Forgive my week-long absence. If you read my last post, you can probably figure out what I was doing.

That's right, I was watching the Olympics.

But when I wasn't watching Hedrick vs. Davis, Cohen vs. Slutskaya, or Bode vs. 16-oz schooners, I was working my way through final galleys on WAKING LAZARUS--an exhilirating and exhausting experience at the same time. It's exhilirating for the simple fact that it's your own book you're looking at: the typography, the cool chapter headings, the presence of your name on the header of every even-numbered page...well, that's something you dream about seeing for a long time.

It was exhausting because, as much as you want to have the book published, you also want to have more time with it. If you only had more time, you could add another 10K words to the thing, fill in a few areas. (Of course, maybe you'd slow down the pace by adding 10K, but given a bit more time after that, you could find ways to pick up the pace.) This, also, is where grim reality starts to set in: it's your last chance to check your makeup and apply some fresh lipstick before the prom, and you secretly fear you've missed that big hunk of spinach between your front teeth. For that matter, you wonder if that last-second bit of lipstick is going to draw attention away from your crossed eyes, buck teeth and recessed chin. (And with all that, how in the heck did you ever get asked to prom in the first place?)

Now, I'm not saying these feelings overpower the sense of exhiliration--not by any stretch--but they're certainly there. And so, when it came time to seal the UPS envelope and send the whole package back to my editor, I had to pause. Was the book ready. Was it really, really ready?

Yeah, I told myself, the book was as ready as it could be. But I don't think I was.

No more than 10 minutes ago, the nice UPS lady delivered a package from my publisher--a package I've waited many a moon to receive.

Final galleys of WAKING LAZARUS.

I haven't opened it yet because, well heck, I wanted to share the opening of it with you fine folks who happen to drop by this blog on occasion. First impression, before I've even opened it? It feels appropriately thick and solid. Like a book. Don't know what the official final page count will be, but it's got the right heft to it.

Now, as I sit staring at the package, I wonder what the page design and typography will look like. I wonder what the header and chapter titles will look like. I wonder, frankly, what the whole thing will look like.

But more than looks, I wonder how the thing will read. I've recently finished the unedited ARC of the book, so it will be interesting to go through the manuscript again and compare where the rough edges have been sanded, where the awkward repetitions have been, um, un-awkwarded.

Most of all, I suppose, I think about this being the last chance to make changes. This is the end, beautiful friend (as Jim Morrison might have said). This is it (as Kenny Loggins, a decidedly less hip pop culture reference than Jim Morrison, might have said).

Exciting, yes. Nervewracking, yes. I don't want any boneheaded mistakes in this, after all. And yet, I'm bound to have made a few. Will I catch them? (And by the way, I mean mistakes in terms of content--geographical mixups, historical references, those sorts of things. I'm quite confident the wonderful folks at Bethany House have caught grammar slips and such.)

And so, it's time to open the package and take peek. After all, I've now reminded myself that I have a lot of work to do, making sure I've got all my facts, figures and timelines straight.

Okay, it's open. Inside is a return envelope, so I can send the thing back to Bethany House. Under that, a form entitled "Author Approval of Edited Galley Proofs," attached to the front of the manuscript by a rubber band. Have to get them back to BH by February 28th, that's...sheesh, what am I doing writing this blog thing when I only have EIGHT DAYS to scrap this whole project and start over from scratch?

Wait, I mean: I only have EIGHT DAYS to make a few additions and corrections. Nerves got the best of me for a moment there.

Okay, let's take a peek at the manuscript itself. Off comes the rubber band. Oh, okay, I suppose I should read the Author Approval form first. All right, it tells me I will find some questions directed to me by my fine, fine editor, bracketed in the text. Hey, that's kinda cool. I'll look for brackets. Rest of the form looks pretty self-explanatory, so off it comes.

Next is a sheet character count, chapter count, a detail of additional back material, and so on. Hey, that's fun, simply because it's the first time I've seen it. And because, you know, it's my book. So when I read "Additional Back Material" includes such things as "Acknowledgments" and "Author Note," well, hey, that's MY STUFF. In a REAL BOOK.

Okay, half title page. Nice serif face--small caps. Me like.

