The Tourists Guide To Haunted Wellman

 As Jeffe pointed out, this week we're supposed to tease a forthcoming project. Well, I've got several of those going and I like to tease, s here's the first part of THE HOURISTS GUIDE TO HAUNTED WELLMAN.

For the many who do not know, Wellman is a fictitious town in Georgia, created by Charles R. Rutledge and yours truly.  

This book is a blend of ghost guide and ghost stories. Here's a bit of both.  IN thepry this book will be out in time for Halloween of 2021.

 The Tourists Guide to Haunted Wellman

Introduction

    Brennert County, Georgia is a beautiful place. Nestled in the north Georgia mountains, and only a little over an hour and a half away from Atlanta (depending on traffic, of course) the buildings in the area are a collection of traditional southern homes and a few surprises. The area has been lived in for years, and the history is rich with tales of heroism and villainy alike. During the Civil War there were plenty of those tales to be told, and exactly who the bad guys were was often a matter of perspective. 

    Looking at the homes, at the landmarks, and at the lush green hills, you’d think that Brennert County, and towns like Wellman, were just about postcard perfect. But as is often the case in the south, there are things not mentioned, places not spoken of in polite society, that hold dark and sometimes even dangerous secrets. 

    Wellman, Georgia and the surrounding areas are steeped in a history of violence, madness, and murder. There are tragedies aplenty to go with the local legends of goblins, like the Moon-Eyes, and the tales of witches buried in the Hollow, or living in the places where the sun almost never shows itself. There are rumors of runaway slaves who got themselves lost in the mountains and had to deal with demons in order to survive. Wellman is a place where families have kept themselves for close to two hundred years, never leaving once they found the places that felt like home to them. What could be better? What could possibly go wrong?

    Read carefully and you’ll learn of love lost, of murder most foul, of people hanged for crimes they did not commit and young lovers who died trying to save each other. Take the time to study this book and you’ll discover where a man buried his own family in the walls, along with their fortune, to keep them all “safe” from invading forces, and you’ll hear the truth about some of the Native American Mounds that even the Etowah are scared to go near. You’ll hear tales of heroism and stories of dark deeds that were never punished. You’ll learn where statues cry bloody tears and find out about the judge that took the law into his own hands and made sure the guilty were punished for crimes they thought they got away with. 

    You’ll discover the road where a little girl wanders when the sun sets, looking for her family dog, and some say running from the man who murdered her and her family alike. You’ll find out why the ghost of Ethan Crane still haunts one of the local churches and if the stories are true, still seeks the man who cut his eyes and heart from his body.

    There are tales of Confederate Soldiers who wander along a dark road with plans to kill the Yankee conspirators who betrayed them, and legends of a battle that replays every hundred days, revealing the locations of where each person died and maybe even showing where treasure is buried if you pay attention to the clues. 

    All this and more await you in The Tourists Guide to Haunted Wellman, a book of stories meticulously studied and verified by the Brennert County Paranormal Society. We know what haunts you. 

    ***

    “Are we really doing this?” Emily Strand looked at the rest of the society members and spoke softly, her voice barely carrying far enough for anyone to hear. 

    Travis Dunlap heard her, of course. Travis would have heard Emily from twice as far away and if she were whispering as softly as she could because every word she said was very nearly holy in his mind. She owned his heart and he would marry her someday if he ever got up the nerve to actually speak to her. 

    Don Washington was the one who answered her question, of course. Don, who was twenty-six and knew more about the supernatural than most of them, was the Vice President of the Brennert County Paranormal Society, and he was the driving force behind the book they’d been writing and the plans they had to make sure that the ghosts were really there. 

    Well, none of them were really writing the book, they had a ghostwriter. Travis snorted when he thought about that. A ghostwriter for a book of ghost stories. Of course, Don didn't think that was funny at all. Don took everything as seriously as a heart attack. 

