Regina Jennings

Why did it take a full year to get Sixty Acres and a Bride on the shelves? To see the first steps you can read Part 1.

Eye Candy – 9 Months from Release Date

After the substantial edits were made and the title chosen, marketing really starts spinning. Have you ever picked up a book and after a few pages you flip to the front cover for a double take? Huh? That’s not how she’s supposed to look. And by the end you’re wondering when did he ride a stallion with his white shirt unbuttoned? I don’t remember that scene.

That’s why it’s important to give marketing time to read the book.  It’s not enough to put a pretty lady and a beautiful gown on the cover (and if it’s Christian romance the lady will actually be wearing the gown). Marketing needs to read the book so they can correctly catch the tone of the story. How can they know which pivotal scene to portray without having read it?

Once Sixty Acres was titled it was time to work on the cover. My publishing house is in Minneapolis, but they decided to go with a designer and modeling agency out of Colorado. My editor looked through portfolios to find “Rosa” and a photographer and designer in Denver collaborated to make the cover. Several choices were sent to the publisher and one was chosen and sent to me for my input (for a more detailed version of the in-house work on another book, check out the link below). Naturally I loved the design. My only concern was that the background was inconsistent with the location, which was especially important since I’d chosen to use real towns in the story. The suggestions were sent in and they made the adjustments.

During this time, I began working with my line editor. Line edits are a closer reading of the story. Instead of big plot movements we look at transitions between scenes, consistency of characters, voice and accuracy of descriptions. This still isn’t a “proof-reading” concerned with spelling and grammar. It’s still a big picture edit.

And in between the edits, I continued to write book 2.

Meanwhile, the cover is made public. Seems early, doesn’t it? But once the cover is approved the sales staff can present it and get feedback on the design. There’s still time to make changes if it doesn’t impress. Then seven months before the release, the book is available for pre-order. That means the descriptions, blurbs and cover art are ready for the market.

The Unexplainable

Even as I’m trying to describe the process, there are still dark secrets that haven’t been revealed to me. For instance, the online description of  Sixty Acres claimed that it was 368 pages. I thought this humorous because I wasn’t finished writing it, yet. We still had edits to work through, big changes. They didn’t know how many pages of acknowledgments I’d have at the end, if any. How could they predict the page count? Turns out, they were exactly right. This is strange magic that I don’t understand. Maybe they misnumbered somewhere in the middle of the book to make it come out even. If you learn the secret, please let me know.

Next week we’ll continue the steps that lead up to a successful release. If you’d like to see more on book cover design, please check out these fascinating links:

The Making of the Cover of The Lady of Bolton Hill (Lifeway Blog)

A Quick Video Showing the Making of the Cover of Blameless

What department would you feel most at home in – editorial or marketing – and why?

Is it safe to assume you like books? I do. I’ve inhaled my share, marveling over the words, the characters, praising the author’s imagination and research. So many small miracles caught between cardstock covers.

But what’s involved in getting those books onto your shelf? Why does it take forever to go from a manuscript to a product in your hands?

The Obvious

Someone has to write the book. You knew that. For my first book Sixty Acres and a Bride the process of writing and re-writing took about a year. This got the manuscript into the smoothest form that I and my critique partners could manage. When I mention my first draft, it’s this one, although it actually represents scores of rewrites and drafts.

Sixty Acres was purchased at the end of 2010/beginning of 2011. (The story about getting the contract is here - My Publication Story.) The release date was set for the Spring of 2012 – more than a year away! True, I needed time to work on the second book, but a whole year before I could hold it in my hands? Unmitigated torture.

The Introduction

It was a long time to wait, but the publisher wasn’t idle. They were busy getting the groundwork started for a great release. Before the marketing department could introduce Sixty Acres to the reading public, they had to read it. That first draft was sent around the office so they would know what they had to work with. Their first decision – the name. I’d titled it Forty Acres and a Bride, thinking Weston might agree that his stubborn bride and a mule shared many common characteristics. Marketing wasn’t as amused by the allusion, so we made the farm bigger by twenty acres and had a less offensive title.

The first draft was also read by a team of editors. They put their thoughts together and presented me with a “Substantive Edit” letter. This listed enough problems with the characters and the plot to make me wonder why they bought it in the first place. Imagine winning Miss America and then the pageant coordinator tells you that you need a make-over. That’s what it feels like.

