t need the heartache and that you’re happy writing for yourself. Either way, you get clarity.

These days when rejections come, I try and see them as an opportunity to take stock.  Is it time to put this book aside and work on something new? Is it time to investigate whether I’m targeting the wrong line? Is it time to get a craft book out and bone up on an aspect that’s holding me back? The first rejection I got after publication reminded me that I’m better writing the whole book rather than submitting a synopsis and three chapters. Rejection can point a direction, strengthen resolve...okay I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to get published but hell, now I am sure!

Accept that you’re going to get rejected and rejections will lose their crushing importance. Everyone gets ‘em; they’re a rite of passage, welcome to the club. These days I’m damned if a rejection letter is going to leach me of creativity for more than 24 hours. I’m saving my energy for the book. Of course I still have to trick myself by saying, okay I’ll write half a page and then I’ll grieve/sulk/overeat.

We often hear that Harlequin gets a trillion manuscripts a year – Gee, what chance have I got, you ask, clutching your latest rejection. Exclude the books on gardening or hunting sea slugs and that number drops substantially. What would the odds be if you knew your market, knew your craft, and never gave up? Honey, publication’s a cert.

Sound far-fetched? How many Australasians sold their first book in the last twelve months. Twelve? Fifteen?  Yvonne Lindsay had been trying for ten years, Maxine Sullivan for twenty - kudos to them. I can guarantee that every one of us ‘newbies’ has had a knock-back that made us think, ‘To hell with it, I’m going to be a party girl instead’. And then somehow dragged ourselves back to the keyboard.

That’s the only choice you need to make when you get a rejection. To give up. Or not give up. (See how easy this gets ?)  The worst rejection I ever got was on a manuscript that later won a Golden Heart. Imagine if I’d dumped it? And you know what, that damn manuscript still won’t sell because I can’t get it right despite fabulous help from writers and editors.  But it has earned its keep by giving me credibility with editors for the next book. Sometimes a loss is a win.

We write conflict, epic battles against self; we like dark moments and prevailing against all odds. Rejections are another milestone on your road to publication, gatekeepers between you and your dream. Your heroes and heroines don’t turn back in adversity - that’s what makes them heroic, admirable, worthy of respect.

And neither will you.

  "Don't do this," said Jack, his grey eyes steady on hers and for a millisecond Cassie nearly took it back. Her ultimatum.

  The one that hung in the air like a spark over gunpowder. Just a whisper - okay, I won't - would have blown it out. All she had to do was take a single step, put her arms around his waist and lay her head against his heart to hear the slow steady beat that had measured her happiness for five years...

  But.

  She thought of other whispers, the soul-dark ones that said 'if he really loved you'. She thought of the long-buried need of a little girl aching to be a princess just once. Important enough, just once. And she said, meaning it, "If you don't marry me, I'm leaving."

  Even though she knew that part of the reason she loved him was because of his stubborn reluctance to live by anyone's values but his own. But her values mattered too.

  "We're happy, aren't we?"

  Their discussion had become circular so Cassie didn't answer, simply dragged her suitcase out of the back of the wardrobe, brushed some dust off it and started to pack.

  The dust bothered her. When had she got so complacent?

  Jack sat on their bed and watched her, dark eyes both troubled and stubborn. "Cass, emotional blackmail won't solve this," he said.

  "I promise you, this isn't emotional blackmail." Numbly, she chose a few clothes to tide her over. "Irreconcilable differences - no one's fault."

  He raked a hand through his brown hair. "Marriage won't keep us together if one of us wants to leave."

  Cassie knew that better than anybody. Her mother was in the middle of yet another divorce. And now her daughter was about to land on her doorstep.

  "Marriage is a commitment to try harder," she replied, knowing his loyalty was already beyond question. But it wasn't marriage she wanted really; it was the cock-eyed optimism; the suspension of disbelief, the act of faith in a cynical world.

  "Show me the statistics that back that up."

  "You know I can't," she said through a tight throat. As always Jack argued from logic; she argued from emotion. Cassie finished packing and put on her winter coat over jeans and woollen jumper. Outside a southerly squall smacked rain against the pane.

  "I don't get it. Why has this come to a head now?"

   "We're about to buy a house together."  But it wasn't that. She'd attended a hen celebration last night and got teary-eyed and sentimental, even though Cassie knew the nuptials she'd been toasting would be lucky to last a year. This morning, she'd woken up with a hangover and a snarl and it had all gone downhill from there.

  Except...she was tired of the sidelong glances of pity that echoed her belief that marriage meant something. Being anti-matrimony was Jack's conviction - not hers and everyone knew it.  "I'm tired of being an apologist for your cause," she added. "And yes, I know how many marriages fail, I know the quality of the relationship has no connection with how big your wedding was, or how sincere everyone is on the day, or how many bloody presents you're given. I know all that but I don't feel it, and every time I go to someone else's engagement, hen night or wedding it hurts."

  Resigned, Cassie picked up her luggage.

  "Okay," he said in a resigned tone, "we'll get married."

  She was so surprised she dropped the suitcase. Slowly, Cassie turned around. Jack was looking at her like the enemy.

Her euphoria dissipated before it had time to build. "As long as it's in a registry office, no party, no fuss," he added.

  Oh for God's sake. "And maybe we shouldn't tell anyone," she said sarcastically.

  "Even better," he agreed. "After all, it's our contract, not anyone else's."

  She hated it when he split hairs like that. And she wanted public acknowledgement of his love. Wanted her friends and family watching Jack adore her. The mental picture that conjured was so ridiculous that Cassie started to laugh. Okay, maybe she could relinquish that particular fantasy but the wedding he described was a sad, furtive affair not a celebration.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "that's not good enough. But thanks, anyway."

  The reaction to their fight was setting in, the numb anger giving way to a nauseous panic. What the hell was she doing? Her fingers slipped on the handle of the suitcase.

  "Cassie, come here," he said in a low voice.

  Somehow she found herself bawling into his shoulder. "The trouble is, that I can't see any middle ground," she hiccuped between sobs, "If we get married, we compromise your beliefs and if we don't get married we compromise mine. Someone always has to lose."

  She pushed up to a sitting position and dug in her jeans for a hanky. "I know there's a solution but we're so entrenched in our positions I don't know what it is anymore - or how to fix it. But it has to be fixed, Jack. Somehow."

  "I know," he said. "But in all of this, I've never had any doubts that you're the One. Have you?"

  "No," Cassie swiped her eyes dry then blew her nose. "Never."

  "Then let's stop making this marriage thing so important. It's a side issue, let's treat it as one. Take away a winner and a loser and have some fun with it."

  She looked at him doubtfully. "Fun?"

  "I have an idea."

  Her eyes widened as he reached in his pocket and dug out a fifty-cent piece. "You're deciding our marital status on the toss of a coin?"

  "No. Jack handed it to her. "You are."

  The metal was cold in her hand, warming through as she stared at him. "That's the craziest thing I ever heard."

  "But what a story," he said, "to tell our grandchildren."

  "Heads," she said and flung the coin high. Through the bedroom window the sun caught the silver as it spun, over and over.   Beyond it, they smiled at each other and Cassie thought how wonderful life could be sometimes.

  And how simple.

Reflections on the writing life - an insight for readers and writers.

The Ultimatum - "Don't do this," said Jack, his grey eyes steady on hers and for a millisecond Cassie nearly took it back...  Read more >>