Since late January, over 500 people have been receiving the course emails for Moving Past Bodice Ripping Toward Shredding the Patriarchy: Romance Novels as Tools for Justice. Weekly emails include book and other reading recommendations from the instructors. Additionally, each week, during the Twitter class chat, participants make book recommendations for that week's topic. So, ready to add to your TBR? The data is coded for the week/topic it was mentioned. You'll also see a long list of authors whose works were recommended broadly.
A few notes:
I enjoyed speaking with Andrea at Shelf Love about cinnamon roll heroes, power and fantasy in romance, and Teach Me by Olivia Data.
2019 was a big year for me. I signed with an agent, I was honored for some awards, I was a finalist for the Golden Heart award through RWA, my book sold, the women's empowerment program I co-lead received high praise, and my kid is cute. All that is to say, I found myself receiving a lot of compliments. That certainly not a bad thing--I like compliments; however, what I recognized in myself was my inability to simply say "Thank you."
Instead, I did what many of us do. I qualified my thank you.
I qualified my thank you. I diminished the accomplishment. Also, those statements aren't true. I wrote a good book. I worked with a group of incredible women to bring together a program, but I had a large hand in that. I am a creative and dedicated advocate for social justice. My kid is cute and only a beast like 28% of the time.
This weekend, I finished writing acknowledgements which, I have to tell you, feels a lot like giving an Oscar acceptance speech, except that I was wearing sweatpants and Chris Evans was nowhere to be found when I tripped walking up my own stairs.
Still, it’s humbling to thank everyone who supported you during the conception, gestation, and birth of your book baby. Too graphic? Are you trying to decide what the placenta is in this metaphor? Let it go, it’s not that serious (but the life-sustaining placenta for this book would be Diet Coke and Baked Cheetos). There’s a challenge to make the acknowledgements fit the tone of the book—for me, that meant a little touching, a little funny, and a little bit deeper than you thought it would go.
There are a few people I didn’t get to thank, so if you’ll indulge me…
That was a preview, so I hope you’ll make it to the end of HOW TO FAIL AT FLIRTING to read the final cut of the speech. It's not out yet, so I’ll just be here, waiting for Chris Evans to show up.
Romance writers are proud of many things related to our craft: character development, humor, snappy dialogue, and steamy love scenes. There's something else, though. We're proud of our GIF game! Meet some of the 2020 debut romance novels coming your way as described by the authors in GIFs.
Perfect Distraction (March 23, 2020)
Allison Ashley (Entangled)
Something To Talk About (May 26, 2020)
Salt + Stilettos (Spring 2020)
Janet Walden-West (City Owl Press)
Fearless (July 28, 2020)
Loathe at First Sight (August 4, 2020)
The Roommate (September 15, 2020)
Rosie Danan (Berkley) *Add The Roommate To Your TBR*
How to Fail At Flirting (December 2020)
Denise Williams (Berkley)
Get ready for a year of great books and be on the lookout for the next GIF post featuring more upcoming novels!
Two things about me: I’m a nerd and I love research.
It should surprise no one that I organized a surprise party for my third-grade teacher when I was eight-years old and that for the last fifteen years, I’ve been trying to find her to say thank you for the impact she had on me.
Mrs. James was the first black woman teacher I ever had—from pre-K through a doctoral degree, she was one of two. For much of a my childhood, I was a wallflower wishing to be invisible, but in her classroom, I felt seen. More than that, I saw someone who looked like me standing at the front of the room, and I was awe struck. After having her as a teacher, I never abandoned the idea of being an educator or a writer—thirty years later, I’m both.
I dug out old yearbooks, only to find none of the teacher’s first names were included. I used every tool I knew of, including calling the school district and Facebook messaging my old principal. Not knowing someone’s first name makes finding them in a large city somewhat impossible. My elementary school was attached to a military base, so everyone was transient, which makes the Alumni Facebook Group I found less odd. For a few years, I’d ask periodically if anyone knew her first name or where she was—some people shared with me how much they’d enjoyed her class, too, but no one knew, until last night when someone replied with her first name. My search clicked into to place. I’ve found her now—or, I’m pretty sure, anyway—but unfortunately, I think she died last year.
I haven’t spoken to her since I was nine years old—I know next to nothing about her, but this has me thinking a lot about representation, impact, and the people who touch our lives in pivotal ways without ever knowing. I’m thinking, too, about what it means to womxn of color to see people who look like them, how rare it can be, and why that matters for those of us writing love stories about people who look like us.
Mostly, I’m thinking, I still plan to say thank you, I just don’t know how yet.
Yesterday, I spent about 5 hours sitting on the runway between three flights and four cities. I had every intention of spending the entire time writing (I didn’t) but being the extrovert I am, I found myself getting to know those around me in the way you to on planes (i.e. I don’t know your name, but I know what you do, where you’re from, what your kids do, sometimes your politics, and your in-flight snack preferences). If you’re curious, I would take a middle seat if it meant I got more Biscoff cookies.
On this flight, my neighbor with whom I’d previously been chatting politics, TV, and children, motioned to my laptop and asked, “Are you writing a book?”
I nodded, worrying for a minute it was the steamy sex scene I’d left on the screen and not the funny scene between aunt and teenager.
“Is it your first?”
My heart raced, I shouted in my head to be cool, and I answered with a practiced, polished voice. “No, my first will come out next fall and my second sometime the following year. This one might be my third.” We continued to talk and she asked about the books and the process. It was a lovely conversation and she made that flight a highlight of an otherwise very long day of travel.
If you’re curious, here are the things that were cycling through my brain before I gave that practiced, polished answer.
If you want the head’s up on my upcoming books, you can sign up for my newsletter here and you’ll be in the know when I have book news to share...but don't expect me to share the cookies. We don't know each other like that yet.
Bookwise, this last week left me spinning.
I sent revisions on How to Fail at Flirting back to my editor. It’s so close to being done. It’s polished, it’s clean, it’s lovely, and I smile to myself when reading it.
I sent my second book to a third round of reviews with critique partners. This book is well-crafted and my talented friends are catching things I’ll look at in editing, but also giving me feedback on what they love. And—whew!—they’re pointing out the same things I love.
With Nanowrimo kicking off yesterday, I started book three…and it’s new and flawed and choppy and…a first draft. So, in honor of book three and in hopes it is one day polished, clean, and lovely. Here are the things I’ve learned about starting over.
I was interviewed on The Writer's Haven and had a wonderful time talking about about my writing journey, why I love romance, and HOW TO FAIL AT FLIRTING! Preview: "We need stories from all vantage points" and "Sex is cool."
Denise reads romance novels, writes research papers, can be found humming "Baby Shark" long after her toddler has gone to bed, and loves ruining her character's lives but then giving them happily ever afters. She is a member of Romance Writers of America® and a 2019 Golden Heart® Finalist, and her debut novel HOW TO FAIL AT FLIRTING will be out fall 2020 from Berkley.