Lilith Saintcrow

The Authorfest last night was a ton of fun. Thanks to everyone who came out–new faces and old! I got to see Aimee A., Marne O., Jay S. and his lovely wife, and Kristin B. (otherwise known as the Bravest Woman In The World) as well as lots of new fans. I got to sit next to the amazing Nina Kiriki Hofman, who was very very kind to the Little Prince. (She also had her Nebula with her, which was awesome to see.) Big thanks to Powell’s for hosting us, to Saint Peter Honigstock for putting the whole thing together, and to Lea D. for helping.

Plus, a special shout out to the 501st–you guys are rad. Especially the nice young man who let the Little Prince put his stormtrooper helmet on. He’s still talking about that, with a dreamy glint in his big eyes.

I was so busy from the moment I got there I was barely able to say hello to my tablemates and grab a quick hug from the Hendees. Fellow Dame Devon Monk was there signing up a storm, as well as the charming Alma Alexander, who I almost accidentally hip-checked. I am clumsy.

I know I’ve missed a bunch of people that were there. I literally didn’t have a free moment the entire event. I was exhausted by the end of it, and had to get home, though I would have loved to go to at least two of the dinners I got invitations for, but I just couldn’t. I got home, made pizza for the kids, and promptly finished a short story, then crawled to bed.

Today is for sliding the revisions on Heaven’s Spite to the front of the queue, so I can have a workable first draft by deadline. No rest for the wicked, right? But I wouldn’t trade this job for the world. At least every time I revise a story I have a chance at getting it closer to what it was in my head. I may not ever get there, mind, but at least I can get closer.

Over and out.

I didn’t make OryCon this year, but I will be at the SF/F Authorfest at the Cedar Hills Crossing Powell’s this afternoon from 4-7PM. It promises to be a smashing good time, what with Timothy Zahn, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Barb & JC Hendee, fellow Dame Devon Monk, and yours truly as well as plenty of other awesome authors there. The 501st is also putting in an appearance.

Now I’ve got to bash at a short story before I have to get ready to go. Wish me luck.

First of all, we have a winner in the contest for a signed Flesh Circus! Random.org helped me pick a comment number. The winner is comment #11, kara-karina! Kara-karina, drop me an email with your snail mail address and I’ll send you a signed, personalized copy of Jill’s latest adventure.

Also, I am over at SciFiGuy’s place today, with an interview and a chance to win a copy of Betrayals. I will be answering questions in the comments all day. Come on by and say hello! Plus, I’ll be at the Cedar Hills Crossing Powell’s this Sunday for the SF/F Authorfest. Come by and see me, fellow Dame Devon Monk, Barb & JC Hendee, and a bunch of other cool people, including the 501st Cloud City Garrison (Vader’s Fist). Good times will be had by all.

And now, my dears, for my Friday writing post. Are you all settled in with a tasty sandwich and frosty beverage? Good enough.

If I’d listened, none of this would have happened.

You see, I grew up being told that I was a quitter. That I never finished anything, that I had no discipline. I was told that I had my head in the clouds, that I was unreliable, that I might be booksmart but I would never be smart in any other way. I was just too dreamy. I always took the easy way out.

Part of the work I’ve been doing on myself lately has been taking a look at some of those core assumptions I was raised with. A big core belief is that I’m unlovable. Only slightly less huge is the belief that I’m a quitter, that all my success has been a fluke and that I have to live in constant fear of being exposed as, well, a fake.

I may know intellectually that this makes no sense. But the real work comes in when it’s time to change that sick heart-thumping feeling of danger, the feeling that you might be found out at any moment, that you are an imposter in a world of Real People.

I have two beautiful children I’m raising mostly-alone. I am making a living by writing, not the easiest task. I have over twenty books out. And just this week my editor at Razorbill called and told me Betrayals made the Times list for Children’s Paperback Fiction.

It was about twenty minutes later, when I was squeeing on the phone with my agent, that the ugly core belief came out.

“Do they ever make a mistake?” I asked her, anxiously. “I mean, will they find out they’ve been wrong and take it away? Does that happen?”

She reassured me that no, it did not happen, and we went back to squeeing. But later, after I hung up the phone, I wondered why I’d even thought that. It’s the New York Times list, for Christ’s sake. Why could I not accept and believe that I’d worked my ass off, day in and day out, and might deserve some part of the honor?

Because of that core belief that I’m a quitter. It was said to me so often for the first twenty-odd years of my life that I’ve ended up internalizing it, believing it–and it taints even the best news a writer could hope for with the sullen, gut-clenching feeling of being a faker.

But there’s hope. (There’s always hope.)

I pretty much accepted failure was going to be part of my professional life when I set out to get published. Rejection and failure happen every day, and sometimes multiple times a day for a writer. But total failure wasn’t an option. I decided to keep writing until someone, somewhere, liked what I did and offered to publish it. Sooner or later, I reasoned, if I kept working at it, I’d get on somewhere.

