When Hindsight Becomes Foresight

Spoiler alert: this blog post mentions infertility, depression, and suicidal ideation. I've tried to address these topics with sensitivity and authenticity, but if you need to skip this post for the sake of your own mental health, I completely understand.

About seven years ago, I decided it was time to have another kid. We already had three, but I'd thought for several years that our family wouldn't be complete until we had one more, and now the time finally felt right. My depression was under control, I'd stopped taking medication, and we'd moved closer to family. Plus, it felt like God was telling me the time was finally right. I was energized and hopeful.

I didn't get pregnant the first month, which wasn't weird, so it was fine. I didn't the second month, either--but my sister-in-law did. They announced their awesome news at a family gathering. I probably felt a little bad, but the women in my husband's family are notoriously fertile. It was fine. Completely fine.

I told my brother-in-law's wife that we were trying to conceive. She knew exactly how I felt. Though she and her husband didn't have trouble conceiving, she did have a hard time carrying pregnancies to term. We'd bonded before over our shared misery of having married into such a baby-come-easy family.

Then, a month or several later, she said she was pregnant, too.

This made me feel a little worse--or, you know, maybe a lot worse. I tried to be happy for her, but I wasn't, not at all. Now I was an awful person in addition to *not* pregnant.

This was sometime in the winter, which was colder, snowier, and generally more miserable than my last ten winters had been. I'm sure this had something to do with my worsening depression, but I was too far gone to make that logical connection, and my depression quickly spiraled into suicidal thoughts. Church was soul-suckingly bad, and family gatherings were worse. At least my *other* brother-in-law's wife had no bun in the proverbial oven and showed no signs of wanting one. We didn't talk as much, but I decided we were tight, on the same side, and all of that.

Until--you guessed it--she announced that she was having her first baby.

There were now three babies coming to my husband's family, and not a single one was mine. Why was God rewarding them but somehow not rewarding me? Was I less righteous, less deserving? Then why had I felt so strongly that the time was finally right?

This was in, like, February, and my suicidal thoughts were pretty much out of control. After sitting down to talk about it with my husband's parents, I decided I would give myself two more months to conceive. The thought of giving God a deadline didn't sit quite right with me, but even I could tell that this was rapidly becoming a life-or-death situation. Two more tedious months passed, and I didn't get pregnant.

Still.

I was beaten. I was vanquished. Scheduling that doctor's visit felt like admitting defeat. I mean, I knew I had to do it--for myself, my family--but I didn't *want* to do it. And I didn't understand why God had let me wander recklessly so far down the wrong path.

The day of the appointment came. I told the doctor all my crap. (I've been doing authenticity since before it became cool.) Then she told me something wondrous, something I'd wondered about but never let myself believe: there was a type of medication that would *not* affect the fetus even if I took it straight through an entire pregnancy.

This, of course, was the solution, the detour I couldn't see from where I was firmly stuck. I started this new medication, and after working out the dosage over the next several months, I managed to sweet-talk my husband into trying to conceive again. (He was understandably gun-shy after the year that we'd endured.)

We got pregnant right away, and our Gummy Bear was born in April of 2018.

This wasn't the first time that, with the benefit of hindsight, I could see how Heavenly Father's plan was so much better than *my* plan, but I swore it would be the last. This ordeal had to have changed me. The next time I hit a roadblock, I couldn't spend weeks, months, or years working myself into a frenzy or shaking my fists at God. I had to hope. I had to trust. I had to let myself believe that God really does know what He's doing, that He's looking out for me, and that He knows how to do more with and make more of my life than I ever could alone.

I didn't know it then, but as it turned out, my next hard thing had already begun. EARTH TO DAD had sold to Capstone in February of 2017--right when, incidentally, I was going nuclear--and since then, perhaps you've noticed that I haven't sold a thing. *I* didn't notice right away, but it's become hard to ignore. I also had to leave an agent after he didn't connect with the new stuff I was writing, and the new agent I found had to medically retire in May earlier this year.