But truly, the story did need work. There’s this mysterious gulf between my best and suitable for publication that only editors can see across. What is it they glimpse on the other side of the crevice that tells them this story will be worth all the work they are going to put into it? I don’t know. Maybe someday I’ll get a guest post on that question.

Getting Started

So rewrites on Sixty Acres were due in April. Plenty of time, but the synopsis for the second book was due by the end of January so I’d have time to write it. In fact, just imagine as I describe this process that between every sentence I’m writing a few more chapters of the second book. Right there. And there were some more.

The synopsis is single spaced and usually between three to five pages. Evidently the editor thinks it’s important to know what I’m going to write before I turn it in completed a year later. I understand that in theory, but I’m not sure exactly what the story will be until I’m about halfway finished with the manuscript. That means I need many words on pages before I turn in my synopsis. It also means that many of the words might not make the final cut, but that’s the consequence of driving without a map. Maybe someday I’ll learn.

That brings us up to 9 months from publication…a veritable literary pregnancy.

That’s all for this week. Next week – the (awesome, gorgeous, breath-taking) cover and more edits.

And a question for you. What would thrill (or did thrill) you the most about having your work published?

Proceed to Part 2

Have you read The Hunger Games? Have you seen the movie? How about The Help? Movies have always sifted through literature for their inspiration and this season is no exception and although I don’t mind seeing a book-based-movie, I always find myself preferring the book.

Wonder why?

No Do-Overs on Dialogue

Movies only give us one shot at dialogue. If you miss a word, say someone sneezes or the sound track surges, you’ll spend the rest of the movie wondering “Who was hit by a car – her dad or her dog?” You can’t flip back a chapter to review a scene when you miss something.

Perfect is Impossible

Unfortunately movies must use fallible human beings to portray our heroes. True they look nearly perfect, but one errant expression and Matthew McConaughey can appear downright unbalanced. No matter how good of an actor they are they rarely become the character as completely as the figure you’ve conjured off the page. And the same goes for the other elements. The scenery is never as stunning, the dress never as beautiful, and the villain is never as scary as we’ve pictured him.

A Tease

Books can keep you in suspense. They hold their secrets longer than movies. Who will survive? Will the boy get the girl? Will justice be served? With a movie you hardly have time to worry about the outcome  - all of your questions will be answered in the next two hours. A novel, on the other hand, will torment you for days, maybe weeks. You’ll fret over your frying pan, you’ll agonize over your algebra. The tantalizing world of your story waits as a reward for when you complete your duties and you can immerse yourself again.

The Head Case

But the most compelling reason of all to prefer books over movies is that books allow you inside the characters’ thoughts and the author’s voice. In a movie we’d miss Jane Austen’s witty descriptions and Elizabeth Bennett’s mental gymnastics as she makes out Mr. Darcy’s character. When the scene is before us on the big screen, we see everything through our own experiences instead of hearing the POV character’s slant. Actresses can’t  portray every thought with eyebrows and grimaces. That’s why we have language.

As a medium, movies have some advantages, but when I’m looking to lose myself in a story, I much prefer the book.

How about you? What’s your favorite book to movie adaptation? Why do you prefer books (if you do)?

Usually my 4th grade son’s writing assignments involve heroes with super powers. They throw grenades, dodge bullets and never make mistakes.

This week as we worked on a character sketch I insisted that he only write about “real life” 4th grade issues. His character “Bo” needed to have a real problem that he would solve during the story.

“His problem is that he eats shrapnel and it turns into gold,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not. What’s a problem that boys your age have? Maybe he’s not good in sports, maybe he doesn’t have friends, or maybe he’s afraid of something.”

The thought of writing about a less than perfect 9-year-old boy terrified him. Then his eyes lit up. “I know, I’ll write about a girl. Then it’ll be easy to come up with problems.”

I know how he feels.

Like my son, I squirm when I delve into the spiritual weaknesses of my heroines. No one would get past chapter one if I created a character with all the ugliness I’m capable of. If I scratched away all the excuses and extenuating circumstances and revealed her heart, people would throw the book away.

And I understand that. We read as an escape and we want to be inspired by people who are getting it right, or at least they are completely reformed by the conclusion.

So we have our list of “safe” Christian sins that are allowed in our characters – pride, stubbornness, fear. But even those present as mere quirks and rarely do they hurt anyone besides the protagonist – with whom we are completely sympathetic.

