In which starting a writing career is like the time I went to Canadian Tire to buy myself a Christmas Tree and came home with a KitchenAid Mixer (and a Christmas Tree)
In 2008, I met a girl called Non-Publishing Rachel (I mean, that’s what I call her). More accurately, she met me when she overheard Casey Lyall (yes, that Casey Lyall) and me talking about the cupcakes we were going to make for our coworkers for Valentine’s Day. Non-Publishing Rachel asked if she could come over and make cupcakes with us, and we were all “Sure!” because the more is always the merrier when it comes to making cupcakes. I will never forget it, because Non-Publishing Rachel showed up with vanilla cupcakes, strawberry buttercream, and like eighteen different icing tips. Non-Publishing Rachel didn’t mess around.
ANYWAY, so we became known as the cupcake bakers at work, and a few days later, a book called HELLO CUPCAKE came out. There was a set of cupcakes based on corn on the cob, and we immediately decided to make it, except it was, like, February, and corn season wasn’t until August. So we waited. And we waited. And then we made corn on the cupcakes, and it was AMAZING. Our friendship was sealed, and also I learned the true miracle of the KitchenAid mixer.
For the next eight years, every time I had to make buttercream or whip ANYTHING by hand, I lamented. It was so much EASIER with a KitchenAid mixer. But to be honest, I didn’t do all that much baking. I was poor, so I couldn’t buy exciting food (or foods to MAKE exciting food). My friends lived far away, so I couldn’t share things with them. My family got all healthy and stuff, so I couldn’t share with them either. I did keep making cakes, though. Every now and then. It was fun and it was therapeutic, even if I had to whip the butter myself because I didn’t own a KitchenAid mixer.
Here’s the thing about KitchenAid mixers: they take up a lot of space. You need to have a dedicated spot for them and all their attachments. The cheap apartments I was renting were good for, like, a frying pan and a saucepan or two, but didn’t have the space to store or use anything fancier. I could only bake at other people’s houses, for other people’s special occasions, and as frustrating as that was, it was enough, even though it was also my only option.
Throughout this time, I was writing fanfic. A lot of fanfic. I was building a home and a community for myself, but it wasn’t the kind that involved a house and next-door neighbours. It was online, and my playground was worldwide. I learned a tremendous amount from other fans who took me under their wings, and not just about writing, but about life in general. I almost never googled things. I asked my f-list instead. But, oh, did I dream of my future apartment.
It would have a bedroom. And an office with a library. And a nice chesterfield, where a guest could stay over. And a table for tea. I wanted my own laundry and a place to park the car. I wanted to be able to read in every room. I wanted a full-size fridge and a place to keep all the baking stuff I’d accumulated. And the kitchen would have enough space on the countertop for a KitchenAid mixer.
I sold The Story of Owen in 2012. I lived in crappy apartments until August of 2014, when I moved into a decent—though still too small—one. My parents downsized, meaning that suddenly I had all this STUFF that I had been saving for later and nowhere to put it. A friend graciously offered up a room in her basement, but I knew that my time was coming.
In February of 2016, I told Emma not to let me move apartments until I was finished writing the Ahsoka draft and launching Exit, Pursued By A Bear. She went on vacation for a week, and by the time she got home, I had found the place where I now live. I moved in stages throughout the month of April (because I had festivals to attend and a book to draft), but by May 1st, I was installed in an Actual Grown-Up Apartment, where I finally had room for everything that I owned.
(This is entirely not true: the bulk of my mass market sci-fi/fantasy collection and all of my non-fiction books purchased prior to 2010 remain in my friend’s basement, because I haven’t got around to putting them in MY basement yet, but CLOSE ENOUGH.)
ANYWAY, so Christmas rolled around, and I decided I wanted a Christmas Tree. I didn’t have any decorations besides lights (a clever Twitter follower suggested I use an Ahsoka Pop for the topper, which was MARVELLOUS), but I had a spot to put it, and I wanted one. So I did what Canadians in this situation do: I went to Canadian Tire.
In 2012, five months before I sold The Story of Owen, my parents made me promise that I would stop writing until I had a fulltime job. Friends, I lied through my teeth. It wasn’t worth the argument, and I wasn’t living with them, so I promised, and I knew before I spoke the words that they were worthless. In February and March I revised the draft, and on April 2 (a Tuesday), I sent it to Andrew Karre. By Friday, I had an offer. By May, we had announced the deal. I still didn’t have what my parents considered a fulltime job, and I never did.
I was expecting a long, drawn out query process. I was prepared to wait. I had a part time job I really liked (at the bookstore) and a great discount (so I could buy books). It was enough. Like my then-future Christmas Tree, it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Except then I had a publishing deal and all of a sudden, I felt like I had worlds to conquer.
The Christmas Trees were at the front of the store, because it was mid-November. Almost all of them were pre-lit, which I didn’t want, so I had to hunt around for a bit. Finally, I found this ugly little fake tree that would do until I decided I was ready to commit to a real one, and I put it in my cart. On the way to the till, I walked past a large display of KitchenAid stuff, and there in the middle was a shiny red KitchenAid mixer. It was $200 off.
Reader, I did not hesitate.
In publishing, we have a tendency to glorify the shiny and new. It’s important to remember how freaking hard people worked to get those shiny and new things where they are. It’s important to remember it about yourself too. I keep the KitchenAid mixer on my countertop because I like to remember that I own it. That I earned it. It was a dream for a really long time, and now that’s finally mine, I want it where I can see it.
I’m probably going to throw out the Christmas tree. It didn’t turn out like I was expecting (it sheds so badly I might as well have a real one!). That’s important too. Sometimes your goals have to change. But keep them in mind, even when life gets in the way. Because it’s way, way easier to put two cups of butter in a KitchenAid than it is to mix it yourself.
Oh, and also, you know, book stuff. :)
+++
This Week In Product Reviews No One Asked For: The Tim Horton’s Specialty S’mores Doughnut
Yeah, don’t. Total waste of doughnut. Ratios are all wrong (nowhere NEAR enough graham cracker), and the marshmallow filling is INTENSE in all the not-great ways.