well not for very much longer because you've reached the end now

anonymous asked:

tell us more about how you got your first book published/proposed/whatever the first step is??? (also sorry if you've covered this before i tried to google a bit!!!) (also i am a huge fan HIII I LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOUR ATTITUDE)

i’ve definitely talked about it before, but i know my /answers tag is… very full of things… so i don’t mind!

Anyway, my understanding is that typically you would look for a book agent first, pitching them on your concept or making the case for your book idea, then work with them to fine tune, nail down a solid pitch, and then work with them to pitch many publishers and specific editors. you benefit from their professional relationships to make something happen.

in my case, i was doing what i still do, which is share art online (mostly tumblr back then), self-publishing zines and my unsolicited advice weekly planners. an editor at penguin spotted my work, and reached out to me. editors are under pressure to spot writers and artists for books too, so they’re just out there hunting too and you never know. i got an email out of nowhere around january 2013 that was like “hi i’m an editor at penguin books and i think we should meet for coffee” and that was kind of it. i tried very hard not to die.

so we met, talked about ideas, and my first thought was like OMG A POSTCARD BOOK??? (at the time i was making and selling lots of postcards). she helped me focus in, identifying the interactive parts of my planners as a potential book idea, though it’d need to be undated so it would have a longer shelf life. even then it wasn’t a done deal, she had to go back and think about it and other people weighed in, and i mailed her a bunch of zines and other stuff from my shop (which was at the time even weirder). eventually i guess it worked and they offered me a contract! she essentially brought her world of knowledge – concepts that work, positioning that might help it cross over, and an eye for content – that helped me make 1 Page at a Time happen. I had a lot to learn and was also much more up my own ass about “my art” at that time. she reminded me that for most people it’d be the first they heard of me, that it was okay to lean into work I had already made and to be as me and weird as possible.

anyway that book did super well in brazil pretty much immediately because of the current trends there at the time (”wreck this journal” had just become really really popular but there were no other interactive journals like that yet). they released it before the USA release date and it was on bestseller lists before the english edition even came out. that success helped penguin’s foreign rights team sell the book to many other foreign publishers and combined it meant that my book was able to end up in a lot of hands. and it is still going, maybe even going stronger now that it’s in more places, has been around long enough for people to see it and think about it and then maybe decide to buy it.

for book 2 (Pick Me Up) i got an agent (i’m represented by LGR) and now i work with an amazing woman there who helps with negotiation, helped me set up meetings with different publishers when i wanted to do a stationery collection, and otherwise works as my advocate. because i already had the first book i could have continued to work without an agent but it’s nice to not be alone and also to benefit from someone’s, you know, wealth of knowledge about tiny details and industry people that i just don’t know anything about. she definitely knows the right questions to ask and understands all the intricacies of the contracts and percentages and all the different sales channels that effect how authors get paid.

so that’s sort of it for me, it was a little backwards. decently-popular book first, then an agent, then more stuff. it’s going ok so far!!!!! but there are so many paths. self-publishing is way easier than even 5 years ago and people make real money doing it themselves if they already have an audience or just have a concept that’s really strong or they sort of game amazon’s category ranking system (amazon is like its own world basically). people get book deals and huge advances and then if the book doesn’t meet expectation and the publisher has already spent a lot of money on them, they might not take a chance on a second book. there’s a lot of guessing and expectations and i guess i really benefit from being a pleasant surprise. 

which isn’t to say i am killing it because literally, i am not, i am not rich i am not selling millions of copies, but i am grateful to just get to make books at all. zines i know how to do, and now i guess i do know how to selfpublish my own books, but i’m grateful to benefit from the scale and production and distribution i have, and also penguin merged with random house so now i literally have a contract with the biggest publisher in the world so i don’t really plan on breaking that!

there are tons of different kinds of publishers but it does still come down to actual individual people buying the book and telling their friends and that’s the hardest part. please tell your friends i made some books lol.

jolinarofmalkshur  asked:

Hi, I love those au prompts you've done!! Could you possibly do '... Mind explaining how your whole life went to hell?' with Bodhi/Cassian?

And I am having so much fun doing them! I absolutely will write that! 

(presents you with a fic on a platter) 

As is no longer a surprise at this point, it got long, there is a readmore. I am apparently terrible at proper short fic. (grins)

“It’s not that bad.” The alarmingly tall man said to his short friend.

“Not that - Kay, I have six dollars in my savings account, I don’t have a job, I don’t have a house, and the woman who I thought I might marry someday broke up with me! It’s pretty damn bad, Kay!” his short friend said, angry and loud enough that he could be heard clearly across the bar.

This was convenient, as Bodhi was eavesdropping (the right and duty of bartenders everywhere) and it was nice not to have to work too hard at it.

Keep reading

We Just Keep Walking Blind // Snowbarry Week

Theme // Jealous

-

It takes about a single week for Barry to get used to the fact that Ronnie is back, single-minded and completely his own person, for good (or a highly probable version of for good). He hasn’t seen Caitlin keep a smile without straining in all the time that he’s known her, until now. And this, coupled with the assurance that General Eiling is miraculously distracted with another metahuman across the country, which he is placing at a higher priority than Ronnie, cuts the tension in half at the Labs.

It’s when Caitlin confides in Barry about a secret wedding that something is suddenly fully charged about the air around them again. He convinces himself that it must be because of the way she just lights up about it finally happening, even if it’s much less of what it was supposed to be, a complete cover-up from all their loved ones. All she knows is, and all he sees is, the fact that she’s incurably all smiles about making the most of her new life with her deceased-on-paper fiancé.