    “Yes, for the tenth time, we’re doing it, Emily. We have to make sure we’re onto something. The book says we can prove the existence of ghosts just by reciting the right words, at the right time, and in the right place.”

    Don huffed and puffed and sighed. He was not in great shape, really. Okay, he was obese, as in carrying an extra person around his guts and butt. They’d been walking for close to a quarter-mile and most everyone was just fine, but Don was wheezing and red-faced. Okay, the clove cigarettes probably didn’t help very much. 

    “I thought Charon said it was a bad idea.” Emily really did whisper that time. Don rolled his eyes and shook his jowly face. “Charon doesn’t know everything. She’s got a bookstore that sells occult crap and Tarot cards. Everything there is over-priced and a rip-off. Have you seen the stupid books on local ghosts she has? Not even half as much stuff as we’re including in our book.” He hauled his pants back up to his waist as if that were a definitive statement about how foolish Charon was.

    Travis grimaced. No one but Don thought poorly of Charon, and he only thought that way because she’d told him off about all the crazy experiments he wanted to do, like the one tonight. Charon's bookshop, Baba Yaga’s, was over in Gatesville and was probably the best-stocked occult bookstore north of Atlanta. It was the primary reason she didn't have much time to spend with the group anymore.

    Don had the wild idea of “enhancing” the ghostly experience by making the restless dead more restless. He said it was like agitating fireflies: harmless, but effective. To that end he’d used Ouija boards, a dozen different “rituals” he’d found online, and had even hunted down a few books that he said were supposed to “thin the barrier between the living and the land of the dead.”

    So far the only thing that had happened was they got to hang out together and wait, while nothing at all took place. Travis would have minded a lot more, but every time they got together for one of Don’s experiments, he managed to sit as close as he could to Emily. 

    Emily, who was just about as perfect as any girl had ever been. He could count the freckles on her face a million times (there were exactly thirty-seven of them) and never get tired of it. Emily, who was so quiet and shy, even though she had the greatest eyes ever behind her glasses. Emily, who probably didn’t even know his name, even though they went to school together and were in the society together.  Emily, who thought Mark Irvin was about the cutest guy on the planet if you judged the way she always looked at him.

     He'd have hated Mark if the guy wasn't so damned nice. 

    “So that’s a yes.” Emily sighed and wrapped herself in her own arms to ward away the chill. 

    It was cold. Autumn was in the air, the sky was half-buried in clouds, and the wind that blew through the area came from the north and west. There was frost on some of the trees and the grass under their feet crunched in a way it never did during the summer.  

    The First United Methodist Church on Maynard Avenue stood like a shadowed guardian over the area as they moved into the cemetery. The side of the building held hundreds of pumpkins set up for sale, even though the pastor there was not overly fond of Halloween. As they moved past the gate into the graveyard the bell at the church rang out eleven times, the sound so much louder in the night than it seemed when Travis was at home. 

    They passed the subject of one of the entries in the book, a life-size marble statue of a woman in a flowing robe. Travis didn’t know if it was supposed to be the Virgin Mary or what, but local legend said that on full moons people had seen tears of blood in the statue’s eyes, and heard the sounds of a woman weeping. They wound their way through the tombstones, many of those the unmarked graves of fallen Civil War soldiers, until they found the spot they were looking for. 

    Don let out another epic sigh and grunted as he lowered himself to the grass near the headstone of William Avery Harrington. The stone was rather unremarkable, but the dates showed that the old man had died at exactly one hundred years of age, down to the day.  For the next fifteen minutes, all of them sat around while Don looked over the things he’d brought with him and then he directed each of them to a different position as he started carefully making marks on the lawn with a bright white powder and then other marks in charcoal black. 

    It was ten minutes to midnight before he said he was ready. By then Travis had sidled closer to Emily and then slipped back when she moved over to talk to Mark, damn his eyes.

    The mood was solemn and despite his appearance—unkempt on the best of days—Don lowered his voice and spoke clearly as he said the words written out on an old piece of parchment. 

