Archive for the ‘Trial by Desire’ Category

Paying Up: Part One

Friday, March 25th, 2011

On Twitter, I promised that if I somehow won Round 3 of DA BWAHA, against all odds, I would provide for you four first chapters of Trial by Desire. And somehow, I won…so I’m paying up. If you appreciate this at all, you should head over to http://dabwaha.com and vote for Julie James’s Something About You. I would never have won without her tireless campaigning.

It seemed appropriate, both because it’s Trial by Desire that’s up in DA BWAHA, and because at this year’s RWA National Workshop, I’m giving a workshop called “The Seven Deadly Sins of Second Books”–an account of all the ways that sophomore books can go bad, and how to (try to) prevent them.

Trial by Desire was a hard book to write. It was a really hard book to write, and required a huge amount of effort, as I’m sure you’ll see. These aren’t just four different first chapters here–these are four different conceptions of the book.

So, the first idea I had for the book went something along these lines: Ned goes to China at Kate’s behest, comes back, and Kate shoots him–on accident–mostly. Ned deals with his depression, and Kate deals with the fact that she is looking for a particular person, who, incidentally, she is planning to kill. Yes. Literally. Please don’t ask why–I don’t want to tell because I might save that bit of backstory for another book sometime.

I searched and searched for the version of this beginning, but honestly, it all appears to have disappeared in one of my subsequent laptop crashes, and hallelujah. It never worked. It never even came close to working. I never even got a full proposal, even though I tried about 900 different ways of writing the book. Finally, I realized that the version of the book in which Kate believed she would be hanged at any point because she was planning to kill someone, and Ned was dealing with his depression, was far too grim for me to write, and I scrapped the lot. Thankfully.

I can’t find this version, but what I can offer you instead is a scene from Proof by Seduction (spoilers for Proof ahoy!)–the original scene where Kate and Ned agree to marry.

Edited to add: Here is that scene. IT IS SPOILERY if you haven’t read Proof.

I still actually like this original better than the final one–because it’s just a little sweeter. I have always been sad about losing this one, but ultimately, after trying version after version after version along these lines, it just wouldn’t work to have Kate not be into the marriage, at least a little bit. Thus, version zero fell by the way side.

Version One started with neither Ned nor Kate leaving the country. I did write a substantial part of this version, but… it sucked so badly, for so many reasons. In any event, the book originally started with their wedding. This chapter isn’t utterly horrible. It took at least two chapters to start to fall entirely to pieces.

Thus was born Version Two, with new, stronger conflict. In this version, Ned left the country again–flat out abandoned Kate–and Kate, in his absence, wrote letters from him in order to maximize her father’s political gains. In case you were wondering, in all versions–from version zero, one, and two–Kate was not, in fact, her father’s daughter. In some of the versions, she knew that. In others, she did not, and discovered it as the book went along.

I wrote Version Two all the way to the end–90,000 words. Version Two of Trial by Desire is not a bad book, but it wasn’t a particularly good romance for a number of reasons. Here’s Chapter One of Version Two.

We come to Version Three. Version Three was after I scrapped Version Two almost in its entirety. Different plot. Different motivations. Different pieces. I rewrote the book–rewrote it, not revised it. In this version, Gareth and Jenny were more directly involved, as the woman who was being abused was not Louisa, a distant friend, but Laura, Gareth’s sister. Here’s the original prologue from Version Three.

Version Three had some major structural problems, many stemming from this inherent problem: How did Gareth and Jenny not notice that Laura was being abused? And why would Kate resist telling Gareth about his sister? There were no good answers, and after much futzing around and complication of motivations, I finally realized I was going to have to completely alter the relationships.

So I did, and from there, we get the more familiar Version Four, which we all know and love.

I have never had to do as much work for a book as I did for Trial by Desire. By contrast, Unveiled was a cake-walk.

And there you have it: four different versions for Trial by Desire.

I owe you something else, too–and hopefully, I will post it tomorrow.

#dabwaha, now with extra bribery!

