Tempt Me at Twilight

Tempt Me at Twilight

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New blog/website

The design might change but for now, I'll be blogging at:

www.elyssapapa.com

Hope to see you all there!

The Call

So last Wednesday morning my life completely changed when Kimberly Witherspoon became my agent. That announcement is here.

The previous day, I had received an e-mail from Kim's assistant. It read something along the lines of: Kim would like to talk to you tomorrow at 10:45 a.m. or in the afternoon if you're available.

If I was available? Yeah, I was available. Before I even replied, I called my CP, Tiffany Clare, at work.

"OMG, Tiff. OMG." I read the e-mail and paused. "OMG."

"OMG," she repeated. "Respond now."

My fingers shook as I typed out that, "Yes, 10:45 a.m. would be perfect." Tiff and I hung up; she had to return to work. I left a voicemail on CP, Maggie Robinson's cell, then I emailed her, Tiff, and J.K. Coi the news. I e-mailed Sara Lindsey with "You around?" in subject line and nothing else. I told my family, then everyone else: Tessa Dare, Courtney Milan, and chatted online with Sara Lindsey. Sara typed: I told you this was the one.

Sara, you were right. ;)

Maggie called me back. Her advice: TALK SLOW!

Anyone who's ever talked to me knows two things about me. 1) I talk fast. 2) I talk fast.

So I didn't sleep at all Tuesday night and was steadily watching the clock on Wednesday. I was nervous, excited, and I so didn't want to get my hopes up in case it ended up being nothing.

The phone rang.

I remember taking a deep breath, had all my notes out in front of me, and answered the phone.

I was transferred by Julie, Kim's assistant, to Kim.

Oh God, I said, please don't let me drop the f bomb, or act like a complete idiot, or have a heart attack.

Kim got on the phone and started talking about how much she liked my book.

Oh my god, she likes my book.

"You're a really good writer--"

Oh my god, she thinks I can write.

"--and you evoke a lot of emotion. You have a sexy opening."

Oh my god. I do? Yes, I do.

"And the sexual tension is great throughout."

Well, I did know that.

Kim talked about making some revisions. I agreed with them; I know they'll make AS YOU WISH stronger. She talked about the characters.

Oh my god, she's really read the book.

Kim and I chatted. She told me to expect an e-mail next week about revisions. Now here comes my "genius" moment.

"So," I asked, my heart pounding in my chest, "does this mean you're offering representation?"

Please, please, please.

"Yes," she said. "You're my client."

"OMG! OMG! OMG!" I stated how she was my dream agent, how Eloisa James was the reason why I was even where I was, and how thrilled I was to be Kim's client.

Once I got that out of the way, Kim and I talked some more. After I got off the phone, I told everyone who'd been waiting since yesterday for any news.

Then I told everyone else.

It was the greatest day ever.

P.S. The gals at Write Chic surprised me again! Thanks, Mary!

An Interview

Come visit me at Vicky Dreiling's blog where I talk about how I got my agent.

Also the lovely gals at Write Chic surprised me with some lovely congratulations. Thanks, Kelly!

I HAVE AN AGENT!

I'm being represented by Kimberly Witherspoon of Inkwell Management!

Details here!

A Good Dog

(X-posted with Vauxhall Vixens)

It started when my then nine-year-old brother had to get his tonsils out. My parents were nervous about the surgery and uttered the magical words to any kid: We’ll get you whatever you want.

“Ask for a dog,” my younger sister and I begged. “They won’t be able to say no.”

In truth, my parents always gave us what we wanted. Except a dog. When I was in third grade, our dog, Libby, ran out into our neighborhood street and got hit by a car right in front of our house. I didn’t go to school the next day.

My brother asked. My parents looked at each other and at us. “Okay, we’ll get a dog, but one of Libby’s breed, a Welsh terrier.”

We were set on a girl dog since we were familiar with that gender.

My parents came upon a newspaper ad---a breeder of Welsh terriers would soon have a litter. The dog was set to give birth in late August. The only glitch. All the puppies were male.

“We don’t care.” And really, we didn’t. We just wanted a dog.