    He finished at exactly midnight, as the bells of the church rang through the night air. The bells sounded wrong to Travis’s ears.

    They sounded angry.

A Pre-Release Peek at UNDER A WINTER SKY!

This week at the SFF Seven, we're sharing a snippet from a work in progress. We're supposed to "tease" with one paragraph, but I'm going the extra multiple-paragraph mile. Since UNDER A WINTER SKY releases this week (you can preorder until Thursday for only $5.99, when the price goes up), I'm sharing the first chapter and a hint of the second chapter of my novella, The Long Night of the Crystalline Moon. This story is a prequel to a brand new series I'm starting, Heirs of Magic. Book One is THE GOLDEN GRYPHON AND THE BEAR PRINCE, and will be out in January. It picks up where The Long Night of the Crystalline Moon leaves off. 

You can preorder UNDER A WINTER SKY via the buttons below on follow that link to my website. I'll also be adding the preorder for THE GOLDEN GRYPHON AND THE BEAR PRINCE this week. 

     

 And now, Chapter One and a glimpse of Chapter Two of The Long Night of the Crystalline Moon from UNDER A WINTER SKY!

~ 1 ~

 

Castle Ordnung came into view as the dragon dropped beneath the thick cloud cover. From Rhyian’s perspective on dragonback, the white towers and high walls looked only slightly less white than the snowy landscape. The high queen’s crimson banner flapped furiously on the heights, all the pennants of the subsidiary thirteen kingdoms arranged below. Though it was still afternoon, the thick snowfall dimmed the light to a grim gray, so gloomy the thousands of burning torches lining the parapets shone clearly.

Rhy snorted to himself. So much for mossback’s much-anticipated viewing of the crystalline full moon. With that overcast, no one would even see it. To think that he could be at home in tropical Annfwn, celebrating the Feast of Moranu in the traditional way—on the beach, shapeshifting, dancing, and drinking in the warm night.

But no. His mother had issued a royal command that Rhy absolutely would attend the ball celebrating the quarter-century anniversary of High Queen Ursula’s prosperous reign. Nothing less could’ve forced him to attend. Not that Rhy didn’t love and respect his Auntie Essla. But it seemed likely Salena would also attend. And he’d rather be anywhere than in the same place as Salena.

Not something he could or would confess to anyone. And even the queen’s son must obey royal commands—particularly when his father, the king of Annfwn, did nothing to save him. So there Rhy was, tricked out in the fancy dress outfit his mother had forced him to wear via yet another royal command—the silver-trimmed black velvet making him look like a mossback—plunging into bitter winter, and counting the minutes until the following dawn when he would be free again.

The longest night of the year had a lot of minutes.

Hopefully Salena would just ignore him tonight. It would be a big event in a huge castle. They should be able to avoid each other. After all, they’d managed to avoid each other for seven years since the incident. And she’d been the one to flee Annfwn, clearly to avoid seeing him ever again. He couldn’t imagine she’d want to see him now any more than he wanted to see her.

Zynda landed in the cleared field set aside for the dragons. The cold wind whipped them cruelly as soon as Rhy’s sorceress mother released her magic bubble that had kept them warm on the journey. Zynda waited only long enough for them to scramble down the rope-harness ladder before shifting into an elegant ballgown and furred cape. “Brr,” she declared, joining them. “I always forget how cold it is here in winter.”

“I don’t,” Rhy replied caustically, but subsided when his mother glared at him. They rushed up the cleared walkway, the torches lining it providing some warmth, though the flames whipped and guttered with the wind.

Guards saluted, shouting hails for Queen Andromeda of Annfwn, some giving Zynda’s husband, Marskal, the Hawks’ salute, though he was long since retired from the high queen’s elite guard. Finally, they made it inside the castle, and for once, Rhy appreciated the thick walls. The stone edifices mossbacks favored might be as confining as a cage, but they did cut the brutal winter winds.