Title page on page three. Oooh. Very nice. The title has the same scratched/shredded treatment as the book cover, and my name, in a big chunky bold face, is actually above the title. Then, the Bethany House logo. At this moment, I think I perhaps love the Bethany House people more than ever before. Just for giving me this title page.

Next is the cataloging information and copyrights (looks like the CIP data has been applied for, so it's not "live" in this version yet). Nice to see that "Copyright © 2006 T.L. Hines" there, though.

A dedication page, to two people very near and dear to me. And it gets its own page.

Oooh, the Bible quote that serves as the inspiration for the book's title (John 11:9-11, if you're interested).

And now...

Oh, my.

The chapter page isn't just your basic number. We have chapter titles, and the BH folks have created a design that evokes the cover's gathering storm clouds, and is...magnificently beautiful. Beautifully magnificent. (RIFLE THROUGH THE REST OF THE MANUSCRIPT TO CHECK OTHER CHAPTER HEADINGS) Yes, indeed, I like me the chapter headings. And the typeface--not sure what it is, but it's...well, it's magnificently beautiful.

Ooh, and the interior pages have a nice keyline box around them (and there's my name, big cap letters on every even-numbered page), which is...magnificently beautiful. Have I said that already?

Okay, flip to the back material. Got to see the acknowledgements, author note and bio. Nice, nice, and nice. And hey, Dave used my "Odd Past Jobs/ZZ Top Air Guitar Contest" bio. Didn't think that one would make the final cut. Hmmm, now I wonder if the bio is too jocular for a "spooky" novel? Maybe...

Okay, folks, I'm gonna have to do some reading. I can't just sit here and not read a FINAL GALLEY of MY OWN BOOK sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

Especially because I only have EIGHT DAYS to RETURN A FINAL VERSION.

As I told you recently, I've received Advance Reading Copies of WAKING LAZARUS--as have authors reading the book for possible endorsements, as well as a few reviewers. (The bulk of the review copies, I believe, have yet to go out--just the long lead publications at this point.)

Previously, I talked about the somewhat surreal experience of reading my own ARC. The first 50 pages or so were rough; I found it hard to take off the editing hat and just read the thing. But at some point along the way, that editing hat did come off, and I actually enjoyed reading.

For me, one of the great pleasures of reading is coming across sections or passages that really strike a chord, then re-reading them again just to savor them. That's happened with a lot of King's work. With Enger's Peace Like A River, I found myself doing it on almost every page; same with Athol Dickson's recent River Rising. If I keep saying to myself, "Man, I wish I'd written that," I know I"m liking the book.

So it's somewhat interesting to have that experience while reading your own work. While reading WAKING LAZARUS, I came across passages I enjoyed--a number of them, I'm happy to say. Oddly enough, my first thought, in each and every case, was: "Did my editor do that?"

As you might have guessed, it's easy for me to be naturally critical of my own work--most writers, I'm guessing, find it easy to be self-critical. So actually enjoying my own book was an odd experience, so much so that my mind wanted to attribute the "good" passages to my editor: "Man, Dave really whipped that part into shape." I suppose I open myself up to some interesting Freudian interpretation to say such things, but so be it.

So yes, I've found it is indeed possible to like my own work. Parts of it, anyway.

But never all of the parts.

I've said before on this blog what kind of effect Stephen King has had on my writing--so much so, in fact, that I promised myself I would write to him and let him know if I ever got a publishing contract. And so, on Friday, an envelope with an Advance Reading Copy of WAKING LAZARUS and a heart-felt letter went to Mr. Stephen King. Do I expect him to read the ARC, let alone send me a blurb for it? Not likely; in fact, I'll be surprised if Mr. King himself ever sees the letter. (And frankly, if I got a blurb from someone like Stephen King, I'm sure it would prompt a few, um, "discussions" within my publisher's offices.)

However, it's an act of homage, more than anything, to me. Stephen King had such a profound effect on my desire to be a writer, I had to acknowledge that. In other words, it's a long-winded way of saying "thanks." (Just finished Cell, by the way; King manages to make some incisive commentary about our culture. Plus, it has zombies, man. With cell phones.)

