publishing

January 26, 2016

What’s Your Story?

books I have a secret to tell you about stories. Please don’t tell my publisher, though, because this could really wreak havoc on the publishing world. Here it is: We all have the same story.

Yes, the details are different in every person’s story. And we all have our own setting and characters and timeline. But the truth is, our basic plot is the same: We all flub up this thing we call life. And we all find ourselves in desperate need of God’s grace.

The backdrop of my book is that treacherous pastime we call dating. For me, the thing that broke me and brought me flat on my face was a season of singleness that stretched on much longer than I anticipated. That’s where God showed up and revealed his grace and love to me in ways beyond my wildest imaginings.

But as I’ve listened to your stories, I’ve noticed something. Although the specifics of your story may be different from mine, our gracious God is still the same. And he tends to reveal himself in similar ways, even if the details are different.

Maybe you’re not waiting for a husband, but you’re waiting for something else that is breaking your heart. Maybe you’re waiting for a job or a baby or a prodigal or healing. And God seems silent.
Maybe you, too, have one prayer that keeps tripping you up.
Maybe you, too, have had moments when it feels too dangerous to keep hoping.
Maybe you, too, have a desire for something that doesn’t seem any closer to happening than it was a year ago.
Maybe you, too, feel stuck when everyone around you seems to be moving on with their life.
Maybe you, too, know what it’s like to be lonely, afraid, or invisible.
Maybe you, too, have wondered where God is in the midst of your pain.

My book isn’t just about blind dates or being single; it’s about being knocked over by the love and grace of God. And that love and grace are available no matter what circumstance you’re facing.

So I’d like to hear from you. When has God shown up in an unexpected way for you? When have you been amazed by his grace, hemmed in by his love? I would be honored to hear your story.

Write your comment below, and I will give away a free book to one commenter!

January 20, 2016

How a Book Cover Is Born

I’ve heard that it takes a village to raise a child. I don’t know about that, but in the past year I have learned this: it certainly takes a village to make a book.

I’m thrilled to be sharing something exciting with you today: the cover for my memoir, I Was Blind (Dating), but Now I See!

Since I work in book publishing, I have an inside peek into some of things that happen to turn a bunch of typed-up words into something you can hold in your hands. But until it was my own book, I don’t think I had a true appreciation for the creativity, teamwork, and sheer hard work that go into making that a reality.

I have been amazed and grateful for all the good people at Tyndale who have taken the humble Word document I gave them and metamorphosed it into something lovely—with a charming illustration on the front, pretty fonts, little spots of shiny foil, a texture-y cover, and nice paper.

There are so many people to thank for their role in the whole process (please check out the acknowledgments at the back of the book!), but today I want to give you a sneak peek into how my amazing designer, Jackie, created the cover for the book.

First, my book team sent me a survey about my vision for the cover. Alas, I have practically zero skills when it comes to all things design-related, so I threw around a lot of words to describe what I wanted it to feel like. Fortunately Jackie was able to translate my thousand words into a single picture, and she captured the exact tone I was looking for. The truth is, I didn’t know what I was hoping the cover would look like until I saw it.

Here’s how Jackie came up with the design. First, she read the manuscript. Then she and a handful of other designers brainstormed cover possibilities and sketched them out. After all the designers gave feedback, they narrowed it down to their top three and presented them to the book team. Then the book team chose their favorite (which just so happens to be my favorite too).

Once the cover direction was chosen, Jackie found an illustrator to do the sketch. This will give you an idea of how much attention she pays to detail: she actually sent the illustrator a photo of me so the sketch would be as accurate as possible. (I should note it’s not entirely accurate, however, because I could only dream that my hair would look so good in real life.) She even gave the illustrator suggestions about what the guys might look like based on the descriptions in the book. (For all your former blind dates out there, please note that the silhouette format will protect your identity, so there’s no need to contact your lawyer.)

Credit also goes the talented Sarah Parisi, who created StephanieRische.com and my logo, which serves as the byline on the cover. She’s also a gifted photographer, and she took the picture of me on the back cover. I’m grateful for her creative eye and expertise that helped launch this adventure in earnest two years ago.

