I warn you, her article cracked me up. I love her sense of humor. I'll also tell you I read the excerpt and promptly bought the book.
Isabel shares with us how she came to write this story and The Call. My understanding is Leah suffered no lasting hearing loss.
So I wrote this novel: No Proper Lady.
It was the first romance novel I’d written, and perhaps not-so-coincidentally the first novel I’d written that actually stood up to a second reading. (I’d written a couple in college, since I needed something to think about during class, but going back to all of them was less “hey, I can fix this” and more “what was I thinking?”) I had a lot of fun in the process, since I got to write about weird dystopian futures and fancy dresses and really cute guys, and I kept myself occupied on a number of vacations and train trips. As I’d read you should do, I put the manuscript away, or at least closed the file, and waited six months to start revisions.
It was the first romance novel I’d written, and perhaps not-so-coincidentally the first novel I’d written that actually stood up to a second reading. (I’d written a couple in college, since I needed something to think about during class, but going back to all of them was less “hey, I can fix this” and more “what was I thinking?”) I had a lot of fun in the process, since I got to write about weird dystopian futures and fancy dresses and really cute guys, and I kept myself occupied on a number of vacations and train trips. As I’d read you should do, I put the manuscript away, or at least closed the file, and waited six months to start revisions.
Six months later, it was January of 2008. My day
job, reasonably enough, decided that “editorial assistant” was not exactly an
essential position, considering the impending societal collapse and transition
into Mad Max-style chaos.
I had some time on my hands, is what I’m saying.
Some of this time, I used to look for another
job—the endless train of hate that is pantyhose, interview skirts, and cover
letters. Everyone knows it; nobody likes it. I facilitated communications! I
synergized win-win situations! I got my nails done and then had to get them
done again, because my lifestyle is not compatible with manicures that last
more than an hour. I did some temp work, which mostly took place in tunnels
under Harvard Business School, and pretended to be a Morlock. I spent a lot of
time hating the weather, the T, everyone on the T, and everything in general.
But I also spent a lot of time writing. I think
every friend who expressed any tangential interest in No Proper Lady got a look at the manuscript, and then had me
pestering them about it a day later. (“What do you think?” “Well, my house was
on fire, and a spider’s eating my face right now—“ “Yeah, but did you like the
book?”) I put in scenes. I took out scenes; I actually took out a lot of
scenes, since the first draft was something like a hundred and three thousand
words. A background in fantasy had convinced me that a novel had to be long
enough that you could use the hardback version to kill large insects, and I
hadn’t researched length requirements in romance nearly enough before I first
wrote.
I realized that I’d spelled the heroine’s name—or at
least her alias--two different ways throughout the book, and hated everything.
My computer broke, and I hated that too. My boyfriend let me use his computer,
so I didn’t hate him so much.
I revised. I wrote cover letters. I wrote other
cover letters. I realized that my job application cover letters were bleeding
into my romance cover letters and vice versa. “Dear Ms. Jones: I am applying
for a position as a heroine with nothing to lose in a world she never made.”
“As passion grows between them, they will become valuable team players with an
eye for customer satisfaction.”
I played a lot of music, fairly loudly, and tried to
pretend that this was just a montage of hardship and would be over soon. I
prayed that I wouldn’t get cavities or appendicitis.
I went on interviews, and more interviews, and
developed a nervous tic any time someone asked me what my greatest weakness
was. (I seriously considered answering “Kryptonite” or “the color yellow” later
on. As far as I could tell, it would probably have worked out the same either
way.) I started going out to lunch with friends after the interviews, because
why not?
I had to get a new cell phone, because my old one
succumbed to a deluge.
And then I came home from a post-interview lunch and
found an email from Leah Hultenschmidt asking me to call her about No Proper Lady.
The first thing I did was make myself some tea. This
seemed important. This didn’t keep me in any way from squealing like an anime
schoolgirl when Leah offered to buy the book. She was very nice about the
hearing damage and everything.
In the time since, I’ve gotten a new day job,
written the sequel to No Proper Lady,
and gotten to meet some incredible people in the romance field. It’s been
awesome—and it totally makes those months in 2008 worth it.
Though I would still have preferred a montage.
NO PROPER LADY BY ISABEL COOPER – IN STORES SEPTEMBER 2011
It’s Terminator meets My Fair Lady in this fascinating debut of black magic and brilliant ball gowns, martial arts, and mysticism.
England, 1888. The trees are green, the birds are singing, and in 200 years demons will destroy it all. Unless Joan, a rough-around-the-edges assassin from the future, can take out the dark magician responsible. But to get close to her target she’ll need help learning how to fit into polite Victorian society to get close to her target.
Simon Grenville has his own reasons for wanting to destroy Alex Reynell. The man used to be his best friend—until his practice of the dark arts almost killed Simon’s sister. The beautiful half-naked stranger Simon meets in the woods may be the perfect instrument for his revenge. It will just take a little time to teach her the necessary etiquette and assemble a proper wardrobe. But as each day passes, Simon is less sure he wants Joan anywhere near Reynell. Because no spell in the world will save his future if she isn't in it.EXCERPT