Wednesday, March 23rd, 2011

So we interrupt those boring posts about books and publishing and pricing and stuff to bring you what really matters…. the third round of #dabwaha! The field of Hellagood Authors has been narrowed from 8 to … 2. And the two who are remaining are Courtney Milan and Loretta Chase.

Say what? Let’s see. There’s Loretta Chase, author of LORD OF SCOUNDRELS, only the best romance novel of all time, and there’s Courtney Milan.

As far as I can tell, I just need to resort to outright bribery. So here’s the bribe I’m offering: if by some miracle I advance to the next round, I’ll give you a scene that I wrote. Which scene, you ask?

Well, sometimes, when I’m trying to flesh out key pieces of backstory–when I need to know what happened and who said what, so that I know what those people are thinking about today–I write out scenes. Just so I know what happened.

It just so happens that I have a scene sitting on my hard drive. It’s a scene between Smite Turner and Richard Dalrymple, when they were both 15 years old. It’s written from Richard’s point of view.

Question: How do I know they were both 15 years old? Well, because the scene takes place on their mutual birthday.

Did you know that Smite and Richard shared a birthday? There are two other things that are revealed in this scene (besides the fact that they share a birthday).

These things aren’t spoilery things (I wouldn’t give out spoilery things). But they are interesting facts. And I think both of them shed a lot of light on Smite. And Richard. So… if you want it, you know what you have to do: basically convince everyone you know with an IP address to go vote in DABWAHA for TRIAL BY DESIRE.

Thank you

Tuesday, October 12th, 2010

There were times when I was writing Trial by Desire when I really didn’t know why I was doing it. It was a really, really hard book to write. There were parts that felt like sending little splinters of bamboo up my fingernails. When I finished, I told Mr. Milan that if I ever had to write a book like that again, I was going to quit writing altogether because it just wasn’t worth it.

For the most part, I don’t comment on reviews, or on reader discussions. But Google Alerts sends me snippets…. And so this blog post is for everyone who has talked about this book online, or e-mailed me, or tweeted someone that they had to read this book… I just want to say thank you.

There were definitely times when it felt like this book was not worth the agony of writing it.

I don’t feel like that now.

All caught up!

Sunday, October 3rd, 2010

This post violates one of the unspoken rules of authordom: in it, I imply that my books are not like babies and I do not love them all equally. Prepare to be shocked.

One of the reasons I’m excited about the release of Trial by Desire is probably not obvious on the face of it.

You see, the publication order of my books has not been the same as the order in which I wrote them. I wrote Proof by Seduction first, found an agent and an editor and sold the book, and had started work on Trial by Desire when my editor asked me if I’d like to write a novella. So I wrote “This Wicked Gift” a full year after I’d written Proof by Seduction, and well after I’d conceived the idea for Trial.

For a young writer (and I am young as a writer!), a year is a really long time. There are skills you learn by doing, things that you learn from writing books that you can’t learn any other way. I can definitely tell that I’ve grown as a writer. I can point to some things in Proof and know that I would handle them differently now. This is not to say that I think it’s a bad book. But I do think I’m a better writer since I wrote my first book, and I think you can tell by looking at the novella that came out before my first book.

In any event, I’ve finally caught up to myself. After Trial, my books are finally going to be coming out in the order in which I wrote them. I hope that in the years to come I continue to grow as a writer. And what I hope that means for you is that the best is yet to come.

But speaking of future books: I’ve posted the first scene from my January 25, 2011 release, Unveiled. No relation to Trial by Desire or Proof by Seduction.

Mr. Milan reviews TRIAL BY DESIRE

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

Do you know the drill yet? Mr. Milan, a completely objective reviewer who just so happens to be my husband, reviews my books. I edit for length (that’s it). This review is the result.

Hi everyone. It’s Mr. Milan again. Usually I just review Courtney’s books, but as you will see this is half review, half investigative journalism. You will understand the necessity for this when I reach the end.