I understand the desire to write about someone who’s nothing like me. I’m comfortable finding that perfect flaw that is endearing and easily overlooked. You know… one that really doesn’t require forgiveness. The one that Jesus didn’t need to die for.

And I’m realizing that this post has less to do with writing and more with being honest with ourselves. Are there really permissible flaws? Are there really areas of self we’re allowed to protect from pruning?

Is the problem that Christian fiction doesn’t deal with serious sin, or is the problem that Christians don’t deal with every sin seriously? What character traits are unacceptable in a fictional hero? What flaws do we excuse in ourselves?

Allow me to make a few confessions about my gardening:

1) I’m a gardener in April, maybe May. By June I’ve lost interest and everything dies.

2) I rarely plant anything besides flowers. I don’t eat vegetables unless they are in salsa or pizza sauce.

3) I chose my flowers based on sentimental reasons, not because they add to the appearance of my yard or are suited to our climate (see confession #1).

So as I’m out weeding this spring, praying that we don’t have another summer that competes with oven temperatures, I’m reminded of some special people who’ve left me with sweet memories… as well as seeds, clippings and bulbs.

In the shade of our giant crepe myrtle are the rangy columbine with the delicate blooms that came from my Grandma H.’s house. Her brother lived in Colorado and brought her a different strand every time he visited. Grandma had a lot of columbine.

The daffodils that line the walk from the drive to the side door remind me of my former roommate, but current cousin and friend – Lori. She’s always had a green thumb and is an awesome photographer. All these pictures are hers, but when I’m cleaning my daffodil bed I don’t think of the pictures. Instead, I think of the sleepovers we had that always included romance books smuggled in our suitcases.

The tiger lilies haven’t bloomed yet, but they look thick and strong. Those bulbs are from my friend Jennifer –  the product of a day spent thinning out her flower beds. She lived on a golf course and we were frequently interrupted to get lemonade for friends making their way around the 12th hole.

I’ve tried to get clematis going like my Grandma Carol’s. Hers is strategically placed to cover the waterspout from the laundry room. Maybe that’s why it won’t take. It needs some Tide as fertilizer.

In the rush to Easter we often overlook Good Friday. “Yes, that’s when Jesus was crucified,” we say, “but He rose again.”

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

This Good Friday try to imagine what you would hear if you spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

The Priest

(Gazing at the curtain in shock, Holds out a hand to stop them from approaching.) Don’t come any closer. It’s death to enter the Holy of Holies, the dwelling place of the Lord Most High – or at least it was. I don’t know how to interpret this. The curtain rips during an earthquake, but nothing else in the Temple is disturbed? There’s a message here, a sign. I’ve never seen behind the curtain, only the high priest is given that honor, and he only once a year. So what does it mean that it is opened for anyone to approach?

I wasn’t here when the curtain tore. I was at Golgotha overseeing the due punishment of a blasphemer when it happened. Not a pleasant experience, but necessary.

It’s infuriating to have someone mock us, mock our religion, mock our God. We’ve been waiting for the Messiah, God’s Anointed One, for centuries and to have a carpenter from Galilee declare that he is here to take David’s throne….

True, a wise man turns away from wrath, but some outrages merit a strong response. He deserved the scorn we gave him.  You saved others, but you cannot save yourself, we cried.  Let the Christ, the King of Israel, descend now from the cross so that we may see and believe.”

Jesus of Nazareth was too dangerous to pardon, too influential to ignore. And yet during the mocking I found a part of me pleading, “Yes, if you are Messiah, come down. Please, come down and save us.”

But he didn’t. And whether the earthquake was God’s judgment on the one called Jesus or another sign that I cannot explain, it matters not. The veil has been torn—ripped from the top. And what are we to do? Are we to cover the Holy of Holies to shield it from the offenses of sinful men, or is it to remain open?

Joseph of Arimathea

You may be concerned when you smell the myrrh emanating off of me. Yes, preparing Jesus’ body for burial could get me kicked off the council. Once the priests learn of my activities tonight, they will no doubt hold a hearing on the crimes of Joseph of Arimathea. And they have every right. I know the law. According to it I am unclean, and yet this is the cleanest I’ve ever felt.