It was like stepping into a different world—and a different Ordnung than he’d ever seen before. To honor the goddess Moranu’s rule over shadows and the dark of night, the rugs, table coverings, and other hangings were all in deepest black. They created a somber backdrop for the remaining decorations, which all celebrated the return of light. Silver and gold threads wove through all of the black fabrics, catching the candlelight. Crystal plates and goblets sparkled with fire, everything in silver and gold. White gems of all shapes and sizes studded everything, like thousands of stars, and garlands of evergreen boughs sporting white moonflowers that gleamed like sweetly scented living pearls festooned the walls, windows, mantels, and every other possible surface.

The elaborate crystal candelabras—some suspended by silver wires, others perched in clusters on every surface—held white candles blazing with light. More moonflower garlands dripping with flashing crystals, and possibly diamonds, hung in graceful swoops from the high ceilings.

Scribes sat at black-draped tables scattered throughout the busy reception hall, using flashing crystal implements to take notes for fancily dressed folks speaking earnestly to them. In other places, hammered gold bins held countless rolled scrolls of paper, with empty tables beside them, writing implements at the ready.

Rhy had no idea what that was about, but he had to admit—silently, in the privacy of his own head—that the mossback celebration of Moranu’s feast outstripped the one in Annfwn. Certainly more elaborate. But then, mossbacks always did like things.

“Rhy!” Astar, wearing a fancy velvet getup very like Rhy’s, came striding through the busy hall, his twin sister, Stella, right behind him. His cousin embraced him, thumping him on the back. Stella hung back, giving him her serious smile and a courtly wave. Her sorcery gave her extraordinary healing skills but also made her sensitive to people’s emotions and physical pains. She’d learned a lot about shielding herself from the Sorceress Queen Andromeda, but not touching people helped more than anything. Still, a crowd like this couldn’t be easy for her.

Rhy gave her a gallant bow, then clasped Astar’s forearm. “Happy Feast of Moranu, Willy and Nilly,” he said, using their childhood nicknames, originally assigned by exasperated adults exhausted from chasing rambunctious shapeshifting twin toddlers, and now used gleefully by their friends to annoy them. Surreptitiously scanning the throng, Rhy didn’t see Salena anywhere. Last he’d heard, she’d been off in the Aerron Desert making it rain. Maybe Moranu would look on him favorably—not that She ever did—and Salena hadn’t come tonight.

“I’m so happy you joined us, Rhy!” Stella beamed at him. “We weren’t sure you would, knowing how much you hate to leave Annfwn, especially in winter.” As dark as Astar was light, Stella looked very much like Andromeda, with storm-gray eyes that shone almost silver like her argent ballgown. Her dark hair—the exact same unusual rusty black as Rhy’s mother—was up in a complicated style that shone with red glints where the light hit it.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, my gorgeous cousin,” he replied with his most charming grin.

“Moranu save us all,” Queen Andromeda said in a very dry voice as she joined them. “It’s capable of polite speech. Who knew? Happy Feast of Moranu, niece and nephew, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, Auntie Andi,” Stella replied after Astar finished hugging their aunt for the both of them. “Mother and Auntie Essla are getting dressed now. I’m to ask you to join them in Her Majesty’s rooms.”

Queen Andromeda dusted off her leather riding pants unnecessarily. “Ah. Time to confront whatever Glorianna-inspired creation my baby sister intends to dress me in.”

“Auntie Ami is dressing you tonight?” Rhy asked, beyond surprised.

“Yes.” His mother wrinkled her nose at him. “Which is something you’d know if you’d listened to anything I’ve said for the last three days instead of sulking. Ami insisted on designing gowns for the three of us sisters. Essla, too. We’re frankly terrified,” she confided.

Even in his rotten mood, Rhy had to smile at that. As the avatar of Glorianna, goddess of beauty and love, his Aunt Ami embraced all things frivolous. “I’m amazed you agreed.”

