Patience as a author is one of the things many authors find the hardest. Okay, so you have written a story, polished it within an inch of its life then found a publisher who actually publishes the genre.
You have followed the submission guidelines and what happens next?
1. You receive a rejection within a few days.
2. You hear nothing for about three months and a rejection.
3. You hear nothing for three months maybe four then received a request for the full.
4. Six months goes by and you hear nothing at all....usually time to try a different publisher.
About this time, you experience, worry, anxiousness, and feelings of self-doubt.
THIS IS NORMAL.
Try not to worry and rather use writing another story as a distraction and soon you will have three or more stories all waiting for a lovely publisher to make an offer.
The same goes with agents. Many never contact you, most have a secretary to send a form rejection.
The moral to my story is, keep trying. Very few authors are published, fewer have agents. Some hit gold with their first book, others take time to perfect their craft.
It is pointless looking at other author's success and wishing you had the same "luck". Yes, people can be in the right place at the right time, be the first to have a unique idea for a story but that doesn't make them any better than you.
Keep writing because you want to tell a story. Enjoy what you are doing, learn your craft because no matter what, learning the basics is crucial to success.
I loved writing "The End" to another m/f cowboy romance . It made me happy :-D.
I have a new story waiting in the wings ready to fly first thing tomorrow. Today, I've done enough, the Muse will have to wait. Next I'll write a novella and get my Mojo working again for the next novel- murder mystery, next time maybe, or another sexy romance...ah, I love my life.
So you have gained the contract and your book is ready for release. Unless you are with a mass market print publisher with a promotional team to push your work, you'll need to get off your backside and promote your book. If you just sit back and expect people to buy from an unknown author without a blacklist, well unfortunately the chances of making one sale is probably 70-1. The Essentials: You must have a web site. You must have an active blog, that is post even if its about your garden at least once a month. You must have an author page on Facebook. You must join as many social media author sites as possible in your genre and interact with readers and other authors. Be nice. Nasty might work on TV but in reality once tarnished a reputation is hard to repair. People and the media have very long memories. Remember publishers see what you portray and how you treat people. If your publisher has an author group, encourage the other authors to "like" your author page and in return you must return the favor. Doing the above gets your name out to the public. Write another story, creating a back list is essential for success. Good ways to promote and the suicide trail: Promotion isn't spamming or sending out emails to your friends. To be perfectly honest, bombarding social media with your new release constantly, pushes readers away. Sending emails to your personal mailing list detailing your new releases bores people to death. If you have created a reader update mailing list via social media, fine, these people joined because they want to hear about your new releases. Structured promotion is the only way to go and you have two options. 1. You can pay a promotions company to promote your book. I've had some luck with doing this but it's expensive and unless you sell books in the tens of thousands, it isn't cost effective. 2. Plan a free promotion using the media available. Ten tips: 1. Use your search engine and find blogs, which cover the genre you write and have free promotion. 2. Join review sites and add your book for a review. 3. Join book promotion groups on Facebook and add your new release and links. 4.Find review sites that offer to promote your new release. 5.Ask other authors in your genre for a swap blog hosting. 6. Create a Street Team on Facebook. Involve your readers and offer copies of your book for review. 7. Join Manic Readers, Author Central and Yahoo/Google groups who read your genre and promote your book on their promotion days. 8. Remember Twitter is your friend, use it. 9. Go to conferences, book signings. Be seen, and heard . Be accessible to your readers. 10. Make sure your readers see you, as a real person and not an anonymous "Buy my book, buy my book" name. Involve them in your world and appreciate and value every one of them. I hope this helps. Happy sales, Elizabeth www.elizabethmdarcy.com
Collins is a vicar’s daughter from Somerset and she has one goal for her Season
in London—to find a husband that can provide for her and her family. She
doesn’t need a great fortune or a title, she would actually prefer not to have
to go into London ever again. She has little to offer other than her beauty and
a pleasant temperament, but she is hoping that will be enough to secure her a
man who will be kind to her.
Lyre is the newly inherited Duke of Lincoln. Born as the spare son, he never expected
to inherit his father’s mantle, and has neither the skills nor the desire to
enjoy the benefits of his rank. He knows that he must marry a lady befitting of
the position, but when he rescues the beautiful Sarah Collins one night, he
can’t imagine living without her lovely smile in his life.
