Jumping into the Deep End

When I was an elfin five-year-old with a pixie cut, without asking permission or telling anyone, I jumped off the diving board into the deep end of a pool in Arizona. The teenage lifeguard immediately dove in and rescued me. I clearly recall feeling offended—I hadn’t needed rescuing! I’d had some lessons and I could swim (sort of). At least I felt sure that I could have safely made it to the edge of the pool.

Don’t think of me as an athlete or a daredevil for I am neither:  water has just never ranked high amongst my phobias. 

Fast-forward fifty-two more years, to gray hair, a thicker waist, and grown children. 

Unlike so many people I’ve read about, I had never been one of those authors who felt called to the profession. I didn’t write short stories as a teenager. I never took a creative writing course. I hadn’t read Stephen King or anyone else to gather crucial nuggets of advice on how to write. Yet I had the chutzpah to pick up my laptop and start to compose an epic fantasy.

One of my friends who works in publishing gave me a dour look when I confessed my new pastime. She suggested that I aim for a novella: she knew of an on-line imprint that was looking for good short novels.

I shook off her advice. I had no intention of paddling in the shallows.

Although I’d never been a maker of stories, I’d spent my life as a lover of stories. I have a B.A. in English and a Ph.D. from an interdisciplinary program in which I studied the British novel, film history, and narrative theory. Most importantly, I have taught film history for decades: I’ve grown old on a diet of everything from silent films, to Hitchcock, to Fellini, to Kurosawa, to Bigelow. I’ve published on genre, dialogue, and narration. I eat plots for breakfast, time schemas for lunch, point of view for dinner, and spectacle for dessert.

Which is all to say, I do know how to swim . . . at least in my own buoyant saltwater bay. But I’ve been an academic—the one who analyzes, contextualizes, and appreciates—not someone who generates. The big gamble lay in whether I had a creative bone in my body.

When I discovered that I could indeed invent a scene and characters I was so afraid that my imagination would dry up if that I locked my analytical tendencies in a closet. I outlined nothing; my epic just grew organically. (Someone has termed me a full-on “discovery writer.”) In three years, a four-volume (2000 page) fantasy series sat on my hard drive.

While drafting, my ambitions for this project were pretty low; often I felt I was writing for the sheer fun of it. I didn’t tell any of my colleagues what I was doing.

What I had yet to learn about publishing fiction was truly embarrassing. For instance, the terms query letter and “comp” title meant nothing to me. I had few connections in the world of authors and none in the specialized sphere of speculative fiction. The way publishing works was a total mystery. But I could make use of a network of former students, alumnae, and friends of friends who gave me guidance. (Calling strangers on the phone terrifies me.)

Then, after my share of rejections, waiting, and anxiety, I got an agent; she sold the series; and I revised the living daylights out of my drafts under the guidance of my editor. Being on a college campus had unique advantages: when I was uncertain about geology, my colleagues in that department set me straight. I knew nothing about arms and fighting so I worked with the captain of the fencing team and a friend of a friend at West Point.

Conforming all four books at the end of a seven-year journey proved quite challenging. All the way down to second-pass galleys eagle eyes discovered errors, such as that I’d mixed up Besi the cook and Borta the baker. But the fact that I had all four books drafted (which no pro would ever have done), turned out to be a selling point. Tor Books decided to release The Nine Realms on a rapid publication schedule. Starting in January 2020, one book will come out per month, for binge readers. 

So instead of tiptoeing into publishing fiction, I jumped into deep water. And with a lot of help from experts and friends, and a sizable dollop of luck, I didn’t drown.

The most important aspect of my story, perhaps, is that I was not afraid of the water. Women have been told that to advance in their chosen fields they need to “lean in.” In some cases, it may be more appropriate to just take a gamble and jump in.

—

Sarah Kozloff is professor of film at Vassar College, where she holds the William R. Kenan, Jr. Chair. Since 1988 she has taught genre (e.g., Musicals, War Films, Romantic Comedy); cultural studies courses (The McCarthy Era and Film); and seminars, such as, The Films of Alfred Hitchcock and American Women Directors. Her scholarship focuses on American cinema, particularly on issues related to speech, narrative, and ideology. Tor Books is publishing her first foray in fiction: a 4-volume epic fantasy, The Nine Realms, one book per month, from January-April 2020. For more information see: SarahKozloff.com

A QUEEN IN HIDING

Orphaned, exiled and hunted, Cerulia, Princess of Weirandale, must master the magic that is her birthright, become a ruthless guerilla fighter, and transform into the queen she is destined to be.

But to do it she must win the favor of the spirits who play in mortal affairs, assemble an unlikely group of rebels, and wrest the throne from a corrupt aristocracy whose rot has spread throughout her kingdom.

The Nine Realms Series
#1 A Queen in Hiding January 2020
#2 The Queen of Raiders February 2020
#3 A Broken Queen March 2020
#4 The Cerulean Queen April 2020

Praise for A Queen in Hiding

“This is a solid beginning to an ambitous saga of magic, intrigue, and heroism.”―Booklist

“Kozloff sets a solid stage with glimpses into other characters and nations while keeping the book together with a clear, propulsive plot. A new series starts off with a bang.”―Kirkus

“This series opener is literary, ambitious, and epic in scope.”―Publishers Weekly

 

 

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers, How To and Tips