His mother grimaced. “We’re all making concessions so this event will be a perfect celebration,” she replied meaningfully.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

She straightened his collar, smiling wistfully. “I know you hate this,” she said quietly, “but you look very handsome.”

He batted her hands away, but relented and gave her a hug. “Good luck. I’ll pray to Moranu for you that the dress isn’t pink.”

“She wouldn’t do that to me,” his mother replied firmly. “Would she?” She shook her head. “I’ll see you all later.”

Once Andi left them, Astar clapped Rhy on the back. “It’s been too long.” He waggled his blond brows. “And we have a bottle of Branlian whiskey waiting to properly kick off this celebration.”

Rhy whistled in appreciation. “How did you get that?”

“Being heir to the High Throne might be the bane of my existence, but it does have a few perks.” Astar shoved back his golden curls, grinning cheerfully.

“And Jak has promised to bring aged Dasnarian mjed,” Stella added. “He sent a message that Jepp and Kral obtained a few casks of the good stuff, and he’s bringing one.”

“Then we might as well start on the whiskey,” Rhy said, “so we’ll be ready for the mjed. Who else is here so far of the old gang?” There. He’d asked that nonchalantly enough. Please say Salena isn’t coming.

“Jak arrived this morning. Otherwise, only we have joined the party so far that I’ve seen,” Astar replied. “But I’ve had a salon set aside for us to all meet up. Jak is keeping a lookout for the girls to emerge from their primping, and he’ll bring them to join us.” He smiled, every inch the golden prince. “It will be good to have all seven of us together again.”

“Won’t it, though?” Rhy said, scanning the crowd again with increasing dread. All seven of us. So Salena was coming. In fact, it sounded like she was already here. And they were going to be crammed into a tiny room together.

This night would be endless.

~ 2 ~

 

And there he was. Rhyian. Like night made into flesh, Moranu’s loving hand all over him, crowning him her Prince of Shadows. Salena couldn’t look away.

Amid the glittering crowd, laughing with Astar and Stella, Rhyian stood tall and languid, black hair in glossy disarray as if he’d just crawled out of some girl’s bed. Probably had. He wore silver-trimmed black velvet, perfectly tailored. And, even slouching with indolent grace, hands stuck carelessly in his pockets, he dominated the room with dark radiance. Astar, ever the golden prince, dimmed in comparison as he gestured widely, saying something with a wide and happy smile. Rhyian nodded, clearly not paying much attention as he scanned the crowd. Looking for his next conquest, no doubt.

Don’t be bitter, she reminded herself. After all this time, she couldn’t possibly care what he did.

     

What I've Been Reading Lately

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week concerns the benefits of working with an agent - or, for those of us without agents - times we've wondered if an agent would be helpful or why we choose not to have one. 

I don’t have an agent, I’ve never wanted an agent, I don’t need an agent for what I do, which is to independently publish my own books. As I’ve said before in this space, if I was offered a movie deal or a big contract by a traditional publishing house, THEN I might seek out an agent. The other SFF’ers have written useful tips and thoughts on the topic this week so I refer you to their posts!

Which leaves me with blank space. Hmmm.

I’ve been wanting to write a post about some fun books I read recently, none of which are scifi romance or fantasy or paranormal. Yes, true confession, I read a LOT of other genres!

I was tempted to try Christina Lauren’s In a Holidaze because it has a “Groundhog Day” element of the same day repeating itself over and over as the heroine tries to fix her life. I enjoy that trope a lot and so even though I’m not much of a contemporary romance reader, I decided to try this one. I very much enjoyed the book and off I went to explore her backlist for more romances. Of the ones I tried, I loved Jack and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating, which was terrific and fun. I wasn’t quite as excited by Twice in a Blue Moon. I had a very hard time setting aside what had happened to the two main characters in the past and accepting their HEA together. Up to that point I pretty much was enjoying the book though. I think my favorite was The Honey Don’t List, mostly because of its glimpses behind the scenes of a totally fictional (wink wink) reality TV show were so much fun and I did totally buy into the HEA for everyone here. Fortunately for me, I have more of this author’s books yet to read. I do love a big backlist!