But honestly? I'm fine. Actually, completely fine. Do I wish I'd made a sale in the last six or seven years? Um, of course, yes, absolutely. But am I foaming at the mouth because my journey hasn't gone the way I wanted it to go? For once, thankfully, no. I still have some not-great days, but for the most part, I've been able to keep writing, writing, writing and give God the time and space to lead me down the proper road. I hope I'll know it when I see it, but until then, I'm content to keep waiting on the Lord. There are much worse ways to wait.

Required Reading on Sexual Assault and Harassment in Children's Publishing

As the #MeToo movement has continued to gain steam within the publishing industry, I haven't known how to address it. Though I believe and support the victims, I've had nothing new to add or personal to say. I've never been sexually assaulted or even harassed. I consider myself extremely lucky. But I've wanted to say SOMETHING, so I thought I'd pull together a link list:

"Facing Sexual Harassment Charges, An Exec Art Director at Penguin Workshop Resigns" from Publishers Weekly: As far as I'm aware, Giuseppe Castellano's resignation was the first domino to fall. This article, posted on December 5, details the allegations as well as Penguin Young Readers Group's response.

"Children's Publishing Reckons with Sexual Harassment in Its Ranks" from the School Library Journal: The conversation heated up when this article was posted on January 3. It mentions Mr. Castellano's resignation and details David Diaz's resignation from the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators' board. The comments section quickly filled with other allegations about prominent male authors (see below).

"Ishta Mercurio Goes Public as David Diaz Accuser," again from the School Library Journal: Dated February 5, this article updates the SLJ's initial post with Mr. Diaz's accuser's name. Along with Charlyne Yi, Mr. Castellano's accuser, Ms. Mercurio becomes one of the first victims to publicly identify herself.

"Sexual Harassment in the Children's Book Industry" by Anne Ursu: This post, dated February 7, breaks down the results of an anonymous survey Ms. Ursu took back in December. It's a lengthy read, but it highlights the anecdotal evidence underlying the SLJ's post.

"#metoo #ustoo Change Starts Now: Stand Against Harassment in the YA/Kidlit Community" by Gwenda Bond: Dated February 9, this post includes a letter penned by Ms. Bond that encourages conferences, festivals, and publishers to adopt and enforce stricter zero-tolerance policies regarding sexual harassment. You can sign your name by posting a comment at the bottom.

"Maze Runner author James Dashner dropped by literary agent" from the Associated Press: This article, carried by every major news outlet on February 14, includes a quote from Mr. Dashner's former agent, Michael W. Bourret. It also mentions that Jay Asher was recently dropped by Andrea Brown Literary Agency. Note that Mr. Dashner's and Mr. Asher's names came up multiple times in the comments of the SLJ's post.

"Sexual Harassment" by Dan Wells: Another prominent male author whose name came up in the comments of the SLJ's post was Dan Wells. The anonymous commenter later took her comment back, but Mr. Wells responds to the apology and the allegation in this post, dated today.

I'm sure I missed something, so if you're aware of another major contribution to this ongoing conversation, feel free to add it in the comments.

A Dream Eclipsed

A week or two ago, an amazing thing happened: I held a finished book in my hands, and it had my name on it. The first copies of THE SOUND OF LIFE AND EVERYTHING are hot off the press, and the always gracious Shauna was kind enough to send one to me.

It was definitely a cool moment (or even a stupendous one), but in the ensuing days and weeks, that high has tapered off, and I've gone back to feeling mostly ambivalent about the upcoming release. I'm about to fulfill a lifelong dream--and after holding that book in my hands, I've kind of already fulfilled it--and the most that I can drum up is ho-hum ambivalence?

What in the heck is wrong with me?

I've thought long and hard about why I'm so indifferent, and the realization I've come to is that I've been letting the noise, both good and bad, get under my skin. Reviews have been coming in for the last couple of months, and if they haven't been awful, they've just been all right. (And by "all right," I mean they haven't been starred. Are starred reviews the only ones worth mentioning? I have no idea.) But before I got those reviews, I let other people's dreams for this book go to my head. I started thinking of them less as dreams and more as certainties. Of course my book was great. Of course everyone was going to love it.

