Publishing a Historical Fiction Novel
Happy Pub Day to Author Accelerator certified book coach Susanne Dunlap! Her book The Adored One: A Novel of Lillian Lorraine & Florenz Ziegfeld is out now!
Which publishing route was taken for this project?
Hybrid publishing through Atmosphere Press.
What did you do to celebrate this achievement?
I am having a wonderful launch event! It's at our local 19th-century theater—the perfect match to the theme of the book—and I'll have a local actress read some excerpts. I'll have books to sell and sign in the lobby, and the local library and my favorite bookstore/cafe is involved too. It's going to be so much fun. A real community event.
What is your favorite passage from the book?
I was waiting to go on for one of my beauty numbers, wearing the most expensive costume of all. It was just about the time for me to run daintily onto the stage, and I cleared my throat for my song and loosened my jaw to get rid of any tension that would make my voice tight. I stepped forward. RRRip! It’s an awful sound, one no actress wants to hear seconds before her number. I figured I’d got the sequined fabric caught on a nail sticking up from the floor or something. But when I turned to check, there was Fanny, her foot planted on my hem; just below a tear it would be impossible to mend.
“Oops.” Fanny folded her arms across her chest and stared straight into my eyes. I’d never seen an expression like that on her face before. Bitter, angry, sad, all mixed up together.
“What are you doing?” I still hoped it was an accident, that she’d just let me go on and we could talk about it after the show.
“I’m sure I don’t know. What the hell are you doing with my fella?” Fanny said it right out loud. Everyone in the wings heard her, and probably some people in the audience.
I was mad at myself and mad at Fred, but I took it out on Fanny. “Just because you can’t keep a man doesn’t mean I did anything!”
I heard the gasps and then the silence. Before I could turn and go on stage, Fanny was on top of me, grabbing at my costume, my headdress, my hair. “Why, you!”
Nothing gets me riled up like having people get the wrong end of things and blaming me. I didn’t go after Fred, he came after me! She should be doing this to him! I gave it right back to her, scratching and kicking. It felt good to thrash out and punch someone, even though after a minute I didn’t know why. I wasn’t just angry at the situation I’d gotten into, I was mad at my life.
“Stop it!” Bert Williams, risking his career for even touching us, took hold of each of our shoulders and separated us. “You missed your cue,” he said to me. He took out a hankie and wiped a little blood off a scratch on my face.
But I was still white hot. “No, I haven’t!” Before he could stop me I stormed onto the set. The look on the chorines’ faces when they saw me come out a total wreck—hair a mess, gown torn, makeup running— made me laugh. No one could keep me from doing my part. They’d been singing their background without me, but I started the number over and performed it all the way through like it was nothing. At the end the audience laughed and clapped anyway, probably thinking what I did was a clever variation, something to change things up a bit, like a staged police raid.