‘We used to go to his parent’s lake house in the middle-of-nowhere Colorado when we first started dating, just to get away from the city and all the noise. It was nice, simple.’ She sighs, the upward curl of her lips softening. ‘We’d bring his family dog with us too, and it’d be like we were in our own little world.’

‘That sounds great, Cait,’ he says, wary of the waning cheerfulness in her voice.

‘And looking more and more like a far-fetched dream now.’ She folds her arms to her front.

'You don’t have to dream anymore,’ he tells her, hoping his brightness will distract her from the frown that tugs at the corners of her mouth. He can’t believe how much the thought of her losing the gleam in her eyes shakes him to his center. 'He’s alive…and he wants to be with you. Some people have a lot less.’

She does frown, but it seems that she’s not worried so much about herself here. Then he realizes that the sudden, but not so surprising end to his short-lived fling with Linda Park had very much to do with his last remark.

He has to be honest here; he only wishes he had someone special like Caitlin to come home to, especially with the way she cared for Ronnie, let alone fantasize about a getaway home for two.

'It would be impossible for someone like you to be lonely for long,’ she says as though she’s stunned by his obliviousness.

'Tell that to the queue of girls lining up to be with me.’

'You don’t need a queue,’ she chides. Then lists, 'You were the first person to really take a good look at me and realize that I haven’t been happy since the explosion, when I thought I lost everything. You were the only person to help me face my fears in the accelerator, and, that night, I didn’t know how lonely I was until you made me feel that I wasn’t anymore. You took me out on a wild night, even when I was literally dragging you through all these bottled up issues you didn’t need to know. You’ve been amazing, you are amazing. Barry, you deserve someone who sees you the way I see you.’

'My own personal doctor and life coach. How’d I get to be so lucky?’ He ducks his head, and noticeably flushes when he finally rises to show an appreciative grin.

'You’re not the only lucky one…thank you. I don’t think I say that enough. Without you, I feel like a lot of what’s happened in my life would have remained impossible,’ she says, reaching for his arm.

Like any of the touches they’ve shared, there’s a steady pull toward more time spent in comfortable silence. This silence is only broken by a few scattered half-laughs and stunted phrases, but she’s still holding on, and he’s letting her. Though soon, just like clockwork, they’re pulled apart, and they’re reminded of where and who they are.

'Yo, Bar,’ Cisco blares over the Labs’ P.A. system. 'Armed robbery at the old bank on the corner of Captiol and Spruce. There’s 10 hostages.’

His arm somehow feels foreign as he dashes away. It’s a mix of being acutely aware of the spot she’s held and left warm, and something wholly new slipping away with every racing step he takes further from her.

That same night, Barry dreams as he always does. Of Joe telling him he forgot to wear pants to the precinct. Of Iris bringing him coffee and a kiss, until Eddie swoops her away. Of Dr. Wells being the presenter for an award just for him for something outstanding and worth a roaring applause from crowds of people. Of the interior of a wood cabin. Well, that’s new.

The cabin sticks longer than any of the other images. As he makes his way through darkened hallways, padding over hardwood floors, he reaches a familiar sight. Caitlin is beaming at him from the couch she’s lounging in, feet tucked under her, looking cozy in a fur-lined blanket. Then she tells him to come closer to the warmth of the fireplace she’s seated next to.

Wrapping her arms around his neck as he lies, pressing his back to the curve of her body, feels so natural. He only questions it once before he lets her dip her head low and place a kiss at the nape of his neck.

'Barry…hun,’ she hums into his shoulder. 'Did you feed Einstein?’

He turns so he can see her shift her weight over him, her head now resting on his chest, their legs content in a tangle.

'Barry?’ She tries again, finally tilting her head up, her chin propped over his sternum, tickling him some.

He smirks at her brows knit into a light frown, complimented with a blossoming pout. She’s possibly wondering why he’s still not answering her. It’s cute, and all of her and all of this is so incredibly surreal that he can’t help but let out a puff of nervous laughter. But, she waits longer for his response as the vibrato in his laughter moves her into the morning light, and he’s sobered by all the warm hues he’s suddenly made aware of in her eyes. He’s never seen her this close, felt her this close, he realizes, gulping consciously. How can this dream feel so impossibly real and solid? How are her hands, exploring and carding through his hair, making him feel like his actual heart is losing it’s natural rhythm? When he finally takes in her amused smile, wide and easy, he has to tell her, ‘You’re beautiful.’

'Mr. Allen…what’s going on with you?’ She asks, suspicious instead of grateful.

'This is just so…’ He really can’t find the words.

'Mr. Allen?’ Her voice suddenly doesn’t fit her sunny smiles; it’s tunneled and warped.

Then she’s just as beautiful as a middle-aged grouch with a receding hairline.

'Singh!’ Barry jolts, holding on to his desk’s pegs for balance from his teetering chair. 'I mean, sir.’

'Easy, kid.’ Detective Singh almost looks gleeful at his almost-spill. 'Got those lab results processed for the O'Connell case?’

Barry rummages while Singh bristles through his excuses, telling him he’ll need them in three hours and to tidy up his work area instead. It’s surprising that the detective is letting him off with an extension. Is he still dreaming?

It’s not until Singh brightens his lab area with fluorescence that his high hopes with getting away with dozing off at work quickly dissolve. That and, ‘Wouldn’t want dream girl ‘Cait’ to keep you from any more of your work.’

Barry actually spills from his seat this time.