I don't know when I stopped caring about the book itself and only about what other people thought of it, but somewhere along the way, it happened. You can survive when other people think it's awesome, but you won't really be content. And when someone bursts your bubble, you'll crash back down to earth. To insulate yourself from future heartbreak, you'll convince yourself that you don't care, and then you really won't.

I don't know how to reverse this process, but I want to figure it out. Once upon a time, I was confident enough that both the praise and the scorn rolled right off my back. I want to find that girl again. I know she's in here somewhere.

For those of you who are reading this post in your inboxes or feed readers, you should know that I'm giving away two signed ARCs of THE SOUND OF LIFE AND EVERYTHING on Goodreads. Also, I just added an "Educators" page to the blog, so if you want to learn more about my school and library visits, definitely check it out!

THE SOUND OF LIFE AND EVERYTHING Gets a Blurb

Actually, THE SOUND OF LIFE AND EVERYTHING got this blurb a while ago, but I haven't really appreciated it until now. When this blurb rolled in, I didn't understand that most authors won't have the time or inclination to read the books they're asked to blurb, and even the ones that do might not--or probably won't--be willing to put their names on it for a host of reasons. So this blurb from Tricia Springstubb, who wrote WHAT HAPPENED ON FOX STREET (among other things), has come to mean a lot to me:

"Krista Van Dolzer gives us a treasure in Ella Mae Higbee, a think-for-yourself, do-it-yourself heroine sure to win hearts. Like most of us, Ella Mae believes she knows the difference between right and wrong, until life and truth prove to be much more complicated. This is a story brimming with empathy, humor, forgiveness, and wisdom about what it means to be truly, fully human."

Ms. Springstubb picked up on everything I'd hoped a reader would pick up on, then expressed it in a beautiful, straightforward way. I'm not a hugger, but if I ever meet Ms. Springstubb, I might not be able to resist.

A Few Thoughts on the Ongoing Debate Between Hachette and Amazon

You've probably heard of the ongoing debate between Hachette and Amazon, so I'm not going to give you the blow-by-blow. Suffice it to say that these two behemoths have been wrangling over terms for several months, and a long list of authors have been caught in the crosshairs. Tensions flared this week when Douglas Preston started circulating this open letter to readers and a group of self-published authors responded with a petition of their own.

Before I go any further, I should point out that while I'm not a Hachette author, I have sold books to two traditional publishers, so if I do have sympathies, they probably lie on Hachette's side. That said, I've tried to tackle this topic as fairly as I can (but I AM a writer, so sometimes I get a little carried away--consider yourself warned).

Amazon's MO

Contrary to popular opinions, I don't think Amazon is either the savior of the publishing industry or the greasy-haired conman they're sometimes made out to be. They're a business, so they're out to make money however they can. One way they make money is by selling books, and they sell LOTS of them. They sell so many books--and TVs, hot pads, and jet packs--that they can afford to sell books for not very much money. Sometimes they even sell books for less than they paid for them.

If a seller does this with the specific intent to drive other sellers out of business, it's called predatory pricing, and it's illegal under most countries' antitrust laws. Now, of course, I can't speak to Amazon's intent, but from the outside looking in, it does seem like there might be a case.

The Thing About Royalty Rates

One of the first points raised by the petition in question has to do with royalty rates. To quote directly from that petition:

New York Publishing once controlled the book industry. They decided which stories you were allowed to read. They decided which authors were allowed to publish. They charged high prices while withholding less expensive formats. They paid authors as little as possible, usually between 2% and 12.5% of the list price of a book.

Amazon, in contrast, trusts you to decide what to read, and they strive to keep the price you pay low. They allow all writers to publish on their platform, and they pay authors between 35% and 70% of the list price of the book.

Though the facts themselves are right, I disagree with the way that they've slanted these facts. A traditional publisher--and Amazon runs several of these--pays for everything upfront, including the editors, the designers, the sales reps, the publicists, and the author himself or herself. From a monetary perspective, the author risks NOTHING. Any money he or she makes at this point is pure profit, since he or she has incurred no costs. (Okay, okay, the author has incurred SOME costs, but they're opportunity costs at this point, and accountants never take those into account.) The royalty rate that the publisher pays reflects this balance of risk.