I kept seeing people rave on twitter about Spoiler Alert by Olivia Dade and I decided to try it, based on the intriguing hook which reads in part: “…set in the world of fanfiction, in which a devoted fan goes on an unexpected date with her celebrity crush, who’s secretly posting fanfiction of his own.” Wow, five stars for this one, loved it. The heroine was wonderful, the situation was fraught but highly enjoyable and I read it in one sitting, then re-read it. Now I’m working my way through her backlist, which is sadly a short one so far. I just read Teach Me and 40-Love, both of which were excellent.

Mixed in on my recent reading list were some post-apocalyptic and dystopian scifi novels and one thriller, none of which excited me enough to recommend them here. One book I basically DNF’ed although I did skim to the end because I was mildly interested in why the villain was doing what they did. Life is too short for me to keep reading a book which has lost my interest. But I always figure that’s my personal experience with the book and it may be much more someone else’s cup of tea.

To finish this post on a positive note, a big shout out to Kris Michaels and her romantic suspense series Kings of Guardian and the related Guardian Defenders. I positively devour those books and have been on a re-reading binge of some of my favorites to hold me over until the next one, Promises, releases on December first. I think the story I enjoy the most is Jewel, about one of the sisters in the sprawling extended family of security experts. I love the heroine’s quirky character, the way she has to think things through, and of course the deadly and smart man assigned to keep her safe. Lycos was actually the first one I ever read in either series, about a deadly assassin suddenly saddled with a woman and her son to safeguard, in a remote mountain site and remains high on my list of favorites to re-read. I’m probably going to try her Hope City series, about police detectives, although that’s really outside my normal reading parameters. I’m not much for crime stories even with romance but we’ll see.

I’m eagerly awaiting Under A Winter Sky: A Midwinter Anthology, which releases next week and has a new story from our fellow SFF member Jeffe Kennedy. I’m a HUUUGE Jeffe fan and I'm sure the other stories in the collection will be fun reads as well..

I also have no less than three Regency Christmas anthologies lined up on the kindle, waiting for a cozy evening when I’m just in the right mood to immerse myself…

Happy reading to you – I’d better get back to working on my own next book!

Eta and Agents

Like the sea after a storm. Except in no way does our sea look like this. Not yet. It may take a few days.

We were in Eta's path Wednesday. Eta came in as a category one hurricane and deteriorated to a tropical storm pretty quickly, but it made for one heck of an exciting day. Rain. So much rain. Wind, of course. Driving the rain against the south side of the house until Eta moved on past us. Then the wind shifted around to the west. 

The exciting part - and I mean exciting in that 'let's not do this ever again' kind of way - was every cell phone in the house blaring alarms for the copious tornado watches we had. 

Tornado warnings are first and go up for conditions that favor the formation of tornadoes. Tornado watches are second. They're the ones that alert out via emergency notification systems. When there's a watch, there's rotation in the clouds. That doesn't always mean a tornado on the ground, but it certainly means you turn on the news and watch the track of the cell that's been marked. If it heads your way, you take shelter.

Once the tornado watches and warnings stopped coming in, flood watches took over blowing up our phones. All night long. We're up high enough that we don't need to worry about the two resident gators in the backyard pond coming to dinner. 

What we had to worry about was that big south wind blowing all that water against the house. 

This morning, my bedroom floor is wrecked. Someone with very little foresight put laminate flooring in this house before we bought it. It's a kind that swells up and delaminates the instant it gets wet. This is Florida. EVERYTHING gets wet. And in this case, the storm found a way to drive water into hairline cracks in the masonry and ruin the floor. 

