Chick-lit is the tall, thin, fashionable cousin of romance. The books are published in trade size with stylish covers, minus the bodice ripping drawings of two apparently anonymous people caught up in an unlikely embrace (because rarely do the cover models mirror the book’s characters). They are modern novels for modern women. And these could either be women too proud to pick up a romance novel, women who simply can’t relate to the all-encompassing role of romance in the life of a romance novel protagonist, or women who can relate to a not-so-sympathetic female character.

I have to admit that I’m still new to chick-lit and just getting my feet wet. But everything I’ve read from this (still relatively new) genre has been so fresh and different that I haven’t minded a truckload of character flaws. Instead I find myself rooting for those gals to grow-up and live as happily ever after as possible.

Recently I had an epiphany. I had arguably just written and self-published a “historical chick-lit” without even knowing it. My Regency-era protagonist is a woman with attitude, zest for life, and a sarcastic sense of humor; she is fighting her rite of passage every step of the way, and she’s got quite a bit of baggage (most notably an impending engagement). Meanwhile, she’s trying for one last grand adventure before marriage, sparring with a sexy stranger, and unaware that her best friend has called dibs on her husband of choice. One stand-out difference? Fashion—she’ll gleefully trade in her gowns for the garb of a stable-boy.

Now I’m wondering if marketing my novel Unladylike Pursuits as Historical Chick-Lit would be possible and if so, would it be a smart move. What would those modern women think of harking back in history for a bit? And could I pull it off with a mass-market paperback with a black-background cover? Admittedly I don’t have a whimsical, colorful cover, but if a chick-lit reader were to take the time to examine it closely, she (or he!) may be pleasantly surprised. Set off to the side is a book entitled, Mirror of the Graces by A Lady of Distinction. It is an actual book published during the Regency to instruct young ladies on decorum and behavior. Smack in the middle of the page is a page entitled “Opportunities for Adventure by A Spinster of Daring”. I think that about sums it up.

Some other Historical Chick-Lit’s to try:
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig
A Connecticut Fashionista in King Arthur’s Court by Marianne Mancusi
The Accidental Duchess by Jessica Benson
Rules of Engagement by Kathryn Caskie

Recently I had the good fortune to hear a speech on writing voice by debut romance author Jessica Trapp at a meeting of the Houston Bay Area Romance Writers of America, of which I am a member. I found the presentation fun and thought-provoking, but as a self-published author, my mind wrapped itself around one little phrase Ms. Trapp repeated more than once. She told us all that “there is room for more good books”. And while she certainly wasn’t speaking directly to me, it felt as though she was.

I was Googling myself recently and noticed that I was mentioned on the page of another author. Curious of course, I immediately clicked on the link and began reading. And while I suppose what e-pubbed author Ellen Fisher had to say on her blog was technically complimentary, it didn’t really feel that way. It seemed to be implying that while my efforts appeared promising, still I was a self-published author, and thus hardly worthy of notice.

Intrigued that apparently self-publishing had been the topic for some recent blog discussion, I clicked the links that Ms. Fisher referenced and found myself reading with growing disbelief. It seems that neither Karen Gillespie and Wendy Duren believe that there is room for more books unless they have languished on the desk of a New York house. You’ll have to read their comments to get the whole story, but as far as I can tell, they are willing to discount anyone who has gone it alone.

My self-published novel Unladylike Pursuits has been praised by Booklist and Affaire de Coeur, as well as a slew of internet review sites. Don’t the opinions of reviewers count for anything?

What about buyers? My press Impress Ink is an accepted vendor with Baker & Taylor, and my book is carried by Barnes & Noble and Waldenbooks. Does that not somehow legitimize my efforts?

What about the fact that I did everything on my own (not discounting my husband)—from ARC submittal to ISBN registration, editing and formatting to cover design, invoicing, marketing, packing & shipping, web design and, of course, promotion? I think I at least deserve a little respect.

I may be an upstart, but I agree with Ms. Trapp’s assessment, that “there is room for more good books”. It shouldn’t matter how they reach the marketplace—you shouldn’t judge a book by its publisher…

My decision to self-publish arose, I’m embarrassed to say, out of impatience and also a distinct aversion to rejection. Having submitted a few manuscripts for children’s picture books before completing my novel, I was well acquainted, not only with the very real possibility of rejection, but with the secret-society nature of the publishing business. Most houses won’t look at unsolicited manuscripts, and if they will, they estimate weeks and months before you’ll have an answer (which will likely be a photo-copied form letter telling you no). And finding an agent (I would assume) is almost as difficult as finding the publisher—again you’re looking for someone who loves your work so much that they’re willing to take it on as their own. And then that agent has to somehow find the right publisher at just the perfect time… Seems like everything might as well be directed by a Ouija board!

When I first considered the daring, daunting deed of self-publishing, I wondered about how a self-published book would be received—would people be able to tell the difference on the outside before they (conceivably) noticed the difference on the inside—in the writing? I wondered and waffled over it. I wondered how I’d get reviews, how I’d manage to design a cover, how I’d go about editing, how I’d market it once I had the finished product in my hand and whether I’d be able to sell the quantity I was comfortable with ordering.

I wondered if I’d rather invest my energies, talents, and monies into self-publishing, or if I should direct them instead to the business of crossing my fingers and waiting. The impatience, remember? I didn’t like waiting, knowing that I could be doing something about realizing the dream of getting to see my name in print, getting someone other than family to read the novel I’d worked on for four years. So I took the plunge and decided to self-publish.
Now when I tell people I’ve written/published a book, their eyes and smiles get wide and they want to know all about it. Most want to know what it took to get a publishing house to accept it. And then I have to tell them. Part of me feels a little awkward telling them since I imagine they’ll just see me as someone who couldn’t make it in the publishing world. And maybe I couldn’t have, but still I’ve managed to get some good reviews, get my novel into libraries and bookstores, and develop a (still smallish) fan base.

It seems I’m having more trouble convincing myself than I am other people. Lots of people I’ve talked to seem even more impressed (or curious at least) that I’ve done it all on my own. And to those people, I want to say thanks. To those people who appreciate the road less-traveled, the path to print outside the realm of the New York houses, I hope you find my book. And like it.