(Is it the right royalty rate? I don't know. But the economist in me has to believe that if publishers were unnecessarily dinging authors, there would be room in the market for another publisher to come in and pay better rates to produce the same product. Smaller presses attempt to do this--and some offer rates that are significantly better than the ones you can get at a larger house--but their resources are often more limited. For instance, while you can buy a HarperCollins or Penguin Random House title in virtually any bookstore in the country, you can't always find books from a randomly chosen small press.)

By contrast, Amazon invests very little in the self-published titles they offer for sale. They provide a virtual storefront from which self-published authors can peddle their wares (and perhaps some free advertising), but these services cost little to no money on their end. From a monetary perspective, Amazon risks NOTHING. Any money they make at this point is pure profit, since they haven't incurred any costs. When you think about it that way, it's kind of surprising that they find reason to keep anywhere from 30% to 65% of the list price.

Amazon's Position in the Market

It's undeniable that the rise of Amazon was the major contributing factor to the rise of the e-book. Someone was going to develop the technology sooner or later, so why not Amazon? We're dreamers, believers, so even though I still don't own a smartphone, I support innovation.

I wasn't really plugged into the industry when Amazon first came to power, but it seems like most publishers welcomed Amazon--at first. They were going to single-handedly save the publishing industry, give book lovers greater access, and woo new readers with their cheap wares and quality customer service. But what started as a snowball quickly morphed into an avalanche, and as Amazon's market share soared, publishers started to see the writing on the wall.

Is it great to have a seller who can cheaply and efficiently get your goods into the hands of consumers? Absolutely. Is it great to have ONE seller who's forced its competitors out of the market? Not so much. And that's where we're headed. Borders has already fallen. Barnes & Noble isn't looking so great. Independent booksellers have made up some ground in the very recent past, but they'll never be able to compete on price or distribution (so they'll have to find other ways to market themselves--and in many cases, they have, which is why they've been doing better lately).

The Power of Price

Which brings me to the next issue: price. Prices do lots of great things in the market. They ration scarce resources and act as signals to consumers. I've already addressed Amazon's reasoning for keeping the price of books low, so why do traditional publishers want to keep the price of books high (or at least higher)?

The truth is, I don't know. Some people would have you believe they don't want you to have easy access to books--or, in other words, that they're using prices to ration scarce resources (which, in some ways, they are)--but I suspect it has more to do with the fact that they can't pay everyone who needs to be paid to produce the caliber of books that they're used to producing for $2.99 (or even $4.99). Also, as I mentioned above, prices act as signals to consumers, who are confronted with literally tens of thousands of books to choose from. With so many choices (and I'm not bashing on choices), price is one way that traditional publishers can set their books apart.

The End

I won't address the rest of the petition's assertions, since they're less about facts and more about feelings. The writers offer explanations for Amazon's actions regarding Hachette titles, so I'll let you decide what you want to believe. But I do think it's important to have these conversations, because they WILL shape the future of the publishing industry, and I think we can all agree that we want it to be around for a very long time.

Some Great Thing

I have crazy eyes. I don't know the name of my condition, but suffice it to say that I got glasses when I was three and contacts when I was thirteen, but I haven't worn corrective lenses since the summer after I turned fourteen. My vision had improved--which is to say that my brain had learned how to discard all the input it got from my bad eye--and though my mom didn't believe me, the ophthalmologist confirmed it.

But there was a catch: according to the ophthalmologist, my vision would go bad again, probably when I got pregnant. Except it hasn't happened. Three kids and sixteen years later, I'm still waiting for my vision to deteriorate. But even though it's hanging in there, it isn't what it used to be. My eyes are always tired, even right after I wake up, and there are some days when the only thing that brings relief is putting on a mask and taking a rest on the couch. My vision is as clear as it's been in the past, but my eyes feel like they're working ten times harder to stay focused. They're exhausted. I'm exhausted. We all wish they'd just fail so I can wear contacts again.

Lately, though, I've wondered if something more is going on. I have a tendency to jump to the worst-case scenario--I think most writers do; that's one of the things that make us writers--so I've convinced myself I'm going blind. And a really weird thing happened: I convinced myself I'd be okay. No, I convinced myself I'd thrive.