Before today I’d never touched a dead body, I’d never told anyone that I was listening to Jesus, and I’d certainly never gone to a Roman governor to ask for a prisoner’s remains before. What compelled me?

The scripture contains all godly knowledge and the law, but wisdom lies in discerning which law applies to which situation. As a council member I should be able to attest to that. The warnings about boastful false prophets didn’t seem to fit with this man. His teachings, even those that convicted me of guilt, contained a holy mixture of justice and mercy. Jesus was a law-giver after the manner of Moses…or maybe before…

Jesus is dead. Nicodemus and I prepared him for burial ourselves. There is no doubt about his present condition, and yet… yet there is no doubt that God Most High can restore life. Have I not seen this of my own eyes through his servant as he raised Lazarus, Jairus’s daughter, and the widow’s son?

I am not a holy man like Jesus, but I think… I believe that God would be pleased for me to pray that He would work His mighty power for this cause. If ever there was a man that the world needs resurrected, it is Jesus.

This will be my prayer. May God be gracious and answer.

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 1

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 2

In the rush to Easter we often overlook Good Friday. “Yes, that’s when Jesus was crucified,” we say, “but He rose again.”

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

For the next few weeks I’d like to imagine what we would hear if we spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

Peter

You caught me, Peter the fearless, hiding, but it’s pointless. My life isn’t worth salvaging, now. They’ve crucified my master, and I had boasted to him “Even if everyone else leaves you, I won’t.”

And what did I do when I was tested? I lied. I pretended he was a stranger. I denied even knowing him and he heard me. He looked directly at me, sad that his prophecy came true.

He warned me at supper when we were all together, you know, but I was too prideful to listen. And then later, right here in the garden he tried to protect me. He asked me to stay awake and pray with him. How many others would give everything to spend that time in prayer with Jesus? But I couldn’t stay awake. Ironic, isn’t it? I couldn’t stay awake and now I feel like I’ll never sleep again. Jesus asked me for an hour of my time, when he would give his life for me. I thought he wanted me to comfort him, but now I’m not sure. What if that time spent in prayer with Jesus would have fortified me for the test to come? I missed an opportunity to fellowship with him. Was that why I failed to declare him later?

If only there was a way to make it up to him, to atone, but now he’s gone. Everything I believed in is gone.

Pilate

What is truth? That’s what I asked Jesus right before I declared him innocent. Is truth the charges screamed by a roaring crowd or is it a nightmare you have alone in your chamber?

Well, it’s too late now. If you came to see the trial, it’s over and the sentence is being carried out, even as we speak.

If there was ever a case I didn’t want to judge, it was this one. Certainly I’d heard of Jesus. Who in Judea hasn’t? But to me it sounded like just another fanatical, mystical Jewish controversy. Another of their itinerate rabbis stirring up the populace, speaking promises of kingdoms and freedom. It should’ve been obvious that Rome had nothing to fear. His followers—the sick, the lame, children and the elderly—were hardly the beginnings of a military threat.

But Rome isn’t the one who felt threatened. No, it was his own people claiming to be concerned for Caesar. When has the Sanhedrin ever looked out for the Roman government? But I couldn’t ignore them. I thought if I had him scourged, it would satisfy their blood lust. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but watching Jesus tortured, knowing that those wounds were unwarranted, caused by me… my only consolation was that by scourging him I was protecting him from death.

But I didn’t, did I? In the past hours, I’ve thought and thought, wondering what I could have done differently, but every option had a consequence. There was nothing I could do without jeopardizing my career. In the end, I had to choose what was right for me. It was the only sensible course. Is that the definition of truth—whatever is convenient and expedient at the moment?

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 1

In the rush to Easter we often overlook Good Friday. “Yes, that’s when Jesus was crucified,” we say, “but He rose again.”

Praise God. But let’s not forget that two thousand years ago very few people expected that miracle. Even His closest followers didn’t understand what was happening. Their hope, their Rabbi had been murdered. Their fears and doubts were allowed to grow in what had to be the longest weekend ever.

For the next few weeks I’d like to imagine what we would hear if we spoke to some of the witnesses. Jesus has been taken, but there has been no resurrection. What are they thinking? What are their concerns?

The Disciple, after the dinner

Come in, quickly. I’m afraid you might have been followed. There’s a lot of trouble at the temple. Evil is afoot and I feel like our Master is walking right into it. I’ve never seen him like this before. He was saying good-bye to us, trying to comfort us when it was as plain as day he was bracing himself for some long-dreaded ordeal.

