Samantha James Screams the Good News!
When Christina asked me to drop in to chat about hitting the New York Time Bestseller List for the first time, I jumped at the chance. (Of course they didn’t want me to talk about how to write a New York Times bestseller--the Squawk Gals have that down pat!) But when I sat down to write this blog, I wondered what wisdom I, Samantha James, could impart. Well, my first thoughts were these:
Number 13 is NOT an unlucky number.
And never say never.
It’s human nature to dream big, you know? When my husband was a kid, he wanted to be an Olympic champion in track-and-field. I wasn’t a kid; I was nearly thirty when I discovered romance novels. And I wanted to be the next Kathleen Woodiwiss. Or maybe I’d be the next Jude Devereaux. Or Johanna Lindsay, and Fabio would grace my cover . . . (uh-oh, did I really say that? Maybe I should duck and run here!). No matter—someday I wanted to be on the bestseller lists along with them.
A confession here: I’ve been in the biz a looong time. I wrote fifteen category contemporary books and a novella before switching gears and making the move to historicals in 1992. Yes, there was a part of me that still longed to be the next Kathleen Woodiwiss. But facts were facts. I was, literally, starting over from the bottom of the heap. I write the kinds of books I love to read—and I love books that make me shed a tear or two and make me sigh when the last page is turned.
I pour my heart and soul into each and every book. I’ll continue to do that with every book I write. Yet there was a part of me that said THE SECRET PASSION OF SIMON BLACKWELL was special. Simon Blackwell is . . . and always will be . . . a very special hero. My editor loved the book. She loved Simon. But the ultimate question is . . . what will readers think? Will they buy it? Will they find Simon as special as I did—as I do?
From the very beginning of my career, of course I’d dreamed about hitting the New York Times list—the top 15. Getting that phone call from your editor or agent that says “You’re a New York Times bestseller!” After all, it’s THE MOTHER OF ALL BESTSELLER LISTS. But there are no magic potions. No fairy dust. I’d had my reality check long ago. Sure, I’d made the Waldenbooks bestseller list numerous times, the USA Today list. I’d made it onto the New York Times expanded list, but nowhere even close to the Top 15. But in my mind, it wasn’t just a long shot. It just wasn’t in the cards. It would take climbing mountains—moving mountains--to get into the Top 15. Did I want it to happen? Silly question, isn’t it? Did I think it could happen? Hell, no. But, as always, there was a part of me that had imagined what I’d do if that particularly miracle really did happen..
Truly, it’s just like Eloisa said in Sunday’s blog—it’s incredibly nerve-wracking when your book is released. After all these years, you’d think I’d be used to the waiting game. I’m not. It still gets to me. The week following the on-sale date is especially trying to me—Wednesday is usually the day of reckoning. It’s the pits—and that’s where it hits, right in the pit of my stomach. What will readers think? Will they buy the book? Will it make any lists? Which list—or lists? How high? How low? Or will it simply tank?
Week one came. Number 27 on the NYT expanded list, 46 on USAT. Whew. And—a very pleasant surprise--#15 on Publishers Weekly, a first. Week two came, and while I tried to tell myself the pressure was off, it wasn’t. My husband was at work. I was alone, except for Micki and Sass (faithful canine and feline, one at my feet, the other on my desktop). Would Simon maintain on the NYT expanded list? Drop off? It was 4:30 in NY. I checked my e-mail every minute. Really. Stared—glared--at the phone. 5:30 in NY. Nearly 6:00. Nothing happened. Nada. Finally I went downstairs, grabbed Micki’s leash and took her for a walk around the block.. I was gone seven minutes. Seven minutes. The one time I should have played the waiting game just a bit longer, I didn’t. The phone was ringing when I walked inside. I sauntered toward it. What was the point in hurrying, I asked myself. It was probably one of my girls.
It was my agent. Excited, almost babbling. “Oh, where have you been? I e-mailed you twice, left a message on the phone, tried to call your cell . . .” (I’m like everyone else these days—I’m never without my cell—except this time. Hmmm, I thought. Maybe SIMON didn’t drop off after all, and so I said. Imagine my shock when she practically screamed “You’re number 13! You’re number 13!” It took a minute to sink in. Then I did a rather unladylike thing (you can tell I run on emotion, can’t you?) covered the mouthpiece of the phone . . . and screamed.
I couldn’t believe it. Twenty-two years and thirty-three books later, THE SECRET PASSION OF SIMON BLACKWELL, my seventeenth historical, jumped onto the New York Times Bestseller List. And sure enough, there was a voice message from my agent, my editor’s assistant (my editor had left early, the list came in late) . She called a few minutes later, as stunned-and as happy as I was. Then my husband called. His response ? You don’t think it was a mistake, do you? Another withering glare at the phone—and him when he got home. Yes, he’s now been forgiven. Yes, much groveling involved. Much champagne too, two nights in a row.
So those wise lessons of wisdom? #13 is not an unlucky number. It’s the luckiest number in the world. And, oh, yeah . . . never say never.
And note to self: When Aidan’s story (Aidan is Simon’s brother-in-law, Annie’s brother) comes out next spring, my cell goes with me everywhere—even if I have to tape it, tie it, glue it to my body.
What is the most wonderful, fabulous surprise you’ve ever had? And what was your reaction? Did you scream like I did? Cry? Drop to your knees and whoop and holler? C’mon, let’s hear it!
Check back later to see if you won the autographed copy of THE SECRET PASSION OF SIMON BLACKWELL. You can scream then!