On this late summer morning in North Carolina when the air seems thick and winter seems really far away, I’ve just clicked the “send” button on first round edits for the upcoming, Blood and Rain. So with edits on my brain, I thought I’d share a bit of the writing process seen through this writer’s eyes.

There’s not much I love more than to hear a reader’s excitement when I post that I’ve just submitted a new book to my publisher, or that I’m working on edits for an upcoming release. Often the response is “Why is is taking so long???” Sometimes, honestly, it does feel like forever from the inception of a book until I see it in print. In truth, though, it’s usually less than a year from the time I write the first word until I hold that paperback author copy in my greedy little hands! The editing process itself takes about 4 months from first edits to release.

I am particularly fortunate to have a great executive editor I work with on my Dreamspinner Press books. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t looked any further than Dreamspinner when shopping my books around (there are many other reasons I continue to choose Dreamspinner, of course, but this is one of the biggest for me). The executive editor manages teams of editors who read and edit manuscripts before publication. What does that mean for me, the writer?

Round 1. First, the main/supervising editor sends me a marked up manuscript. I call this the “ouch!” stage. Starting out, I remember looking at my manuscripts with all the markups and wincing. I’ve since learned that all those tracked changes and comments in the margin are good for me! We’re talking basic copy editing, but much, much more. Then there’s dreaded “content editing” I’ve come to depend upon (and even enjoy). That’s the “I didn’t understand why [insert character name here] did this.” Or the, “I think you’re missing a connection here in this character’s development.” Or the, “This makes no sense at all!” Let me give you an example.

The Melody Thief is one of my strongest books. At least I think so. But I’m convinced it’s strong because it had great editing. It was also one of the first books I asked for content edits on. My first round edits came with a suggestion: show Cary Redding becoming less of a boyfriend living with Antonio and his young son, and more of a father. Not spoiling much here to say that Cary was nowhere near father material at the beginning of the story, but by the end he truly becomes a father to Massimo. My editor’s suggestion? A brand new chapter showing how Cary finally steps up to the plate. And Massi isn’t exactly in cute/sweet mode. That chapter, written during edits, became my favorite of the book. Massi has a hissy fit, Cary puts his foot down, and Massi is not a happy camper. But at the end of the chapter, Massi and Cary move into father/son territory. That’s not the first (or last) time I’ve added significantly to a book during edits, but it’s one of the best examples of how helpful an editor’s suggestions were.

Round 2. Round 3. After the first round of edits, we do a little back and forth dance at least twice more. Each round of edits is done by a new editor, supervised by the main editor. I respond to comments and questions, I make changes, I add new text as needed. Back and forth and back and forth for three rounds, then I get the “galley.”

Galley Proof. For those who may not know, the galley is a mock-up of what the actual book will look like including photos, fancy chapter headings, and even front and back matter (glossaries, dedications, that sort of thing). At this stage, it’s all about catching the obvious typos that we’ve missed and making sure the formatting looks all right. No changes made in the galley itself, I write my changes in a separate document (I use a chart with page numbers, original text, and suggested corrected text). At this point, it’s out of my hands. I don’t see the book again until it’s published, although the editing staff do at least one more check after that. I personally review my galley proofs by reading the book on screen and listening to it on my Kindle at the same time (I can upload Word docs to my Kindle, which has a text-to-speech feature). As a former musician, I catch typos better if I listen and read rather than just read.

A good editor can help a willing writer improve his/her style of writing. I say “willing,” because if a writer is so convinced s/he doesn’t need improvement, forget about it! I’m convinced my writing style has changed for the better with my editors’ help. Style is not just about comma placement or sentence structure, either. It’s about finding a personal “voice” in writing that suits the writer. I prefer clean, clear, crisp writing. Active voice, simple or no dialogue tags so they don’t get in the way of the conversations between characters. I’ve refined my style with the help of my editors. Pick up a Shira Anthony book written in the last two+ years, and you’ll hear my voice, whether it’s a story about musicians in Italy,r mermen in an alternate universe fantasy, or vampires in 19th century France. It sounds like Shira.

Lest you think editing is all roses, think again. Editing takes hours of work, both on the editors’ part, as well as mine. Writing entirely new chapters while you’re trying to get your latest manuscript(s) out the door (Blood and Ghosts, Running with the Wind, *cough, cough*)? Hair tearing-out time! Rewriting an entire chapter from a different point of view because your editor (and you begrudgingly agree) suggests it will help balance the different points of view in the book? Time to bang your head against the wall. Readers who say they love how easy to read your books are? Yep. Makes it worth all the angst, thinning hair, and head-dents. Truly.