Now, it isn't that I think being blind would be easy. The truth is, being blind must be incredibly hard. Like, so hard I can't imagine it. So hard I can't appreciate how much easier it is to be a person who sees. But there's something about running into a giant obstacle that brings out the best in people. When the going gets tough, most people really do get going (and I think--I hope--I'd do the same).

But then a small voice whispered, "If you'd be okay with going BLIND, why can't you be okay with this? Aren't tired eyes way better than eyes that don't see at all?"

It's been almost a year since Steve and Clyde sold, give or take, and what I've learned along the way, from my experience and others', is that little disappointments will always be part of this journey. Editors switch jobs. Books get reassigned. Covers get dumped. Release dates get pushed back. I'll admit that I've let these things get to me more than I probably should have, especially since they're NOTHING compared to the cancellation of a contract or the closing of an imprint.

One of my favorite Bible stories is the story of Naaman. He's some kind of hotshot in the Syrian army, but his wife's handmaiden is a young Israelite girl. When Naaman contracts leprosy, this handmaiden tells her mistress that there's a prophet in Israel who has the power to heal her husband. Naaman pulls a caravan together and marches down to Elisha's house, intent on finding a cure. But when they get there, Elisha doesn't even bother to come out and say hello. He sends his servant boy instead, and what the servant boy tells him is so simple it's preposterous: wash in the Jordan River seven times, and his leprosy will go away.

Naaman is incensed. He's a Syrian hotshot, for Pete's sake, and yet Elisha can't be bothered to deliver these orders himself? Also, the Jordan River is a trickle. There are way better rivers back in Syria. He came all this way for THIS?

But his counselor is more reasonable. He points out that if the prophet had told him to do some great thing--hike to the top of Mount Caramba, retrieve a feather from a phoenix, and use it to fly home--he would have done it in a heartbeat. So why shouldn't he do this very small and simple thing?

I don't know why some of us have to hike to the top of Mount Caramba while others are told to wash in a river seven times. But if we're willing to climb a mountain, we should probably be willing to take a dip in that gross river. It's rarely as bad as it seems.

You Only Get One Debut

This morning, I tweeted, "You only get one debut. Use it wisely." It's short, it's sweet, it's great for Twitter, but when Alina Borger pushed me for a more detailed explanation (oh, wait, I have to explain?), I thought it would be easier to address her question on the blog.

A thread on Absolute Write was what got me ruminating on this topic. A writer published a book with a small--very small--press, but even though she only sold a handful of copies, she didn't regret it. The manuscript was never going to attract the attention of a major publisher, so she didn't see the harm in publishing with a small press now and pursuing her dream of major trade publication later.

But you only get one debut. There have been a few exceptions--Ally Condie comes to mind (though you probably didn't know MATCHED wasn't her first book)--but for the most part, you only get one chance to make a first impression. Stated another way, you can only be a variable when you're actually a variable. If you don't have a sales record, publishers have to rely on a set of complicated formulas--and possibly their tea leaves--to determine how much your book is worth. If you don't have a sales record, a publishing team can go completely crazy--editors drop everything and read your book in twenty minutes, publicists start booking your spot on the Today show--and then the dollars fly. You are the Next Big Thing. Your book is going to outsell Harry Potter and Twilight COMBINED.

But once you have a sales record, it will follow you around for the rest of your career. Publishers no longer have to guess how much your books are worth; your sales figures will tell them.

Now, is it possible for your next book to outperform your previous ones? Of course. (Just ask Suzanne Collins.) But is it probable? Maybe not. So if you want to land a book deal with a major publisher in the future, it might not be in your best interest to accept one with a smaller publisher now.

Thirty Is the New Twenty: Why New Adult Is Making Inroads

While the term New Adult has been floating around for the last couple of years, it's only really gotten traction in the last couple of months. A few weeks ago, Publishers Marketplace added New Adult as a subcategory, and at around the same time, a so-called New Adult title, Jamie McGuire's WALKING DISASTER, hit the number-one spot on USA Today's best-selling books list.