Lo and behold, it happened. I got my first break, and I kept writing. I networked like a mad bastard and kept writing. I got an agent and I kept writing. I got my first New York publishing contract and I kept writing. Other contracts followed and I kept writing. Foreign rights, requests for short stories, requests for other books followed–and I kept writing.

Do you sense a theme here?

The thing about challenging a core belief is that it requires that you take a look at the empirical evidence, not just how you feel. I am supporting myself and my kids with words I pull out of thin air. I do my best to hold up my end of the bargain with my Readers–to tell the truth–and you, my dear Readers, respond.

I made an effing NYT Bestseller List, for God’s sake. This is not something you get just by sitting back and smelling roses. It took hard work and a refusal to quit.

That refusal to quit makes me not a quitter. It means whenever that nasty little voice speaks up inside my head I can meet it with evidence in the real world that I am measuring myself by a broken yardstick. That’s the first step to replacing the yardstick with one that works–and not so incidentally, one that won’t stab me in the heart every time I’m down and a little low.

If I’d listened just to that voice, though, this would never have happened. I would never have even gotten published the first time. I would have quit when I got my fiftieth rejection slip, or even earlier.

Some part of me must have known it wasn’t true. Some part of me set its shoulders, lifted its chin, and said to hell with you and what you think, this is what I’m doing. That part is the real me, and it deserves to come out into the sunshine. This is the first jackhammer I’m going to take to that edifice of the core belief. I’m going to break that f!cker up and turn it into rubble, and build something better.

If I had listened, I would have stopped before I got published. If I’d listened, I would have stopped before I got an agent. If I’d listened, I would have stopped and accepted defeat years ago. I did not. I kept going, even while believing myself a “quitter” down in the secret chambers of my heart.

How’s that for crazy?

So, my dear fellow writers (and Readers), let me tell you this. You are not what other people tell you. You are not what other people say. You are what you do. Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Get that jackhammer, get that wrecking ball, and start the process of being kind to yourself by chipping away at those voices in your head that judge you and tell you you’re Worth Less. Look at what you’ve done so far. Imagine, if you’ve done all this while believing those awful things about yourself, what could you do if you were not chained? How awesome would that be?

It’s not easy work. But, as my sister once so memorably said, “They call it life because it’s hard.”

I won’t give up. And if I can refuse to give up, so can you. Let’s go kick some ass, you and me.

Over and out.

It’s raining, but it’s warm and cozy in here. I’ve decided not to go to the grocery store–it will be a madhouse today, plus there’s nothing I really need. I’ve still done my hair and everything up as if I’m expecting to, and it feels good. There’s just something about dressing up for oneself.

So. Happy Thanksgiving, all. I have plenty to be thankful for this year, starting with my children and my career, all the way through my friends and my sisters, and ending up with the bestest present of all yesterday. I’m thankful for my Readers, each and every one. I’m thankful for my editors. I’m thankful, when it gets right down to it, that I’m still here. Every breath is a victory. I’m happy to get up in the morning and see this old globe is still spinning on a vast sea.

It’s been a rough fall–boy, is that ever an understatement. Plenty of times I didn’t think I’d make it. But I’m so, so glad I have. I’m glad I stuck it out, glad I held on–sometimes by mere fingertips. I’m very, very happy to still be here.

And I’m happy for you, whoever you are. If your eyes are touching these words right now, I am very happy you’re here. I’m thankful you’re around. Be gentle with yourself, okay? Someone is glad you’re around, even if it’s just me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I bought a 13lb. turkey in a fit of marvelous insanity, and it’s beginning to smell really good in the oven. In a little while it’ll be time to start cooking some other stuff, and make some phone calls.

But for right now I’m just going to sit a bit and drink my coffee and be glad. Right now, at this very moment, life is good.

Oh, my GOD, you guys. You guys. After a totally cruddy fall…oh, my GOD.

My editor called me not half an hour ago with the news that Betrayals, the second in the Strange Angels series, is #5 on the New York Times Children’s Paperback Bestseller list for Dec. 6th. I think I screamed in her ear for five minutes straight.

I am now sitting here alternately stunned, screaming with joy, or weeping with joy. I’ve called my writing partner, Coyote Boy, my agent, my sisters, my friends. Everyone agrees I need champagne. The kids are pleasantly happy for me, though they have no idea what the heck is happening. They just know Mum’s really excited.

I have only two words: thank you.

Thank you to Linda K. for believing in me. Thank you to Miriam, my wonderful agent, for believing in me. Thank you to Devi P. and Jessica R., editors who believed in me too. Thank you to my friends, thank you to my sisters, and thank you to my children for being wonderful. Thank you to Coyote Boy for holding the line.

Last, but most important: a great big THANK YOU to you, dear Reader. Thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for showing your appreciation. Thank you for being there. Without you, I’m just shouting in the wind.

Thank you all, each and every one of you, so, so much.

I’ve got to go cry (with joy) a little more. I keep repeating “Oh my God” and “thank you” and “Happy Thanksgiving” like a broken record.

Once more, then, because it really bears saying, and I really mean it:

Thank you. I am so happy right now. Thank you all.