If you would like to see the beautiful cover in person, you can order it online, or you can come to a book signing on Saturday, February 6, at 2:00 at the Barnes and Noble in Geneva Commons. (I will be the one up front wondering how this introvert found herself reading mortifying clips about her dating life aloud in a public place.)

May 5, 2015

What It Feels Like to Turn in a Manuscript, Part 2

It’s a word with the power to send tremors down the spine of even the bravest of souls. Submission.

We like the idea of being in control, of determining our own destinies, of calling the shots ourselves. So the idea of intentionally laying down our rights and moving into the passenger seat can seem terror-inducing, whether the submittee (um, not a real word?) is an authority figure, a boss, a spouse, or God himself.

As I anticipated turning in my book to my publisher, it didn’t occur to me how appropriate it is that the relevant term is submitting. But late in the evening on the day my manuscript was due, as my mouse hovered over the “send” button and my sweet husband encouraged me to release my 60,000 words into cyberspace, I suddenly felt the submission monster breathing down my neck.

Once I let the manuscript go, it would mean it was no longer in my hands. I would be exposed and vulnerable—after all, real people would be reading my words! (I do realize this is the general point of writing a book.) On top of that, other people would now be making decisions about this manuscript—creating a cover, editing the content, positioning it, selling it.

But then a merciful thought snuck into my swirling mind: these aren’t just random people I’m entrusting my book to. They’re amazing, talented people who are passionate about what they do. And besides all that, they care about me and my book.

In short, I need them. And I trust them.

Suddenly the prospect of submitting to them was no longer so scary.

It occurs to me that submission is only terrifying when you’re submitting to someone you don’t trust. And that feels to me like a good picture of submission in all of life.

It’s not so scary to submit to a boss when you know that person is pulling for you, wanting the best for you. It’s not so scary to submit to a spouse when you know he loves you and respects you and is committed to being on your forever-team.

It’s not so scary to submit to God when you know he is trustworthy and faithful and good and right and true. Which he is—on all counts.

Is there something you know you need to hand over right now? If so, don’t wait a minute longer to submit. There is freedom in loosening your fingers and entrusting that thing to the God who can handle it—the God who loves you.

What we hunger for perhaps more than anything else is to be known in our full humanness, and yet that is often just what we also fear more than anything else.
Frederick Buechner

(Note: You can read part 1 of my musings about turning in a manuscript here.)

April 29, 2015

What It Feels Like to Turn in a Manuscript, Part 1

The summer I was twelve, I decided it was time to learn to dive off the high dive. I’d been jumping off the high dive for some time, but I’d never had the guts to hurl myself face-first from such a height.

I’m not sure what inspired me that particular summer, because truth be told, I’m four parts scaredy-cat and only a small part daredevil. But I’d made up my mind. And in any case, I’d told my little brother my plan, so there was no backing out now.

One hot August day, at the church picnic, I decided it was now or never. So right after polishing off a plate heaped with fried chicken and Jell-O salad (oh twelve-year-old stomach of steel, I miss you!), I found myself making the wobbly trek up the ladder.

As I stood with my toes curled around the edge of the diving board, looking down at the pool below, I had three nearly simultaneous thoughts:

How come the board is so much higher from up here?
I want to do this big, scary thing.
I don’t want to regret not doing this big, scary thing.

And then I dove in before I could change my mind.

It was, in equal parts, thrilling and terrifying. (I’m sure it was pretty ugly too, but thankfully these were the days before Facebook and Instagram, so no one has any proof.) To my happy surprise, none of my body parts broke or detached on impact. When I got to the surface, I was still my old self.

Only I wasn’t. I wasn’t really any stronger or better or older than I’d been before I jumped. But I’d learned something about myself. I could do scary things. I could jump and not break. And that was worth more than the dive itself.

***

I just turned in my manuscript for a book (a real book! which will allegedly have pages and a cover and everything!), and it felt for all the world like a dive off the high dive. It is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, and I’m so excited to be able to share this news with you.

I’m so thankful for the people who have cheered me on as I’ve made my trembly way to the edge of the diving board—my husband, my family, my friends (both flesh-and-blood and online), and the good people at Tyndale. Thank you for reading my words and encouraging me and asking me hard questions and praying for me—and thanks for letting me do the same for you.

I know I’m not the only one with knocking knees right now, and I wonder: What big, scary diving-board adventure is awaiting you? Are you trying to get the courage to take that first step up the ladder? Or are you right at the edge of the diving board, trying to muster up the courage to jump in?

