In Trepidation I Go to the Awards...

I've been trying to ban thoughts of the RNA Novel of the Year 2011 Awards Party from my brain for the last few weeks. Actually, that's not true. It's been since the long list was announced, way before Christmas. All through January I've not been thinking about it. All through February I've not been thinking about it even harder.

And now here it is. March 7th 2011. Champagne and canapes galore apparently - which I won't be able to enjoy because I'll be sick with nerves. I've allowed myself to practice a good loser face. Wistful? Nonchalant? Unconcerned? I'm not sure which is best. Green with envy? No, not that. Besides, I genuinely think I won't win. The rest of the short list is crammed with marvellous writers and fabulous novels. One of them will win. (My money's on Elizabeth Chadwick, not least because To Defy a King has the most gorgeous cover.)

Where I have won is by joining the Romantic Novelists Association in the first place, nearly ten years ago. Then I was in possession of a manuscript and a fistful of rejections. Since joining, all along the road to publication the RNA has been there from meeting my agent at an RNA party, to now and being short listed for their main award. It's been great and, because I don't expect that I'll get the chance on the night, I'd like to say a big thank you to the RNA. May you carry on supporting writers for ever.

NEW!!! I've finally got round to organising some course dates....

How to WRITE a Novel: London 3rd May/Birmingham 7th May/

Oxford 8th May/Exeter 21st May/Bath 12th June

How to SELL a Novel: London 24th May/Exeter 4th June/

Bath 3rd July Details are on my website

Shortlisted! And Why It Matters to Me.

Yippedy doo dah! I've been shortlisted for the RNA Romantic Novel of the Year 2011. Or rather, Kissing Mr Wrong has, but as it's a novel I get to scoot up to London and drink champagne on its behalf.

It was a difficult book to write in many ways. My deadline was end of June, and by Christmas I'd struggled to get 20,000 words written down. Then there was Christmas and New Year and, well, not much got written. I picked it up again in mid-January and then I had a phone call. My father had gone to see his GP, rather against his will but my mother insisted, the GP thought it would be a good idea to run some tests, and the quickest way of getting them done was to admit him to hospital straight away. My father didn't want to go - after all, he felt fine - but he could see the logic so off he went to hospital.

The tests didn't go the right way. He stayed in hospital. As he was virtually blind, he needed someone to help him so my mother stayed to support him, and I stayed to support her. Three days later we were told he had terminal cancer. He went back home a few days later. My mother, my sister and myself operated an informal shift system so one of us was with him all the time. I had the day shift. He was slipping in and out of consciousness at this time, so I tried to get some work done when I could, but every moment he was awake was precious. (If you were on the Bristol Diploma a couple of years ago, sorry for the terrible handwriting on your assessments.)

He died on Valentine's Day 2009. It had taken 16 days from that visit to the GP. We were all in shock - he hadn't been ill, he hadn't shown any signs. And I stopped writing. I couldn't. I nothing to give.

I warned my editor who was sympathetic. February went by, then March and April. In May I realised I was running out of time. I picked up the 20,000 words and thought - what rubbish. Then I thought about the contract I'd signed. My dad was always a man of his word. So I wrote Kissing Mr Wrong in two months, delivering the manuscript at 11.58pm on the last day of June.

My lovely editor at Headline gave me a couple of months to do the re-write, and Kissing Mr Wrong came out just a couple of weeks behind schedule.

And here it is, shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year. It makes me cry because, you know, he would have been so proud.

YIPPEE!!! It's Award Time Again

The first inkling came in the morning with a Direct Message on Twitter:  

MEGA CONGRATULATIONS! it said.  

Umm - for what? I DM'd back.  Then waited anxiously until this turned up:

Oh God don't you know?  Forget I said anything. 

Forget?  How could I?  Could you? 

I paced around.  I looked at a couple of websites.  I DM'd my friend a couple of times.  No reply. I checked my inbox once or twice.  Or it might have been a hundred times.  Finally - finally! - about 5 hours later it came:

The longlist for Romantic Novel of the Year had been announced and for the second year running I had a novel on it.  Last year it was for A Single to Rome, this year it's for Kissing Mr Wrong.  I've seen the competition, which includes Katie Fforde, Jojo Moyes, Erica James and Nora Roberts among others, so I'm not holding my breath that I'll get onto the shortlist, let alone win.  

But right now...I'm basking in glory!  Yippee!!!

And The Winner Is...

Me! Well, that's what I'm hoping to be hearing next March as A Single to Rome has been longlisted for Romantic Novel of the Year. Of course I know I should be saying something self-deprecating and charming about how I'm honoured to be among such illustrious company, the wonderful books that have also been longlisted and all that (and I genuinely am thrilled to have been included) but deep deep down I hope that all their books will dissolve into the bathwater because I really really want to WIN.

Writing is not a competitive sport. It's for people who like sitting in small rooms talking to imaginary characters. And while most writers would admit to twinges of jealousy when they hear of a fellow writer getting an amazing deal or hitting the heights of the bestseller lists, in my experience we're a fairly generous and supportive lot. Perhaps we're so used to being at the bottom of the publishing pile we learn to look out for each other.

I never won anything at school, not even a runner up badge. I wasn't bad, but neither was I good. I was average, and average means years of sitting on a hard chair in the school hall listening to other people's names being called. Strange, isn't it. If you'd asked me yesterday I'd have said I wasn't particularly fussed about awards and prizes, those years having left minimal expectations. I don't expect I'll be getting the prize this time round, but oh - I am so pleased that for once I'm a contender.