We went to choose our soon-to-be dog. He wouldn’t be able to come home for a few more weeks. We had already selected a name. (My suggestion of Rhett, after Rhett Butler from Gone With The Wind, was instantly rejected.)

My brother had the final say. “Chief,” he said, “after Grandpa’s dog.”

Since my grandpa had his dog, an Airedale, as a kid, we obviously never met the first Chief. But the story was famous. His dog died after protecting him from other dogs. Chief was a warrior, a protector, and loved fiercely.

It ended up being the perfect name.

When we got to the breeder’s house, we were overwhelmed by the small puppies. They were little balls of black and brown fur; all cute and loveable. Chief was the first puppy who walked on his tiny legs to the cage to where we sat.

It was a sign. “This one.”

He came home maybe a few weeks after my sixteenth birthday. My brother was now ten; my sister still twelve. In one picture, I’m holding him to my chest. I still have my braces on.

We all spoiled Chief.

He deserved to be spoiled and then some.

“He’s sleeping in the crate,” my dad said, giving us his I-mean-what-I’m-saying look.

“Of course,” we all agreed.

But when Chief started whimpering on the third night, it was my dad who brought him upstairs.

“I can’t stand listening to him crying. And it’s just one night,” he reasoned.

It wasn’t just one night.

Chief couldn’t yet get his little body up the stairs, so one of us would carry him. After we moved into our new home and Chief got bigger, he would go from room to room before deciding where to sleep. Sometimes when I went to my room, I found him sprawled across my bed. He’d raise his head and then settle back down. He wasn’t moving. And I never had the heart to move him either.

I have to talk about his tail. It wagged constantly. Chief would get excited about anything. A doorbell ringing. People coming over for holidays or dinner. Us coming home from school. He’d run to the garage door, jumping up and down, begging us to pet him and pay attention. He loved us for us.

Last year, we had a close call. After returning from our vacation, Chief had gotten very sick in the kennel. He was in ICU, and you had to don protective gear to visit him, as not to transfer any germs to him.

I didn’t go to visit. There are just some things I can’t do. Facing death is one of them. I thought if I went, it would be a bad sign—that he’d die for sure.

Luckily, he survived but he was different. On meds. Weaker. And not as he used to be. It was my parents and sister who took care of him this past year. I’m sure my brother helped. I didn’t. I tend to retreat from . . . death. I know one day I’ll be forced to confront that fear head-on.

I don’t remember when Chief stopped being able to get up on his own. But soon, one person would have to carry him outside, help him up, and so forth. Chief was no longer able to go upstairs, so either my sister or dad would sleep on the downstairs couch to watch over him.

He got a cold last week. One that he wasn’t bouncing back from. His breathing was bad on Friday night and on Saturday, he wouldn’t eat. It was my dad who told my sister, “I think it’s time.”

We’ve all been dreading “it’s time” for the past year. We all hoped that Chief would pass peacefully in his sleep. But we had to face the inevitable.

It was my sister, now twenty-eight, who called me. “Dad took Chief to the vet. Mom’s left the bridal shower and going to meet him there. Chief’s being put to sleep.”

Ever had one of those moments where it feels like a Mack truck hit you? Breath is sucked out of your body, and you stagger a bit. Because now your world has been divided into “Before” and “After.” Life will never be the same.

I listened to my sister, her words sinking into me like stones being tossed into the river. My voice broke, and my eyes watered before I started to cry. And when my mom called with the words, “He’s gone,” I lost it.

Chief loved walks and chasing squirrels. He knew when one of us was sad; there were many times I hugged him and cried into his fur. And above all he loved us unconditionally. Thank you, Chief, for showing us love and teaching us so many things. I love you and will miss you forever.

Until we meet again.

Your human,

Ely

RIP, Chief Papa

August 27, 1993 – August 8, 2009

Congrats to Julie James!

It's no secret I absolutely love Julie James' writing. She's talented, intelligent, and beautiful. And beyond that, she is the nicest person. So there's no way you cannot like Julie unless you're a zombie, and even zombies are smart enough to like Julie as seen in this slightly altered version.

But why am I congratulating Julie? Because her suspense screenplay, In the Dark, won in its category and won the Grand Prize! Woohoo! Go to her blog to squee along with everyone else.

And if you haven't yet read her books, do so now!