I want to encourage you today: Whatever you’ve been called to do, dive in. Don’t let your fear stop you. Yes, there will be times when your stomach is queasy and you’re wishing you’d passed on the second helping of fried chicken. But there is no thrill quite like plunging into the God-sized adventure you’ve been made for. You were made for this. Dive in!

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
Jill Briscoe

***

In case you want details, here you go! The book is called I Was Blind (Dating) But Now I See: My Misadventures in Dating, Waiting, and Stumbling into Love. It’s due out February 2016. It’s going to be quite a Valentine’s Day!

August 26, 2014

Announcement Part 2 (Everything You Wanted to Know, Plus Some!)

As promised, here is part 2 of my announcement! (See here for part 1.) Thanks to all of you for being so supportive and encouraging—I am so thankful for each one of you.

So, I’m writing a book. (I need to keep saying that in the hope that I’ll start believing it. . . .)

Ready?

It’s a memoir called Was Blind Dating, but Now I See.

Here’s the premise: Eight setups. Eight awkward dates. Eight things God tried to teach me along the way. (A few of which I learned in a messy, roundabout sort of way, and some of which I’m still trying to figure out.)

***

As my twenties slipped by, with the formidable 3-0 lurking around the corner, life didn’t look quite the way I’d imagined. I had a career, my own home, a queen-size bed, and bridesmaid dresses of every hue jammed into my closet. But notably absent was a wedding ring on my left hand . . . and the man to accompany it.

Although I’d never been one with visions of frothy wedding gowns and sparkly tiaras, I did figure I’d get married and have a family one day. But “one day” was starting to breathe down my neck, with no suitable suitors in sight.

In the decade after college, as my friends jumped into relationships, got married, and moved on with their lives, I couldn’t help but wonder if God had missed me somehow when he was dishing out the marriage and family blessings. Why would he be so quiet about something that was so close to my heart? And so I started praying in earnest for God to bring the right man into my life.

Instead, he brought me matchmakers. Eight of them, to be precise.

Thus began a five-year journey of blind dating mishaps, misadventures, and heartaches, in which I encountered the likes of the Professor, the Linebacker, Uber-Fundamentalist Boy, and Mr. Paper-Perfect. But along the way, a funny thing happened. While I was looking so hard for one thing, God snuck up on me and showed me things I hadn’t even been looking for—things like hope and community and gratitude and joy.

And perhaps most surprising of all, he revealed to me his grace. Grace so amazing that it left me lovestruck.

***

And there you have it—the short version! The book is scheduled to come out in February 2016 (think Valentine’s Day). Thanks for coming along with me on this adventure!

Your turn: Have you ever experienced God’s grace in a totally unexpected way or in a unique way during a certain season of your life? I’d love to hear about it.

August 19, 2014

That Big Announcement I Was Telling You About

Note that my book even had a ribbon tie and a custom spine. Classy!

When I was in fourth grade, I wrote a book called Molly Mouse Returns Home, the riveting sequel to my third-grade debut (curious minds can read about it here).

I loved to write under any conditions as a kid (especially if I had those cool multicolored gel pens), but there was something special about Young Authors week, when everyone in the class got to write, illustrate, and bind our own books. (Mrs. Strukel, if you’re out there, I’d like to thank you, as I now realize what an undertaking it must have been to help some thirty ten-year-olds complete this project, no doubt requiring excessive amounts of time, patience, and rubber cement.)

When it was Young Authors week, suddenly I wasn’t just a writer anymore; I was an author. My words weren’t merely tucked in a notebook in my dresser drawer; they were out there for the world (or at least my twenty-eight fellow classmates) to see. In short, I was getting published.

The final day of Young Authors week was an all-out literary party. We read each other’s books and signed them in the back, and as I read my classmates’ stories, I marveled at these people I thought I knew. Wow, Jackie is so creative! Who knew Darren could draw so well?

The pinnacle of the day was when the local acting troupe came in. They chose one story from each grade to act out in front of the whole school at an assembly, and we all sat on the edge of our seats, wondering whose stories would be chosen. My mind swirled, recalling all the amazing tales I’d read that day. The one scenario I never imagined was what actually happened.

