Maggie's Origin Story
- Maggie Shayne
- Jan 12
- 7 min read
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Picture it, a hamlet called Beaver Meadow in the town of Otselic NY, population about 1000. That's the whole town, not the hamlet.
There I was, a young mother with five little girls each one a little smaller than the one before.
I was a young, stay-at-home mom with a dream. I wanted to be a writer. I thought I was pretty good. I'd found a local group of writers, the Central New York Romance Writers where I'd made the best friends of my entire life. We honed our skills together, held critique sessions, organized writing workshops, invitied guest speakers. We were serious about this!
When I'd first discovered the existence of the CNYRW, they held their meetings in downtown Syracuse. I did not drive in Syracuse. I barely drove in Otselic, where there's not a single traffic light. I joined the group, but knew I'd be a long distance member. I got their newsletter and enjoyed the articles. Online meetings were not yet a thing. It was 1988.
And then one newsletter arrived announcing that they were moving their meeting place to Tulip St in the suburb of Liverpool, and it was the only street in the entire CNY area I was confident about driving on. I had recently reconnected with my birth father and he lived on that street, so I was at ease driving there.
You know, when you're on the path that's good for you, the Universe will just line things right up for you. That's what happened there. So I joined CNYRW. Nobody in the group was yet published, but later on two real live authors joined us. Maria Greene and Garda Parker. And I was an eager little sponge, just soaking up all their published-author wisdom.
So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, and I kept submitting my work to publishers, and collecting rejection letters like a hobby. Others in the group kept saying I was good, on the brink, very close. But years ticked by and I still hadn't landed a contract.
I can remember vividly the day I learned to spell my first word. It was kindergarten, we didn't learn ahead of time back then. Pre-school wasn't a thing in my world. I'd look at books, at all the funny lines inside them, and just yearn for the key that would unlock the mystery of them. I wanted it so much!
Then in school our teacher taught us the first three letters of the alphabet. The A and the sound it made. The short sound to start, not the long A. Then the B, and then the hard C. Then she put them together to spell a word. C-A-B, and asked who could read it. And I could. My hand shot up so hard I should've dislocated my shoulder. She called on me, and I read. I read! "Cab," I said, and I was right, and amazed at how simple it was going to be.
I remember later, still very early in elementary school, maybe second or third grade, writing poems my teacher would have me read in front of the class. And around the same time, I'd write storybooks on construction paper with crayon drawings. Soemtimes the teacher would let me use her stapler to "bind" them.
I remember later, seventh grade English writing an essay that got a perfect grade, and the teacher Ms. Sversky, telling the class that she'd never given a perfect grade for an essay before. She hung in on the wall in the classroom, along with the gorgeous artwork my project partner Mike McKenzie had drawn to illustrate it. We kicked ass, Mike and I. I was surprised he enjoyed working with me, because in my mind, I was from the trashiest family in town and he might've been the minister's son, if I remember right. I could be wrong, as it's been fifty years or so. It felt like he was light years above me, but we got along great during the project. His art blew me away. The project was to depict heaven and hell in words and art. I did the words, Mike did the art.
I wonder if he ever knew how much that meant to me?
Well, I took a side journey there, didn't I? Let's reset. There I was thirty years old. I had made a deal with myself that if I hadn't sold a novel to a major publisher by the time my littlest duckling started kindergarten, I would give up writing and seek employment.
Now, the way things worked in publishing back then went like this. You submitted your first three chapters and synopsis or sometimes your entire novel to a publisher, and then you waited anywhere from three to seven months to hear back.
It was late August of 1992. My baby was starting kindergarten in September. I was looking at job listings, and the only writing I was doing was on my resume, which was scant. I knew I wasn't going to meet my own deadline. The only book still out making the rounds had only been mailed a few weeks ago, and there was no way I'd hear back in time. My dream was dying. Already dead, maybe.
And then it happened. The week of my youngest baby's birthday, I ran to the grocery store. I took the little ones, 5 and 7 with me, and left the big ones, 14, 12 and 10 at home at their request. They hated grocery shopping but loved breaks from their younger siblings.
I had no cellphone back then. It was a whole different world, honestly.
So I come home with the groceries, and my oldest meets me in the driveway before I even get out of the car, and says, "Mom, your agent called." (Back then you first had to convince an agent you were good, which I had managed to do, and then that agent would send your work around to the publishers. Agents were the gatekeepers. If the book came through an agent, the publishers knew it was at least worth a look, so most publishers would not accept unagented submissions. I had achieved that much, at least.)
Anyway, there was Jena, my firstborn, all excited. "Mom, your agent called. You have to call her back right away. It sounded like something really good."
Now these kids were savvy about the book biz, especially Jena. (She's my editor now. Masters in English, teachers high school and college levels.) The five ducklings had been watching me trying to sell a novel for four years at that point. For the youngest, it had been just about her whole life. They knew. They got it, they understood what this meant. Espeically the older ones. And Jena was excited!
But I didn't let myself get too hopeful and tried to tell her not to either. I knew it couldn't be a sale, because it had only been three weeks. In the four years I'd been submitting, I'd never heard from anyone in fewer than sixteen weeks, and often more like thirty. One took over a year, and another, forever. I never did hear back. So there was no point getting excited.
That said, I didn't bring the groceries in from the car right away. I decided to make that phone call first. I walked to the bedroom extension for privacy. My five ducklings followed all in a row, from biggest to smallest.
I called my agent. She answered with the words, "You did it, kid!"
And I said something scathingly brilliant like, "Did what?"
She then told me that senior editor–senior–Melissa Senate from Silhouette Books wanted to buy my novel, Reckless Angel (since shortened to Reckless) for Silhouette Intimate Moments. I would receive an advance of four-thousand dollars. The editor would be calling me in a few minutes to make the official offer and welcome me aboard.
As I listened to her talking, my legs turned to jelly and I just slowly melted all the way down until I was sitting on the floor between my bed and the wall. The girls were all watching me, wide-eyed, bouncing in place, the older ones trying to keep the younger ones quiet for mommy's important phone call.
I got tears. I thanked the agent and said goodbye. And then I shouted, "They're going to publish my book! I did it! I did it! I did it!"
And there was the biggest burst of female squeals you will ever hear. We just hugged and screamed and laughed, and cried happy tears. If we'd had close neighbors, they'd have called 911, I'm sure. It is a moment and a day I will never ever forget for as long as I live. It was really the beginning of my life's work.
I've been writing stories non-stop ever since. Thirty-plus years now.
RECKLESS ANGEL: original
RECKLESS: today
Here's the original edition of that book and the latest version. (Above) Isn't it gorgeous? I remember the day the author-copies arrived. I made the delivery driver wait while I opened the box, then took one out and showed him and said the very same words, "Isn't it gorgeous?
It released about a year later, and then a month later, so did Twilight Phantasies, in Silhouette's Shadows line, which Melissa Senate purchased right after Reckless, and my career began.
TWILIGHT PHANTASIES: original
TWILIGHT PHANTASIES: today
I went on to publish 102 novels and 12 novellas in the three decades since that first day, and I still can't get through the story of how it all began without tears. (It might be 103 and 13. I need a recount.)
So that's my origin story. Hope you enjoyed it.
Curious about that first novel?
RECKLESS ANGEL, since shortened to RECKLESS, is book 1 of a 5-volume, page-turning romantic suspense series on sale now in paperback and ebook at all retailers.
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