As you may know, my past reviews of my wife Courtney’s work have been, on the whole, negative. Not that I don’t love Courtney. I do. It’s just that as a book reviewer, I have to call them as I see them. With her past work, there just wasn’t enough of the things that I liked to warrant a positive review.

Let me remind everyone where I’m coming from: I’m an avid reader of fiction, just not the kind of fiction Courtney usually writes. My tastes tend toward fantasy, sci-fi, and spy novels. I’ve read everything China Mieville’s ever published, I have a whole shelf of Barry Eisler’s books, and I’ll even, if it isn’t too vapid and mopey, read the occasional work of literary fiction (a good recent example is Wolf Hall by Hillary Mantel).

So, blessed (burdened?) with this background, I turned to Courtney’s new novel, Trial by Desire. I read it from cover to cover.

As a reviewer I try to keep an open mind, but you do sometimes judge an author by her previous books.  I had certain expectations when I came to this book. I am sure you can guess what those are by my previous reviews and that’s because you are judging me by those too. You are expecting me to say that this book sucked.

This book didn’t suck.

I checked the front and the book was still a couple sharing a torrid embrace. I checked the name and it was still Courtney Milan. A less secure individual might next have checked his pants to see if his manhood was still intact.

You may be surprised by my less than wholly negative review. But you really shouldn’t be. Trial was full of good action scenes, and they were well-written. The hero, Ned Carhart, isn’t afraid to mix it up, and Courtney, to her credit, isn’t afraid to write about it. Ned confronts rampaging horses, makes witty comments while held at gunpoint, and punches out the villain several times. He’s actually a great hero. I can see why the heroine would admire him.

Especially because the heroine’s not bad herself. Kathleen Carhart commands respect, because she’s willing to stand up for what she thinks is right. And she’s willing to risk more than just social humiliation or financial disappointment in order to win the man she loves. She’s a lot like Ned–she’ll face real danger if she has to, and that’s cool.

This book had more action in it than William Gibson’s latest book, Zero History. All of this made me wonder: what happened? How did someone who wrote the Sherman-Tank-deprived Proof by Seduction come up with a book that I enjoyed? This is where the investigative journalism part comes in.

Romance novels are often unfairly maligned for adhering to predictable formulae, the most common being the happy ending with the protagonists together in everlasting love. For me, that’s not a problem. Many other kinds of genre fiction are just as predictable — when was the last time the sleuth in a genre mystery failed to solve the crime? Following a convention that defines the genre isn’t cause for complaint.

Besides nobody knows more than me how hard Courtney works. I heard her swearing up a storm over this book. It wasn’t easy for her to write. But I’m her husband, and I was around when she was working on this book. I have access to the notes that she keeps in boxes in the basement. And after reading the book and having that weird positive reaction, I just couldn’t help but get suspicious.

It’s not that Courtney used a formula to help her write this book. Before you read on, make sure you are sitting down and remove any small children from the vicinity because this might be disturbing.

Courtney actually used algebra.

I am writing this review at the kitchen table with a sheaf of papers spread in front of me filled with mathematical calculations that I am convinced are her deriving this book from first principles. I don’t know how she did it, but here is a snippet of proof–and remember I have reams and reams of paper containing items like this.

Courtney uses partition functions to derive Trial by Desire

I hope you are as shocked as I am by this undeniable proof that Courtney is blatantly writing her books to a formula. I do have to admit that it is a very complicated formula and that she used a lot of them. I feel equally confident that other romance writers don’t do this. Nonetheless it explains my initial positive reaction to this book.

My enjoyment of the book was dulled considerably by this discovery.

Three Sherman Tanks.

Sherman Tanksherman tankSherman Tank

It’s Courtney again. Thank you, Mr. Milan, for that…uh…very kind review filled with scurrilous lies.

The stigma of happy (a rant)

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.
-Fyodor Doestoyevsky er, that would be Leo Tolstoy, and I don’t know what I was smoking

I’ve heard this sentiment echoed a thousand times, in a thousand ways: that somehow, happiness is simple and formulaic and less worthy, while pain and suffering is unique and harsh. You see this same assumption undergirding much of the dismissal of romance as a genre. Romance, after all, must be formulaic, because it demands a happy ending.