When it was time for the last skit, the emcee stepped up to mic. “Our next story is . . . Molly Mouse Returns Home!”

I sat there stunned. Of all the stories, they had chosen mine?

Fast-forward to 2014. Just a few weeks ago, I received a twenty-six-page packet in the mail, filled with big legaly words like indemnities and proration and force majeure—and also the two most important words: BOOK CONTRACT. It has taken me a while to get my mind around it, but it’s true: For the first time since fourth grade, I’m going to be published.

After I watched my story about Molly Mouse come to life onstage, my ten-year-old self was shaking out of sheer gratitude and awe. That’s when I saw my mom in the crowd. I didn’t know until later that my teacher had called to fill her in on the surprise, but at the time it didn’t matter how she’d gotten there; it just mattered that she was there.

This is me rocking the side ponytail with the actors who acted out my book. I have so many questions about this. For starters: Who exactly was Molly Mouse in this scenario?

I threw all my fourth-grade bravado aside and ran straight to my mom’s arms. This big thing had just happened, and I got to share it with someone who knew me and loved me. (Added bonus: My teacher let Mom emancipate me for an hour to get lunch off campus.)

And you know what? That’s kind of how I feel right now. As exciting as it is that someone is making my words come to life in a real-live book, it’s equally an honor that I get to share it with all of you. You have encouraged me, loved me, and shared your stories with me for the last several years. And it feels amazing that God has allowed me to share this adventure with all of you.

I got rather long winded with this post (I guess that happens when you start by going back to the fourth grade), so I’ll save my announcement about what the book is about for the next post.

Until then, I want to know about you: What’s something you’re looking forward to, big or small?

June 6, 2014

An Editor’s Unexpected Job Hazards

I suspect every job comes with its share of hidden job hazards that they don’t tell you about in your interview—perils that likely aren’t covered by worker’s comp, either. Here are a few of the hazards I face every day as a result of my career choice.

1. It’s almost impossible for me to read without a pen in my hand.
I can’t help but recall that ill-fated time I was reading Middlemarch for a book club I was in. I was about a third of the way into the book, having been happily underlining and scribbling marginalia for several hundred pages, before I remembered it was a library book. I had no choice but to plead my case to the stoic librarian: “What can I say? An editor always reads with a pen!”

2. My hands are crisscrossed with paper cuts.
After flipping through sets of galley pages, my hands always seem to end up in a jumbled, haphazard mess. And I have to say, it’s not as easy as one might expect to straighten several hundred 11 x 17 pages into a neat stack. Inevitably, just as I’ve gotten the pages almost presentable enough to pass on to the next person, the paper slices through that tender spot on the palm of my hand. (But I have to say, it’s well worth it to see those words coming together in a form that closely resembles a book.)

3. I’ve come down with an incurable case of pen snobbery.
I used to be able to write with a pen like a normal person—meaning that the primary prerequisite for a pen is that it contains ink and gets your message onto paper. Not so anymore. Now if it’s not a Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball Extra Fine, I find myself in a vague state of panic.

4. My nightstand is perpetually on the verge of collapse.
Being around authors, editors, story lovers, and word people all day means my list of books to read is inexhaustible. At any given time, I’m probably in the middle of approximately five books—a book for each of my book clubs, one for spiritual edification, a nonfiction title in hopes that I’ll become marginally smarter, and a fiction book that’s purely for fun. I have a book to read in the morning and one to fall asleep with at night, a book to listen to while I’m working out and one to listen to during my commute. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. . . .

5. My days are marked by book-induced feelings.
When I was editing a book filled with stories about Southern Cooking, I found myself perpetually ravenous for fried chicken, and I’m pretty sure I snacked my way through all two hundred pages. When I worked on a book about a man who climbed Mount Everest , I felt cold all day and had to layer up my outfits for a month. When I was editing a football player’s manuscript, I suddenly had a vested (and unprecedented) interest in which teams would make it to the Super Bowl. When I worked on a book by a Texan, I shamelessly started saying y’all (you have to admit it’s more charming than the Midwestern “you guys”).

So take warning, all of you aspiring editors out there. These job hazards could haunt you too, should you commit yourself to a life of books. (But trust me, it will be worth every paper cut.)

So what are the unexpected hazards of your job?