Should he marry the delectably
sweet virgin who would undoubtedly make a horrible Duchess, or do what duty
demands of him?
Sarah bit her lip and appeared thoughtful for a
“I don’t believe you can fall in love in just
two weeks. But passion, yes, I have found that.”
Pure rage filled Oliver. Red clouded his vision
as his temperature rose and sweat drops popped out on his upper lip.
“Passion? You have found passion with him?” He
advanced on Sarah like a lion circling his prey. His shoulders ached as he
flexed and stretched his muscles.
Sarah nodded and Oliver growled, pulling her
into his arms. The need to stake his claim on her undeniable as his fingers
wrapped around her tiny waist.
“Like the passion you have found with me?” He
ducked his head and ran his lips down her smooth throat.
Sarah gasped but leaned into him. “That is not
fair to say to me. You do not want to marry me.”
Oliver chuckled against her skin. “I would if I
could,” he pressed his lips to the spot beneath her ear and inhaled the sweet
scent of rose petals.
“Pardon?” Sarah shrieked, pushing hard against
“Sarah, you have no idea how much I want you,”
Oliver admitted, rolling his hips against her which caused his prick to harden
“You want to seduce me, you do not wish to marry
me.” Sarah went to pull away again, struggling harder but Oliver held her
tighter. He had to make her understand.
“I would never seduce you. I would marry you in
a heartbeat if I wasn’t a Duke.” Oliver murmured beneath her ear.
Sarah laughed again, with so much bitterness and
anger that when she tried to pull away he had to let her go.
“What do you call this then?” She motioned
angrily to their surroundings with flicking hands. “Is this the part where you
offer to make me your mistress instead? Or do you already have one like most
men of rank do?”
The jealousy in her tone and disgust at the
subject was obvious in her face.
“I would never insult you with such an offer.”
Sarah’s eyebrows rose high in silent question.
“And no I don’t have one.” He couldn’t believe
she had asked him such a question.
“Well my lord... I’m sorry... Your Grace, from
what I have learnt in the past few weeks it would be very unusual for you not
to have one, and insulting in the extreme for you to say that you would marry
me if you could.”
“I’m not lying, I have never had a mistress, but
I am aware that most men do. And I was speaking the truth, I would marry you in
an instant if I had met you two years ago.”
She had to believe him, he was telling the
“What’s different now?”
“Everything.” Oliver said, turning away from
her. Memories bombarded him, cold sliding over his spine and skin.
“My father once told me that I was born because
he needed a spare, but he had no real reason to need one. He had actually
wished for a daughter the night I was born. In ten generations the Dukedom has
always passed from first son to first son. I am the only second son to inherit
in my family, and my mother has spent my life telling me I wasn’t needed... or
“Oh, Oliver,” Sarah reached out her hand to
touch his shoulder, the effect like throwing a small stone into a still pond.
The ripples cascading out in increasingly large waves.
With a frustrated roar Oliver grabbed her and
spun, pinning her up against the wall. His hands landed on either side of her
and he stared down into the liquid violet eyes that haunted his dreams.
“You will never know how much I burn for you,
“Show me,” she whispered, placing her small
hands against his chest.
Oliver moaned and swooped down for a kiss,
plundering her warm mouth with his tongue, all restraint gone. His hands curved
around her slight body and he moved to her breast, kneading and stroking the
soft, abundant flesh through the silk of her dress.
She was like liquid heat in his arms, pressing
against him and making soft, mewling noises that made his blood boil. He slid
his other hand down to her rounded bottom and pulled her snugly into him. She
fitted so perfectly that he couldn’t help imagining how easily she’d take him
into her body.
Sarah threw her arms around his neck and Oliver
groaned against her lips. He pulled back and stared down at her. He had to get
closer. His lifted his arms and reached for the ribbons on her dress. He
unfastened her bodice and soon he had a plump breast free. It was creamy in the
candle light, the erect little nipple a beautiful dusky pink.