Other people have taken up that gauntlet. Romance is no more formulaic than mystery, which demands the mystery be solved, or sonnets, which are even more restrictive as to form, or cooking on Iron Chef, which demands that every dish contain mushrooms. All this falls on deaf ears; somehow, happy endings are easy, trite, predictable, and above all generic. All happy families are exactly alike; it’s the unhappy ones who are somehow different, and by nature of their unhappiness, subtly elevated.

I call bullshit. I not only call bullshit, I call stupid, self-indulgent, asinine bullshit. Anyone who has worked to make a relationship–any relationship, not just a romantic one–function knows that this is bull. When you and your best friend have a fight, it is much, much harder to work through the mix of anger and love than it is to simply walk away. And as anyone who has worked through one of those hard times knows, the happiness that you get from a friendship that you’ve worked for isn’t interchangeable. Happiness isn’t some easy, fungible thing that you can purchase. Happiness is hard work.

No, it’s the emo-teenager I-can-never-fix-the-pain-that-is-my-life crap that’s easy. It’s easy to wallow in misery. Anyone can do it. Everyone has. It’s hard to do something about it.

The way I write my books, I think of the problems first: the ones that drive the start of the story, the one that will nearly break my couple apart to the end. Those are easy; I have thousands of them in my head, just waiting to be written. I start writing, and it’s those problems that drive me. Make them harder; make them more impossible to solve. When I start writing, I don’t know how I’m going to bring my couple through it. I don’t know the answers.

Bringing my couple to a happy, satisfying ending is the hardest part of writing the book. When I was working on Trial by Desire, there were a lot of hard parts. The hardest, bar none, was coming to a satisfactory resolution of the external hardship that Kate and Ned faced. I thought I had a solution, but when push came to shove, I could see that it wasn’t permanent, that I would always fear a reprisal in the future. If I had that fear, so would my readers. My solution wasn’t good enough. After weeks of writing a thousand unsatisfactory scenes, that was the one time I broke down and called my editor, unable to figure out how to go on.

We did eventually get it right. (And I hope you agree!)

I wonder what world these people live in, where they think that throwing up one’s hands and saying, “Oh, well, life is just one unending bitter cup of misery, and then you have to pay taxes on your deathbed,” is somehow hard and worthy and nonformulaic.

No, guys. Getting up off your duff and finding some kind of sweetener to add to that bitter cup of woe? That’s hard. Walking away from something that doesn’t work? That’s easy. Anyone can walk away. It takes a real hero to stick around and try to make things better. It is a thousand times harder to solve problems than create them, and dismissing the triumph of victory trivializes the hard work and heroism that every happy person puts into being happy.

I am sick and tired of the notion that all happiness is alike, that it’s easy, and that it’s formulaic. There are a thousand ways to triumph and find joy over sorrow. And every single one of them will give you a different kind of happy.

Cover-up, part two

Tuesday, August 31st, 2010

Trial by Desire

Okay. I haven’t really talked about the problem with my book cover much on this blog, because, you know, you never want to insult anyone.

But…take a look at this cover. No, really. Take a very close look at it, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Do you see it yet? Hot guy, check. Provocative pose, check. Indication that characters might, in fact, enjoy themselves at some point during the course book? Check. Intimation that the characters might, in fact, engage in some kind of hanky-panky during the course of the book? Check, check, check.

Now that I’ve pointed out all these undesirable characteristics, no doubt you’ve caught on to the difficulty I’m having with this book. It’s one that Lisa Solod Warren over at the Huffington Post would recognize in an instant.

The answer is really kind of frightening, and so I have to whisper. Lean very, very close to the monitor.

This looks like a book that you would read for pleasure.