Hooray, insurance adjusters are in my future. 

We're lucky. We have only minor annoyance damage. At least one person was killed during the storm when the water rose enough in his house that it touched a live electrical wire. The person was electrocuted. I'll be filing that under things I never thought about happening with a hurricane/tropical storm. It never occurred to me. 

I know I was supposed to write about agents. So here's my advice: Do you want to be traditionally published? Get an agent. Just know that traditional publishing is slow. A great agent today may turn out to be the wrong agent tomorrow. Ask me how I know. On the plus side, an agent gets your work directly in front of an editor who would otherwise use your MS as a door stop. Do you want to write fast and run your own business? An agent probably isn't in your best interest. Indie publishing is something you do at your own pace. You have control of everything. The cons to going it on your own are that you go at your own pace and you control everything. If you're deadline driven, get an agent. If you're self motivated, consider skipping the agent and building your empire in your own image.

No matter which way you go, remember: There are no 'right' answers, only right for you answers. Also, back up your work.
 

Questions to ask a potential Agent AND yourself!

Literary Agents: someone who represents writers and their works to publishing houses….and film agents/producers, and audiobook companies, and foreign rights publishers, and often edit, and and and

If you’re debating the need for an agent I suggest Rory Gilmore-ing the crap out of it. Pro Con list time! That’s what I did, no surprise, and I landed firmly on traditional publishing which meant: I needed an agent. 

But, how do you select which agents you’d want to work with? How do you know if the ones you pick would be a benefit to your career? 

Truth: You Don’t. 

Situations arise that alter plans. You, nor your agent, can control the opinions of publishers. You, nor your agent, can control the market. There are so many variables that shift around you, choosing a book agent is really a leap of faith—but don’t despair! There’re also some grounded aspects at your fingertips.

Some agent aspects that shouldn’t change with the winds of publishing are: what genres they represent, what have they sold recently, what do some of their current authors think of working with said agent, what’s their reputation—if you can gather that. It’s leg work that absolutely should be done before you pursue them. But, being prepared for the call is also a huge part.

The call is basically you interviewing the agent. So, that means you’d better be prepared with a list of questions for them. And yes, there’s plenty of lists of Questions to ask an Agent before Signing out there, but I believe you should also be asking yourself questions alongside them…and be open with your agent about your thoughts.

Questions for the agent in Red. 

Questions for yourself in Blue.

What did you like about my book?

What do I like about my book?

What work do you see that needs to be done before going out on submission?

Are you an editorial agent?

Do I want to work with an agent on editing my book?

Do you sign authors for one book, or for their career?

Does your agency use a contract?

Are there others at your agency that I would be working with?

What does your submission process look like?

What happens if this book doesn’t sell?

What would I want to do with this book if it doesn’t sell?

What project do I really want to work on next?

Would you support me writing in a different genre?

How many authors do you represent and what genres do they write?

How do you usually communicate with your authors?

Do I want to brainstorm with an agent, or would I prefer to come to them with ready-formed ideas?

As always, there’s no wrong answers to these. But they’re important to ask and think about because once you’re in an agent-author relationship, and working with an agent is a business relationship, you’ll come across all of these situations and more.

I’ve been through this process and would love to answer questions if you have any! Drop them here, or you can find me on Insta and ask there! Otherwise, may the words be with you!

Indies & Agents

Working with an agent: Would you? Could you? Should you?

As an Indie, I don't work with an agent currently, mostly because there's no need. There's no publisher, studio, or third-party corporation who is trying to buy the rights to my work or to whom I am trying to sell my rights--be it in the US markets or International.

The moment a business of any ilk wants to buy any segment of my rights, that's when I'd look for an agent, or at the very least, an IP lawyer. A business is always out for its best interests, which usually aren't my best interests. I suffer no delusion of being able to outsmart an entire legal department for whom IP contracts are old hat, thus getting an agent who is well experienced (and/or whose agency is) would behoove me.