Dear Mr. King:

He’s recently graduated from the typical Hardy Boys fare at his school library, stepping up to authors such as Tolkien, Heinlein, and Richard Adams. In this very store, he’s discovered paperback gems by authors such as Jack L. Chalker, Piers Anthony, and Graham Masterton. Now he has $4.00 in his pocket, ready to plunk down on the next great discovery. After a bit of browsing, he spies a silver-covered book with a featureless face on the cover. Cool, he thinks. Metallic silver. And the face doesn’t have eyes or anything. Double cool. He picks it up. THE SHINING, it says in bold letters, by STEPHEN KING (in his 12-year-old mind, it’s pronounced “STEFF-en.”) He reads the back cover, finds the idea of a haunted hotel triple cool, pulls the $4.00 out of his pocket, grabs a new edition of "CarToons" magazine (because he’s also a big fan of Mopar muscle cars--Dodge Chargers especially--and this some five years before "The Dukes of Hazzard" debuts on CBS), then rushes to find his mother.

Sincerely,
Tony L. Hines

As I shared in my last entry, I got my first glance at ARCs for WAKING LAZARUS. Yes, I know they're just plain old trade paperback things with a modest white cover (the final cover, at a reduced size, is reproduced on the front). Yes, I know they're unedited galley proofs inside, with all the warts of my unedited copy showing. Yes, I know they're not properly typeset, or printed on nice paper.

And yet.

And yet, as I said to my editor: they're indescribably beautiful.

Two days later, I think I've finally emerged from my euphoria enough to offer a few comments. One of the first things I did was just flip through one of the ARCs--you know, kinda like you'd do with one of those stop-motion flip books. Man, I thought to myself, I obviously like me some italics. Dave, my editor, made a comment about that in the editorial process--something to the effect of, "We'll have to figure out how to handle some of your stylistic passages"--and now I see what he meant. I've always known I tend to have a certain stream-of-consciousness style when I'm writing (I like to write from a limited third-person POV, emphasis on limited), and seeing the thing in actual print opened my eyes to my own tendencies a bit more.

Next, I smelled it. Yes, really. I love the smell of fresh book in the morning.

Then, I put it down for a while. Delayed gratification and all that. I didn't want to start reading it right away--I just needed to get used to the idea of having an actual PRINTED COPY of my book. I packed it in my suitcase and hit the road for a biz trip.

When I reached my destination, I unpacked, cracked open the book, and started reading. Okay, a bit of a mistake. I thought I'd be able to sit down and read it, somewhat experience it the same way as someone coming to the story for the first time. (I, myself, haven't read anything of the book since handing it in a few months ago, and haven't read it straight through for several months.) Instead, as you might guess, I started analyzing the thing. Oooh, I should have changed this. Man, why did I say THAT? Wait, this would sound better if...

I'm guessing architects, when looking at their finished buildings, have a tendency to look at the structure, pick apart all the little details. Such was the case with my reading; I'm not sure, frankly, I'll EVER be able to read through the thing recreationally, the way I read books by other authors. (Some writers claim they can't ready any book without analyzing it and getting bogged down. Luckily, I don't seem to suffer from that particular affliction.) So, after about 50 pages, I had to put the thing down.

Still, since then, I've caught myself eyeing it and smiling. Being thankful I even have a book to look at and smile at.

And yes, I've smelled it a few more times, too.

I've been holding my breath for some time now, waiting for Advance Reading Copies (ARCs) of WAKING LAZARUS to hit the streets.

A couple months, actually, I've been waiting. Long time to go without breathing.

And I'm happy to say ARCs of WAKING LAZARUS are now hitting said streets with a nice, satisfying thunk. A few of the authors who have been kind enough to read the book for a possible endorsement have contacted me to let me know they've received their copies, so that's nice.

Only problem is, I, the guy who wrote the blessed thing, have not seen a copy yet. Granted, it's not like wandering into the local book store and seeing your book on the shelf (not that I know what that feels like, but it's something I'm certainly looking forward to), but holding a copy of YOUR book in YOUR hands...well, that's got to be a moment to look forward to, as well, doesn't it?

So, sometime in the next few days, I should have a few ARCs, and I'm excited to have a chance to actually read the book the way most people will be reading it. Almost experiencing it for the first time, actually, because truth be told, I haven't sat down and read it straight through since...I don't know when. Also, I'm looking forward to hearing what other folks have to say about the book; after all, at this point, fewer than probably a dozen people have read WAKING LAZARUS.