Trial by Barbed Wire: A book about exclusion and semiotics for,    like, extremely smart people. Like you. Yeah, you.The horror! The horror! Now, truthfully, I can’t deny the claim. Yes, I admit. There are parts that are intended to be funny. And if you press me, I have to admit that there are parts that are supposed to be hot. My hero and heroine…touch each other. For the purpose of giving pleasure. And, even worse: it works at the time. There’s even a happy ending. Animals do not grace its pages for the sheer purpose of killing them in a heart-rending moment at the end. Children do not succumb to mysterious illnesses in the final pages.

And so we all know what that means: this book is meaningless drivel, and anyone who sees you reading it will judge you accordingly.

Luckily, I am a writer of fiction, and so I’ve decided to come up with an alternate cover for this book. Just as I did for Proof by Seduction, I’ve created a printable book cover that will convince anyone who takes their reading selections solely from the New York Times book review section that you, yes you, are a brilliant person.

Trial by Desire? Pah. Smart people don’t have desires. They certainly don’t feel anything below the waist–at least, not anything good. Let’s face it. If you want to be smart, you can’t admit to desire. That’s why my cover repurposes itself as “Trial by Barbed Wire.” Please note the subtitle. This is not a book about love or desire. It’s a book about exclusion and semiotics.

But, of course, one can’t judge a book by its front cover. That would just be gauche. One must see the back cover copy, too.

(You might need to click on the graphic to read what it says.)

But there you have it, in plain black–er, blue–and white: People who are merely intelligent read for pleasure. But you’d have to be a real genius to read for the mind-numbing pain.

(and for those of you who are following along at home, the sarcasm tag goes off…now.)

If you would like to win a copy of Trial by Barbed Wire, just let me know in the comments section by Wednesday. One lucky person will get the recovered-Trial by Desire. And if you want to download and print your very own personal book cover, so that you, too, can impress random people on the subway, the file is here. Directions on how to use it are here.

Enjoy!

TRIAL BY DESIRE: giveaway

Wednesday, August 25th, 2010

So, I got my author copies of Trial by Desire last Friday.

Getting author copies is always a huge deal. They’re shiny and pretty–even more shiny and pretty in person than you can imagine from the cover. This book is even more striking in person than Proof by Seduction was. They’ve used a spot gloss on the cover to highlight the name of the book, and on the spine, so that the image of my heroine’s face on the spine is shiny. (In fact, I think the spine for Trial by Desire is much, much, MUCH prettier than Proof‘s.)

The first thing I did was sign a copy to Mr. Milan. The inscription reads like this: “To my most wonderful: May you appreciate all of this book’s brilliance, and overlook all the bad parts.” Then I signed a copy to my older brother, since I dedicated the book to him. I signed some more copies for some other wonderful people who deserve it.

Finally, I spent a few days, hugging all the copies (but gently! gently!), and building forts with them (again, gently!), and otherwise reveling in being surrounded by many, many copies of my book.

But, alas. It is time for me to let go. And that means I’m going to be giving away not one, not two, but three copies of this book. One of those copies will be here on this blog: all you have to do to get it is leave a comment on this blog entry on either today (Wednesday the 25th) or tomorrow (Thursday the 26th), and be one of the randomly chosen people. A second copy will be given away on twitter: all you have to do is send me an @reply, saying “Courtney, I want to win a copy of Trial by Desire!”–one of you will be randomly chosen as the winner by today at noon, PST.. The third copy will be given away on Facebook, to one of the people who likes my new Facebook author page, by this Friday (the 27th) at noon. The only rule is this: if you win in one venue, you’ll be disqualified from winning in the others–it’s only fair, after all.

So there you have it: three ways to win a very, very early copy of Trial by Desire. Enjoy!

The Happily Ever After

Friday, August 20th, 2010

I’ve been thinking about what happens after the Happily Ever After.

It’s a given for me that a romance must have a happy, satisfying ending: I wouldn’t want to read a book where the hero and heroine didn’t end up together (and if I don’t want them to get together, the book obviously isn’t working for me). But there’s a tendency, especially in series, to trot out the happy couple years after the fact, just to show them happy! and healthy! and fecund! and not having any kind of conflict whatsoever. They have nothing but beautiful, bright-eyed children, who brush their teeth without being told to do so.