Would an agent take me on? Possibly, if I already have an offer from a large publisher. Depends on whether there is money to be made--now and in the future--that is worth their time. Would an agent take me on with just the catalog I have and no offers on the table? Oh, gosh no. I have nothing for them to sell.

What if you're that one-in-a-billion unicorn Indie author who is approached by a publisher that wants to buy your already published works to which you still own all rights? Congrats! YES, get an agent before you sign anything. Reputable publishers will not balk at you asking them to hold that thought for two weeks while you secure an agent. When querying agents at that point, be sure to put "Query: Have Offer From [Publisher Name]" in the subject line.

Should You Sign With an Agent?

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week concerns the benefits of working with an agent - or, for those of us without agents - times we've wondered if an agent would be helpful or why we choose not to have one. 

I do have an agent, Sarah Younger of Nancy Yost Literary Agency. She's the third agent who's represented me - and I can personally vouch that having a bad agent really is worse than having none at all. But, I do believe having a good agent can be hugely beneficial - depending on what kind of writing career you want to have. 

What are the benefits of working with an agent? Here are three - along with their associated caveats.

Selling to big traditional publishing houses. 

By this, I mean the bigger houses that don't take unsolicited submissions. A good agent has connections - positive relationships - with editors who depend on agents to bring them books that fit what they love and can buy. This means that agents who send submissions to tons of editors in the hopes of something sticking to the wall, are not good agents. Agents who only manage to sell to houses that take unsolicited submissions aren't bringing much to the table either. This also means that if you are happy sticking to self-publishing, you don't need an agent.

Contract negotiation

See above. If you're selling to traditional publishing, an agent can be critical in negotiating the best deal and securing your rights. They're savvy to the grabs publishers can try to sneak past unwary authors. An agent who doesn't argue with contract language may not be doing their job. Also, a good agent will be solidly on the author's team, fighting for the author. Be wary of agents who prioritize preserving their relationship with the editor over championing the author. Unless the author is behaving badly, the agent should always put them first.

Career planning

A good agent can help strategize which projects a writer should choose to work on next. Again, they're going to come at this from the angle of selling to traditional publishing. Now, if you're the sort of writer who wants to work on exactly what you want to work on, with no input and without consideration for the current market - which some people are and that's a legitimate choice - then you won't want this from an agent. An agent can still sell your work in this scenario, but they'll be the sort who say "give me the next thing you write and we'll see." Both of these models work, but knowing which will work for you is key.

Having an agent can be beneficial to an author, but it's not a career-maker or breaker. Knowing what you want from an agent - or IF you want an agent - is most important. 

Space Constraints

 Yes, hello? This is Marcella, phoning in her blog post because she spent the entire day - and I do mean the ENTIRE day - in the ER with an ill parent. Who is going to be just fine, btw. But the day's allotment of brain cells have been consumed and all that's left is the siren song of sleep.

So here. Photo. Just to prove that I do occasionally take pictures of something other than cats. 

As for book length - listen. If you self pub, do you as far as word counts/book length go. Readers will let you know right quick if they feel you're messing with expectation. 

If you're aiming for a traditional house, check their guidelines for length requirements and stick to them. 

During my second ever RWA conference, I pitched a book to an editor. She asked the word count. I gave it. 120k words. She said, "I can't publish that!" Turns out, bookstore shelf space is designed with mass market paperbacks in mind. A 100k word book in mass market is about an inch thick. X number of those books can fit cover out on the shelf. Anything more than that and a book store is going to have to stock fewer of your books or give up shelf space. You can guess how that math is going to go. Granted. This conversation took place before self publishing was a thing. Yes. I am that old. Hush. 

Trad print houses still have to worry about things like printed book footprint. 

E-pubs and self-pubs can monkey around a little with length. Pixels have pretty tiny footprints. Feetprints? They're small.

Yeah. I'm going to bed.