Want to take a peek at my latest book in edits? Here’s a passage from Blood and Rain for you. Not the final version, I’m guessing, but getting close now. Is it better than the original version I sent to Dreamspinner in June? Damn straight! Hope you enjoy it! -Shira

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Blurb: Adrien Gilbert is a vampire hunter sworn to avenge the murder of his brother, Francois.  When the ancient vampire, Nicolas Lambert, offers to help Adrien locate his brother’s killer in exchange for Adrien’s protection, Adrien agrees.  Nicolas has pledged to marry the daughter of a rival vampire clan for the sake of peace between their warring clans. But when Adrien begins to fall for the gentle Nicolas, Adrien’s mission becomes one of both self-discovery and heartbreak.

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Chapter One: On the Edge of Forever

Miami, Florida

Sunset wove fingers of purple and red through bands of clouds and vapor trails that crisscrossed the sky. The scent of exhaust from trucks and cars mingled with the tang of salt from the ocean. People scurried about as they returned from work, trying to finish last-minute errands before dinnertime, all oblivious to the lone figure perched atop the high-rise at the edge of the Miami River.

Adrien Gilbert gazed down at the tiny figures below, vaguely aware of their presence. For more than a century, he had seen generations of humans be born, reach adulthood, start families, grow old, and die as their loved ones watched, helpless to slow time. He had grown numb to the cycle of life—a cycle to which he was immune. He was an immortal, a hunter who had shared the soul of an ancient vampire. His beloved soul.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture that perfect face. It had grown strangely difficult to remember over the years, and yet he could still easily remember the face of his mother, who had been killed when he was just a child.

I won’t forget you… Nicolas.

It would have been far easier to give in, to erase Nicolas from his memory forever. Certainly far less painful than knowing Nicolas was out there somewhere, unable to find the way back to him. Less painful, too, than admitting he couldn’t find his way to Nicolas. He would suffer the pain of knowledge; it was a small price to pay to preserve the memory.

I’m sorry.

The irony that a hunter sworn to protect humankind would suffer the loss of a vampire so keenly was hardly lost on Adrien. He’d believed that in spite of the treaty between hunters and the hunted, vampires were not to be trusted. He’d believed his duty as a hunter was simple, straightforward: kill those who threatened humanity, tolerate those who did not. But that had been before he’d met Nicolas. Before he’d lost his heart. Before Nicolas had given him immortality.

Adrien had everything a human might wish for. The small transportation business he’d started when he moved to the United States over a hundred years ago had blossomed into an international empire with cargo ships, airplanes, trucks, and dozens of storage facilities around the globe. He owned homes in Europe, Thailand, Japan, the US, and a dozen other places he rarely visited. Despite his prosperity, the men with whom he shared his bed—human, vampire, hunter—rarely stayed long. He had seen to that, with his aloof manner and his cold heart. One man had ever touched his soul.

 

 

The evening had started, as it always did, on a far better note. Adrien had stopped by one of his favorite haunts, an upscale martini bar not far from the city center. He’d developed a penchant for gin over the past few decades, enjoying the quick work it made of his long-term memory. Three or four martinis and he could forget, even if only briefly.

The bar was small and full of people. A Sinatra song played in the background as he walked over to the stainless-steel bar, filled with men, some of whom he’d already discarded, others new faces. Eager, all of them. He sensed their eyes on him and felt the hunger they didn’t understand. He understood that hunger. The scent of his blood created it in them. The same irresistible scent that had lured many a human to fall prey to the vampires now drew them to him.

He sat down at an empty barstool and nodded to the bartender, who set to work making the driest martini possible with his most expensive gin, dropping in a tiny bit of lemon peel instead of an olive. He handed Adrien the drink without saying a word, and Adrien brought the glass to his lips.

“Nice,” a male voice said from behind him.

The man was beautiful, tall, with shoulder-length black hair and deep green eyes. He wore pair of tight-fitting jeans and a crisp button-down shirt that emphasized his muscled chest and narrow waist. Late twenties, perhaps. A new face, but a familiar presence.

“It’s not bad.” Adrien took a sip of his drink and pretended not to care. It was easy.

“I wasn’t talking about the drink.” The man lifted his drink to his full lips but watched him intently.

“I wasn’t either,” Adrien replied without missing a beat.

“I’m Cole.”

“So you are.”

They left the bar together for his apartment, where his housekeeper had already set a table for two. A bottle of Puligny-Montrachet chilled in a cooler by the table. Between them, they finished that bottle, although Adrien drank very little. Alcohol affected immortals far more than humans or vampires.

After dinner Cole stood and walked over to the railing, looking out over the river below. “You know what I am.” Cole’s voice was as smooth as the wine.