Now, there are some things I would not do to a prior hero and heroine. I wouldn’t make them divorce. I wouldn’t make them separate. I wouldn’t kill one of them off. And I would never, ever, have one of them cheat. They all live to a ripe old age, and they are never, ever unhappy because of their marriage.

But part of what I am trying to do in writing a romance is not just to write about a couple who manages to solve whatever problem du jour (du livre?) that I conjure up. It’s to convince the reader that the couple has grown to the point where they are capable of solving all of the things that life throws at them. That they can face anything–financial downturns, difficult children, the death of parents, misguided siblings–so long as they do it together. I want you to believe that in the face of a world that is not always kind, fair, or good, that their life will be kind, fair, and good, because they have each other.

To me, that’s what real romance is about. Not the flowers or the chocolates or even the sex. It’s about knowing that the world will always be a better place because that person is by your side.

Trial by Desire is a book that focuses on Ned and Kate (who are the hero & heroine of the book). But Gareth and Jenny show up. And everything is not all sweetness and light in their life. They do have a problem. But that problem is one that they’ll face together. I worried when I wrote this. Was it violating some cardinal rule, to imply that my hero and heroine have worries after their marriage? Should they have had two sets of twins in the intervening years? Should their life read like an advertisement for a diamond commercial?

Ultimately, I decided that I was shortchanging Gareth and Jenny, if I implied that they were so weak as a couple that they could not handle a little stress in their life.

I’m thinking about this again, as I’m working on my fourth (fourth!) book, and have finally realized that the book has to intersect the life of my third-book-heroine in a way that will make her very, very unhappy. Anything else would be cheap.

Can I do that? Is it allowed?

I think I’ve just decided that it’s not only allowed, it’s required by the mechanics of the fourth-book plot. Whatever happens, Margaret’s husband will stand by her. They’ll work through it together. And I hope my readers will never, ever doubt that they have a happy marriage–even if not all times in the marriage are equally blissful.

So what do you think? Would it ruin a prior book for you, if you found out that the couple faced conflict in the future? How much fairy tale do you need in your happy endings?

It’s a baby!

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

By the time I get to the end of every book, I absolutely hate it, more than you can possibly imagine, and I can see no reason why anyone else would ever want to read it.

It is in this lovely vein that I then must work at promoting it. I have to tell other people why they must read it. An admission, because I am feeling honest. I’ve been working on promotional stuff for Proof by Seduction in which I tell you how much I love and adore my book. But it’s all a pack of lies. I don’t love my book.

Some people say they love their books as if they were babies. Maybe there’s some truth to that, because there’s a moment in every infant’s life when it has just wet its diaper for the fourth time in thirty minutes, not that it matters, because somehow it wormed out of the diaper, which it left in a wet mass on top of the stairs. It’s crying at the top of its lungs. And despite what appears to be a general tendency towards immobility, the baby has still managed to climb out of its crib, open three intervening doors, and is now splashing in the antifreeze out in the garage. Also–dear God, what is that thing in its mouth? You have to be kidding me. It’s not a–oh. Yes. Yes, it is.

Mothers, you know what I am talking about. (I do not have children yet, but I have a dog, which is almost the same thing, and this story also perfectly describes my younger brother at one year old.) This is the moment when every mother, whether she admits it or not, wants to shriek, “Please! Anybody! TAKE THIS CHILD, I will give you twenty dollars! No, thirty!”

This is what I think about when other people say that their books are their “babies.” I hate my books with an undying passion, even if part of me feels some kind of grudging kinship and responsibility. If anyone asks me in public, of course, my books are all little angels and I adore every fat little dimple on their collective chins. But in private, my books are that baby, covered in antifreeze, oddly diaper-less, leaving a trail of terrifying baby-slime in their wake.

So. Ahem. Who wants to buy a copy of Proof by Seduction?


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