More like twenty-five years later but for the sake of this post, let's just say fifteen.
Okay, long story short, I started writing my first book when my third child was still in diapers. I finished it when she was still in diapers. She was a late potty trainer. The child just turned 30. I never published that book. I mean, it was terrible. It's still here, buried. But I still have it. It's not on the computer. I hand typed that thing.
Skip a few years and I finally did sell my first two books to Ellora's Cave. But again, not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about Ellora's Cave waving their right of first refusal by pretty much telling me they were no longer interested in publishing me (but they sure as hell weren't parting with those first two books) therefore allowing me to take my two finished books to other places.
And since I was starting over, I changed my pen name.
And fifteen years ago round about now Mercy Celeste was born.
Okay, not born, but definitely conceived.
Fifteen years ago this month I wrote my second story as Mercy. Wicked Game. But, again we'll talk about that in a year.
On January 24th, my first book as Mercy was published. Double Coverage. I'd written it specifically for Ellora's Cave, making it as dirty as I could. Two guys, one girl. But I did not have the guts, yet, to finish that story the way it should have ended. I kept it straight. No touchy with the guys. And I regretted that. And I would change that. But again, a story for later.
Over the last fifteen years I wrote and published thirty-four works. From very short story to very long novel. Some I regret, most I'm proud of. I published a one more book in that time, that I'd written pre-Mercy but it very quickly was pulled and never thought to dust it off and try again under a different pen name. I wrote another short under just Mercy that also went away, mostly because it was pulled from every site, even smashwords, it was that taboo. So I wiped it out completely.
I should amend the time-frame a bit, since I haven't written or published a damn thing in three years.
I did all of that in twelve years.
But this post isn't about the books I've written and when I've written them. It's about the last fifteen years of chasing the dream I've had since 9th grade, circa 1983 or so. When I read The Outsiders for the first time. Just before the movie came out. And I found out the author was sixteen when she wrote it... and that's when I knew. Exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to write...
I suddenly have a very early U2 song in my head, Stories for Boys...
I didn't know fifteen years ago when I was writing Wicked Game that I wanted to write gay romance. I knew that I wrote female characters that were much more like me than other women... yes, it's the not like other girls trope that people hate. But I'm not like other girls. I'm not like a girl at all. Or a woman. I'm not interested in writing rom coms with bubble headed girls tripping over their feet for some guy while being an astronaut by age 23... I wasn't interested in pink and bows and doggies in bags.
Why yes I do sound like a bitch. And so did my female characters. I wrote girls/women like me.
And I still wasn't comfortable writing them.
So, it took a long conversation with a writing friend to figure out what I wanted to do. Which, incidentally, coincided with the rise in popularity of a certain genre. And with a little inspiration, off I went.
Did I know what I was doing? Not exactly. Did I make mistakes? Absolutely.
And I'm not talking about mistakes in writing. I'm talking about mistakes in choosing where to publish.
Still not counting the first two books with Ellora's Cave which was a whole shit-show of it's own. I published my first nine books with four different publishers. One of those books was republished with the fourth publisher after the mess at Silver.
Only three of those books made it through without having trauma attached to them.
I wish I hadn't needed a publisher to launch me into the business back then. I wish I'd had a better experience with more than one publisher at least. I wish...
I wish so much.
I wish I could have landed an agent. I wish I could have...
If Wishes Were Horses... I know I know. Wish in one hand and spit in the other... YES, GAWD, I KNOW!
I was in Target today.
I know, the boycott, I know. I only buy petfood and some food and cleaning things there. It's not like I have many options for those, you'd think there would be more options in a city this size, but alas.
Anyway, I was in Target today, tooling around looking at the Christmas stuff, when I followed my youngest down the book aisle.
And all the romance covers.
SO MANY ROMANCE COVERS.
From people I actually know, or knew would be better, from on line groups and in person groups.
And I hate every one of them.
I mean, I don't hate them. I just... wanted to have that. I've been chasing that since 1999 and I'm just about as close to that today as I was back then.
As in, I have no idea what I'm doing, but unlike then, I stopped trying.
SIGHS!
Yeah.
My fault. I know. I killed it.
So, here I am, in the month of NaNoWriMo fifteen years later thinking about the book I wrote in that one month and the one I'd just sold to Liquid Silver that would become the first Mercy book. And in December fifteen years ago I would write The 51st Thursday, the immediately start In from the Cold then Behind Iron Lace. And all of those books would come out in 2011... and I have to wonder what I could have done differently. Or if I should just be grateful for what I got that would lead me to self-publish and for that oh-so-very-brief-time to believe I'd managed to make that dream real and walk away.
Fifteen years and I'm right back where I started. Nowhere.
How do I fix this? How do I carry-on? What's the path?
The cold hard truth is, even now, after the success of several MM writers, in mainstream, there are still no gay romance books in Target. I stopped looking at Barnes and Noble, because deep south and all. And with Amazon doing what they're doing (I believe my books are suppressed but that's just me being paranoid) is there anyplace for Mercy now?
Fifteen years.
I can't believe it's been this long. I wish is was longer.
So many wishes.
But one damn thing I can say, I had a dream, and I achieved that dream, even if it was more a nightmare on the business side of it, I did it. I've written forty books in twenty-five years. How many people can say they've done that?
And I'll leave it at that.
I had thought I'd come in here and write about the great plan to celebrate Double Coverage on January 24th next year. To celebrate fifteen years of Mercy. But, I don't think I will. I'd rather not and walk away with what's left of my delusional dignity intact. And I never was one for planning parties anyway.
So that's it. I guess.
Just thoughts on a random Thursday.
Will chat with you again, when the urge to opine hits again.
Peace,
Mercy
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