Now, I can't say what New Adult actually is. Several people have tried, including a writer at Shelf Awareness and another at USA Today, but I don't think anybody really knows where the needle's going to settle. So far, it appears that most New Adult titles are knockoffs of E.L. James's FIFTY SHADES OF GREY, at least according to the deal listings on Publishers Marketplace. But I suspect that this will change, that the category will break out--and in a big way--because of one simple truth:

People aren't growing up as quickly as they used to.

My adulthood in brief: I got married at twenty, had a mortgage by twenty-two, and gave birth to my first child at twenty-three. Now at twenty-nine, I have three kids, am almost a third of the way through that thirty-year mortgage, and will probably be an empty-nester by the time I'm fifty. But what's become increasingly clear to me is that I'm an anomaly among my peers.

The twenties have morphed into a kind of extended adolescence, a time to figure out who you are and what you want without Mom or Dad or the vice principal looking over your shoulder. The legal barriers to self-discovery slide out of the way, and you can pretty much do and be and have it all (provided you can fit it in that two-hundred-dollar backpack you're planning to schlep across Europe or the Himalayas or wherever it is that people go to discover themselves nowadays). I'm not saying that's good or bad (though I do have an opinion on the topic); I'm simply saying that's how it is.

So it's no surprise that a similarly slanted cadre of books are finding a toehold in the marketplace. Twenty-somethings aren't adolescents, but in today's world, they're not adults, either. Readers figured that out a while back, and now New York City is finally catching up.

P.S. Don't miss the additional opinions/thoughts in the comments!

My Take on the Whole DOJ Debacle

If you have even a passing interest in the publishing industry, you’ve no doubt heard of the lawsuit the Department of Justice (DOJ) filed against Apple and the Big Six, less Random House, earlier this week. When I noticed that every industry professional I followed was taking the publishers' side (especially since most of those industry professionals were agents and thus not directly affiliated with any of the major players), I suspected something was fishy. And now, after reading Nathan Bransford’s excellent post on the topic, I know it is.

The background is complicated, but here’s the basic idea insofar as I understand it: E-books used to be--and in many cases, still are--priced according to the wholesale model of distribution, in which e-sellers pay a publisher’s wholesale price for e-books, then turn around and sell them at whatever end price they choose. In 2010, Apple convinced five of the six major publishers to switch to the agency model, in which the publishers set the end price for their titles, then split the revenue with the e-seller according to a predetermined percentage.

The DOJ’s claiming that Apple and those five major publishers colluded--that is, got together in some secret lair (read: upscale New York restaurant) and decided as a group--to set artificially high prices. Which is illegal. Which has been illegal ever since they first put the antitrust laws on the books back in the days of big oil and railroad barons.

But here’s the thing: The government implemented antitrust laws to PROTECT CONSUMERS FROM MONOPOLISTS. And even if Apple and Company got together in their upscale New York restaurant and agreed to fix prices--which is a big "if," one that Macmillan, Penguin, and Apple have already decided to challenge in court--you could argue that they were colluding to PROTECT CONSUMERS FROM A MONOPOLIST.

Which monopolist? Well, that would be Amazon, of course.

See, if you want to understand why publishers switched to the agency model--which, as Mr. Bransford pointed out, actually cost them revenue (and continues to do so)--you have to understand what, or who, they were facing. Amazon sets their prices so as to be the lowest-priced seller of every good on the planet, and I daresay they are. In fact, they price many e-books below cost, which means they actually lose money every time one of those e-books sells. And why would they do that? To drive every other e-seller out of the market, thus leaving them free to do whatever they want (which, according to this article, they kind of already are).

It’s called predatory pricing, and it’s also illegal under the government’s current antitrust laws.

I guess what I’m saying is that, like always, the government is a little late to the party and not quite up to speed on what’s actually happening. Even if they can prove that the major players colluded, how are they going to explain why they never came after Amazon, who, arguably, threw the first punch? And how are they going to handle a group of sellers who, even if they are found liable, were only acting to insulate themselves--and consumers--from the market effects of a monopolist?

It’s not often that the best interests of buyers and sellers align, but in this case, I can’t help but wonder if that’s precisely what happened…