At the mercy of William the Conqueror, Lady Ann faces an uncertain future as Norman knights fight for her hand.
Left alone after the death of all the male members of her household at the Battle of Hastings, Lady Ann finds herself at the mercy of William the Conqueror. The King intends to marry his knights to Saxon gentry. Ann becomes a useful if not uncooperative ally by using her ability to speak French to liaise with the terrified Saxon women and their potential husbands. She falls in love with a devastatingly handsome Norman blacksmith only to discover King William has plans for her to marry one of his knights.
“All unwed landed ladies, widows or maidens of childbearing age are hereby summoned to Hertfordshire without delay.”
Lady Ann of Parr balled her fists and glared up at the Norman knight, so mighty, reading his declaration from the back of a horse. Mayhap he believed she would plunge a dagger in his heart. “But, my lord, I have tenants to oversee, an estate to manage. Your king has slaughtered the men of my family and all of my father’s loyal men.” She lifted her chin. “I am the only one left to guide my people.”
The knight stared down at her without compassion. “Gather your belongings. My patience grows thin.”
She pressed her lips together. Bad enough the new king’s army had brutally slain the proud Saxon men and had left them to rot on the battlefield, but since the invasion, their mourning wives and daughters had lived in constant terror of these foreign-speaking brutes. Indeed, few women had knowledge of the French language as she did. She had heard tales about Norman knights ransacking estates in search of documents or details regarding their wealth or lands. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Dear God! Her turn had come to join the stream of highborn womenfolk the beasts had bundled into carts bound for London to meet their death, or worse, forced to marry a murdering Norman knight.
Conceding defeat, she met his gaze. “Very well, when do we leave?”
“Sir Paul de Groote will be accompanying you. He will arrive at daybreak.” His lip curled with contempt. “Make sure you are ready to depart. Two of my men will remain here to ensure you comply with the king’s orders.” The stern knight swung his horse around and returned to his troops.
* * * *
The sun had hardly peeked over the horizon to herald the arrival of Sir Paul de Groote and his troops at her country estate. He had impressed her with his courtesy, so unlike the brutish ways she had encountered from the Norman knights so far. The man was impressively tall and spoke in a gentle tone. He had appeared genuinely remorseful in his delivery of the missive from the newly crowned king. Mayhap not all the Normans had such bad manners.
“You may take your maid and one trunk. We have little room to spare.” Sir Paul led her towards the cart. “You will be taken to Berkhamsted Castle and King William will decide your future.” He gave her a tight smile. “I’m sure you will be impressed at what changes our king has made to England. He plans to build great castles. Have no fear, all the estates will be properly managed under Norman rule.”
She bit back a retort—no need to make an enemy of a man who had at least offered her a modicum of civility. She climbed into the cart with Meg at her side and watched her beloved home vanish into the morning mist. Aye, she had heard tell of Berkhamsted Castle created by Robert of Mortain to protect the king and built with no less than two moats to ensure against any further Saxon uprising. It would seem the Normans had need for such things. Hours passed with no respite and the heavens had opened up, drenching her by the time the wooden structure came into view. Cold, hungry and with a failing spirit, she followed the guards through the courtyard.
Inside the great hall, she gaped in wonder at the impressive opulence around her. The walls rose high on each side, one covered in magnificent tapestries. The other displayed a large variety of weaponry, and centred hung the battered shield depicting King Harold’s coat of arms. A shiver raced down her spine at the memory of the tales spoken in hushed voices about the gruesome death of King Harold. The great king had suffered an arrow to the eye and the Norman butchers had hacked him to pieces. He would turn in his grave if he could hear French spoken as the tongue of his beloved England.
She smothered a sob. Her sharp intake of breath brought Meg to her side. She brushed aside the bunched cotton cloth offered by her maidservant, lifted her chin and stepped into the Great Hall. “Put it away, Meg, for I fear I have no more tears to shed.”
She pushed down the fear, determined not to cower before the Normans. All about her, guards stood oppressively close. Musky male scent rose from their warm bodies, enhanced by the dampness from the incessant, freezing rain. She glanced at her ashen-faced maidservant and straightened her soaked head rail. Anger shivered down her spine. How dare they treat her in such a manner?