There it was, nestled among the bulky, self-addressed envelopes in my mailbox that held the daily slew of rejected manuscripts: a slim white envelope with an acceptance letter.
I’d sold my first novel!
For the princely sum of $1,200.
No matter that the advance was small and the publisher had been previously unknown to me. I was living below the poverty line back then, so any money with which to feed myself and my two young kids was a godsend.
When my first check arrived – the $600 due on signing – I splurged at the grocery store: ground chuck instead of ground beef, 2-ply toilet paper, frozen concentrated orange juice I would mix with the recommended 2 cans of water instead of 3 to make it stretch. Woo hoo! I was living large!
A few months later, I proudly sent the finished manuscript for “A Falling Place” to my new publisher. By then I’d scraped together the money for plane fare to NYC—$99 round trip—and a cheap hotel room I would share with a writer friend of mine. My first trip to the Big Apple!
It was a stretch money-wise, but the second half of my advance money was due, so I wasn’t worried. I’d have the money to pay my rent and buy groceries when I returned home to Santa Cruz, California.
The day I left on my trip, the check from the publisher still hadn’t arrived. Was it lost in the mail? Had it been misaddressed? Sent by Pony Express? I was starting to freak out. I needed that money.
I had meetings scheduled with a prospective agent and my editor—let’s call her Bev—at the publishing house in Midtown Manhattan. I spent my first day in town sight-seeing. I was dazzled with a crick in my neck from looking up at all the tall buildings. I never imagined I would one day live in NYC or that my first hardcover novel, GARDEN OF LIES, would become a New York Times’ bestseller.
That evening I met with the prospective agent. Over drinks at a bar she moaned about her crisis at home: her housecleaner had quit – gasp! – leaving her in the lurch. After listening to 30 minutes of this, I knew she wasn’t the agent for me, but I considered offering her my services as a housecleaner. I was that desperate.
The next day, I got lost on my way to meet with the editor. (This was the pre-cellphone/GPS era). I arrived 30 minutes late, just as Bev was returning from somewhere. From the sheepish look she wore when I introduced myself, I knew she’d been trying to give me the slip. Fat chance, lady!
I was ushered into her office, where she explained, when I asked about the payment I was owed, about some “screw-up in accounting.” Right. I may have been a hick from the sticks, but I knew when I was getting stiffed.
Emboldened by my desperation, I told her I wasn’t leaving without my money. She looked embarrassed as she told yet another lie. “Sorry, but there’s no one in accounting at the moment to cut you a check.”
“Fine,” I told her. “I’ll wait.”
I was prepared to camp out all day if necessary—dire visions of homelessness dancing my head—but soon after I’d settled in for my “sit-in,” Bev returned holding a check for the $600 I was owed. I probably should have had it sanitized because it had obviously come out of her ass.
Triumphant, I returned home to pay my bills.
Soon after “The Falling Place” was published months later, the publishing house folded. No surprise. I’d seen it coming. Literally. But hey, I got my money – probably the last author of theirs to get paid – and a published book out of it. Somewhere I have a copy of “The Falling Place” (published under my then-married name) that all of 3 people have read, I’m convinced, one of whom was my mom.
What lives on is the memory of my “sit-in” at my publisher’s, which was the day I discovered what I was made of: one-part ink and one-part grit.
Note: Of all the characters I’ve created, the one who’s most like me is Tish Ballard, the amateur sleuth of my Cypress Bay mystery series. Clever, intrepid and at times reckless with a checkered past (unlike me, she’s a recovering alcoholic). Meet her in Book One of the series, BONES AND ROSES.
I would really like to have a copy of THE FALLING PLACE, your first novel. You had a struggle and thank goodness you made it as a gifted writer. I enjoy reading your books.
I’m afraid it’s long out of print and, if I have a copy of my own somewhere, it’s in deep storage. Not my best work, as it really was the first novel I ever wrote, but I think you for the compliment and your faith in me!
Eileen,
I’m so glad I was with Penguin USA, at the start of your fantastic career. I was fortunate to meet with many authors at the beginning of their careers, including Stephen King with “Carrie”, unfortunately when he went on tour it was usually alone on his Harley.
I remember your tour and the lunch at the Columbia restaurant in Ybor city, Tampa with several happy wholesaler folks.
I wish you continued success and more Bestsellers than you can count. Phil
Thank you, Phil! I remember you from those early days. (And now I’m married to man with the last name of Kenyon). Well, it was quite a ride and it ain’t over yet. Working on a new book. Oh, that wholesaler tour for one of my Penguin titles – I recall it vividly. Met some interesting people. Thanks for staying in touch!
What a start to writing! Good for you standing your ground, shows that you won’t be pushed around by anyone. I bet there are many aspiring writers out there who have been taken advantage of. I am so happy that I still have quite a few of your backlist to read, so I won’t run out till your next book comes out Eileen 😀
It seems I was born with extra starch in my spine!