But then, well, there's the other side of that coin. True mixed emotions, because even as I look forward to the ARC stage, I dread it just a bit as well. (Mike Duran told me I was starting to sound like Woody Allen in these overly-confessional posts. My response was: "What do you mean starting to? I've always been this neurotic.")

Well, not really neurotic. More like...okay, neurotic.

A part of my is terrified to have people read the book. People who know me, reading it and hoping to find something of themselves in there. (Some will.) People who know the locations, reading it and looking for errors in geography or history. (Let's just say I took great liberties with the locations.) People who don't know me at all, reading it and thinking I might have serious issues with my mother, my father, hospitals or mice. (Love mom and dad, jury's still out on hospitals, let's not talk about mice.) And finally, other authors and reviewers reading it, closing the book after 50 pages, and saying, "They're publishing this?" (I've asked the question myself, and my only response is: proof positive God still works miracles.)

And folks, let's not forget, we're just at the ARC stage right now. Not sure I'll make it to the day when I actually see the book on the shelf.

My fingernails certainly won't, at any rate.

(UPDATE: Came home for a quick lunch just before hitting the road for a few days, and what should be stuffed into my mailbox but a package containing ARCs? I'm all verklempt--more thoughts when I've had a chance to savor the feeling.)

The world of CBA fiction--a world I'm about to enter--gets a lot of press about what's wrong with it. And let me start by saying I think many of those charges have some validity.

But that's changing.

Most often, people decry a lack of perceived quality among the fiction; that's a subjective matter, of course, but historically, and as a whole, I can see the argument. In the past, some CBA authors and houses haven't paid much attention to the craft of their stories, believing their audiences didn't care about craft.

But that's changing.

Pick up a book such as Athol Dickson's masterful River Rising and tell me it doesn't compare favorably to faith-focused ABA fiction such as Robinson's Gilead or Enger's Peace Like A River. (I don't say this lightly--PLAR remains among my favorite books ever, and I think River Rising has taken a special spot on my shelf next to it.)

Many feel CBA fiction is too "preachy," trying to convert them. Again, valid point. After all, CBA fiction, as a genre, generally has a conversion scene, where the main character becomes a Christian. Trouble is, such conversion scenes resonate better with people who have already converted.

But that's changing.

Read Athol's book, and you won't find a conversion scene. Read recent thrillers such as Robert Liparulo's Comes A Horseman and you won't find a conversion scene. Read Dekker's stuff--Three comes to mind--and you won't find people dropping to their knees and praying the sinner's prayer. Fact is, many CBA books are simply imparting a specific Christian worldview. That's something that can resonate with anyone; we do, read, after all, to step inside the minds of others.

Many feel CBA fiction hasn't been diverse enough. I cede that point on many levels, as well. The CBA has been dominated by evengelical presses, offering historical romances because--well, because those are the roots of CBA fiction, and that's what sold.

But that's changing.

I look at writers such as Marilynn Griffith, coming out with well-designed, well-written, well-marketed novels such as Made of Honor and her brand new Pink (Shades of Style), along with authors such as Angela Benson, Sharon Ewell Foster, and soon-to-be-published Claudia Mair Burney. These are wonderful authors writing from a multicultural perspective, and I'm honored my book will be sharing shelf space with them. Well, kind of sharing shelf space, because that's my other point: whereas "CBA fiction" was once a genre in and of itself, we're seeing a multitude of story lines and subject matter. Romance and chick let, yes, but also historical fiction, suspense fiction, mystery fiction, spec fiction, and more.

If you're a writer of color, or a writer whose work doesn't fit into easily-described boxes, this should be encouraging to you. It certainly is to me.

Maybe that's why CBA fiction (and let's call it Christian fiction, shall we?) is booming. CBA book sales have now passed $2 billion annually (according to the CBA's own statistics), and, as an excellent recent article in Bonita News observes:

Christian fiction is one of the few bright spots for publishers. U.S. consumers bought 44 million fewer books in 2004 than in 2003, according to a report published last spring by the Book Industry Study Group. And sales over the next four years are expected to be largely flat, with one exception—religious titles.

Perhaps, once in a while, we could all take a break from knocking CBA fiction for what it's doing wrong--and celebrate what it's doing right.