The meal tonight, it was like a Passover seder, but different. First there was the wine – “This is my blood which is shed for many” and then the bread – “This is my body, given for you.” What can that mean? Are we to take Jesus’s blood like the Passover lamb’s and paint it on our doorposts to escape judgment?

Jesus has said many things that I didn’t understand, but this scares me. I don’t want him to sacrifice himself for me. He shouldn’t. How could I take and eat his pain? How can I accept his suffering? I don’t know what it means, but when I see him again, I’m going to refuse. Whatever noble sacrifice he has in mind, I’m not worth it.

Judas’ Mother

Have you heard about my son Judas? You have, I can tell by the way you cringe when I say his name, a name that his father and I chose with pride. Forgive a mother’s ramblings, but I have nothing left besides memories and even they have been tainted. Is this to be my lot, then? To be denied the right to mourn my child?

I look back over the years and wonder where we went wrong. As a child he always appeared faithful. He was loyal to the synagogue and loathed the Romans. We had high expectations for him, never dreaming he’d shame us—that he’d hand over his Rabbi to our enemies.

Thirty pieces of silver. He sold his master for the price of a slave, and he regretted it immediately. If only I had been there when he realized that they’d condemned Jesus to death. Judas returned the money to the priests, but they couldn’t offer him forgiveness. He must have felt he was beyond saving. If only some kind soul would’ve convinced Judas that no one else needed to perish that night, maybe I would’ve been able to hug my boy one last time.

But he’s gone. It’s too late for my son. It’s too late to help him, but I won’t let another opportunity pass. Consider what you’ve deemed more important than Jesus. For what are you willing to trade your master? Think of my Judas and ask yourself – What is keeping me from following my Lord?

The Voices of Good Friday – Part 2

I love hearing stories of heroism—of people who take ordinary opportunities and turn them into spiritual victories. Yesterday while talking to a childhood friend of mine I heard such a tale.

A Fortunate Affliction?

Sunday evening Mary’s 7-year-old son developed an earache. They tried eardrops and ibuprofen, but nothing worked. About 8:30 p.m. she took him to a tiny 24-hour clinic, trying to get him some relief for the night. While she sat in the empty waiting room and filled out paperwork, a teenage couple entered. Mary couldn’t help but overhear their discussion with the nurse. The girl wanted a pregnancy test. The nurse told her that she couldn’t give her one because she was underage, but she could give her Planned Parenthood’s phone number.

It was at this point that Mary got involved. “Did you know there’s a Crisis Pregnancy Center here in town?” she asked. Yes, they’d walked by it on their way to the clinic, but it was closed. Mary happened to know the director and called her. She didn’t answer, so Mary volunteered to take the couple to the pharmacy where she’d buy them a pregnancy test if that was their only need. They were happy to wait until her son’s appointment was over to go with her.

By the time they finished at the pharmacy the Crisis Pregnancy Center’s director returned her call and offered to meet them at her office. Before the night was over Mary had connected with two very scared teenagers and put them in touch with godly counsel and compassionate care.

A Chance for Reflection

I had to stop and thank God for His magnificent orchestration. A Sunday night earache led to a relationship that Mary has continued to have with this young lady through texting over the week. And how about the CPC director who made her phone number available and was willing to leave her family late on a Sunday night?

It made me wonder, who has my phone number? Am I available when someone needs help? Do I have a reputation of being reliable in an emergency? Can God trust me to get involved or do I pretend I can’t hear the needs around me?

I’m proud of Mary and of brave soldiers like her.

Celebrate with Regina by entering to win a Kindle Fire and coming to her Author Chat Party on 3/27!

One fortunate winner will receive:

• A Kindle Fire
• Sixty Acres and a Bride by Regina Jennings

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends 3/26/12. Winner will be announced at Regina’s Author Chat Facebook Party on 3/27. Regina will be hosting an evening of chat, fun trivia and more! She’ll also be giving away some GREAT prizes: gift certificates, books, and some beautiful silver jewerly!

So grab your copy of Sixty Acres and a Bride and join Regina and friends on the evening of March 27th for an evening of fun.

Don’t miss a moment of the fun. RSVP TODAY and tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 27th!