“Yes. I know what you are.” Adrien had sensed Cole was a vampire the moment he’d seen him. No self-respecting hunter would have missed the subtle electricity in the air or the scent of mingled blood. He lifted Cole’s hair off his neck, then trailed his lips over his silky skin. Cole smelled good—an earthy and primal scent that caused the bloodlust to rise in Adrien. Once, he had embraced his lust for blood.

When he’d first become an immortal, Nicolas’s blood had done far more than sustain him. They had shared their bodies, their blood, and their souls. The blood had been their bond, the bloodlust a welcome reminder of Adrien’s love for Nicolas. Now the lust for blood had nothing to do with Adrien’s heart. It was another bitter reminder that his body would not let him perish, even though he cared nothing for living.

It’s been too long.

Cole moaned. The deep, throaty sound made Adrien’s mouth water in spite of himself. Adrien despised his body’s response, but he’d long ago learned he couldn’t fight it. Once, he had gone nearly twenty years without giving in to the call. He’d been weak, pathetic, barely able to think. He’d prayed he would die. He’d lost consciousness, but he’d awoken to find himself drinking his fill. He’d come perilously close to killing the human whose blood he’d feasted on, but he’d managed to stop. However miserable his existence, Adrien would only feed on vampires—he’d not break the oath he’d taken to protect humans when he’d become a hunter.

Adrien licked the skin of Cole’s neck, feeling the blood pulse there, hearing it call to him. Cole tilted his head in anticipation, opening himself to Adrien.

Adrien buried his teeth in Cole’s skin. Blood flooded his mouth and danced on his tongue, sweet and salty. Too long. His body was far more vampire-like in its craving for blood than when he’d first been given the gift of an ancient vampire’s soul. He wondered if it was the same for other immortals.

Adrien tried to ignore the images that flashed through his mind—the sound of silvery laughter, a mother’s loving caress. Cole’s memories. Adrien despised this forced intimacy, but he’d come to see it as the price of blood. Something to be tolerated.

It hadn’t always been that way. When he’d shared Nicolas’s blood, Adrien had experienced great joy. He’d seen himself through Nicolas’s eyes and felt the depth of Nicolas’s love. Each drop of that precious liquid had opened new doors. Each taste offered insight into Nicolas’s heart and soul. A beloved memory. A mystery—the mystery of Nicolas—unfolding with every swallow.

Adrien drank his fill, then claimed Cole’s mouth. This kind of contact he could stomach. He didn’t need sex to survive, but he enjoyed the release. Cole unbuttoned Adrien’s black silk shirt and his cock swelled against Adrien’s thigh. Adrien moaned as Cole skated his fingertips over his chest.

“I have never known a hunter to crave blood,” Cole whispered in his ear. “I thought only we experienced the bloodlust.”

“You were wrong,” Adrien said as he pulled Cole’s shirt over his head and mouthed a pretty pink nipple. Sex was always better after he fed, and Adrien’s cock was already hard at the thought of fucking such a lovely ass. He drew Cole’s body against his, walked backward into the living room, and pulled Cole with him onto the rug. Soon they were naked and he was no longer a hunter or an immortal, he was simply a man, seeking release, seeking pleasure.

 

 

Adrien lay there afterward, only partially satisfied. Nothing new. Sex was like the bloodlust—it always left him wanting more. Cole brushed his fingers over Adrien’s chest, then his neck. He licked Adrien’s earlobe, then ran his tongue over Adrien’s Adam’s apple.

“May I?” he asked.

“No.” He would willingly share his blood with only one person.

“Too bad.” The vampire was clearly disappointed. “I would have liked to have known the secrets of your blood.”

Adrien watched Cole dress but said nothing.

“Perhaps another time, then.” Cole turned and smiled at him before he walked out the door.

For at least an hour after, Adrien lay on the floor and allowed the night air to caress his bare skin. He closed his eyes and dozed.

“Adrien.”

The voice awakened him. Nicolas’s voice again. Why sleep if it only served to reawaken the pain he sought to suppress?

He stood and pulled on his jeans. He walked onto the balcony in his bare feet, then climbed to the roof of the penthouse.

Having reached the edge, he spread his arms. He leaned forward and fell unimpeded, riding the wind like a sigh. The glass of the building sailed by him, the breeze buffeting his face. He hit the water and sank into the cold blackness. He wished he could die.

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Bio:  In her last incarnation, Shira was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as “Tosca,” “i Pagliacci,” and “La Traviata,” among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 36’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

You can click here to hear a live performance of Shira singing “Vissi d’arte” from Puccini’s Tosca.