I was in the kitchen on the evening of March 9, helping my kids with a craft project, when my husband Mark came in brandishing The St. Paul Pioneer Press. “Did you hear the big news?”

“What big news?” I almost dropped a glue bottle. “Oh, no! Wills and Kate didn’t call off the wedding, did they?”

I’m ever so slightly obsessed with the royal wedding.

“No, no, forget them.” Mark had to wait for the squeals of Daddy! to calm down and trade welcome-home hugs before he could explain. “It’s about this writer from Austin. The one who self-publishes her own e-books?”

“Oh, that.” I started gathering up construction paper and tubes of glitter. “People have been doing that for years. Nobody makes any money at it. Girls, help me clear the table so we can get dinner started.”

“Mommy, what’s an e-book?”

I smiled at my four-year-old. “An e-book is just a silly waste of time, sweetie. Hand me that paintbox, please?”

Mark took the paints, glitter, glue, and everything else from my hands. “It’s not a waste of time anymore. You have got to read this.” He foisted the newspaper on me.

I shook my head. “E-books are only for people who can’t find a real publisher.”

“That was then.” He tapped his finger on a headline halfway down the page. “This is now.”

NO BOOKS, JUST BEST-SELLERS: A young author in Austin, Minn., finds fame — and fortune — publishing her work online.

“No way,” I said. “Really?” I skimmed the article. Amanda Hocking? Never heard of her. Years of struggle, piles of rejections, yada yada, the usual story — until she decided to self-publish her books in digital format for the Kindle and Nook and other e-readers. Now she was selling hundreds of thousands of books a month. “No way!”

I was moving now, still reading as I headed downstairs to my home office. “No way!” I couldn’t stop saying it. She was getting 70% royalties! Her earnings to date were just shy of $2 million! “You are kidding me!” She was inspired to try e-publishing because of some writer named Joe Konrath — who was so busy selling 1500 e-books a day that he declined to give the Pioneer Press an interview.

People were doing this? People were actually doing this?

I reached my office, tossed the paper, and jumped online for a quick Google.

Amanda Hocking was just the tip of the iceberg. Konrath was making six figures. A dozen other mystery authors had “gone indie.” And romance writers! Suddenly I was tripping over familiar names. Marsha Canham. Julie Ortolon. Alexis Harrington. Miriam Minger.

People were doing this! People I knew were doing this!

Cue the crash of cymbals. The bolt of lightning. The sky suddenly opening up and angels bursting into song.

I could do this!

I literally sat there with my mouth open, stunned by the possibilities. The clues that had slipped past me for months all clicked into place. The indie designers on Ravelry…the women in the cafe with their e-readers…the People magazine report that romance is the fastest-growing e-book genre.

I could do this!

I didn’t need to wait for the market to shift, for publishers to take a chance on me again. I didn’t need a publisher at all.

I could take a chance on me.

Feeling a bit dizzy, I turned and pulled open the top drawer of my file cabinet. I had the rights back to my out-of-print books, didn’t I? I thought I remembered getting those rights back. I found my thick Contracts file and started tearing through it. Where were those letters?

For years, I had tried to get the rights back to my out-of-print books. I’m not sure why I was so persistent, when I didn’t have much hope of ever getting published again. By 2001, I had almost given up. But when we moved to Minnesota, I needed to send my ex-literary agent an address update — and while I was at it, I had asked him to please try, one more time, to get Avon to relinquish my backlist.

Four years later, Avon finally relented.

I let out a whoop of relief and joy as I found the letters. I was the proud owner of a slim stack of paperwork dated 2005, granting me all rights to my out-of-print Avon books.

They were mine! All of them. I could e-publish my backlist. Even better, I could write new books. All the spin-offs and sequels I never had the chance to write. And short stories. Novellas. Whatever I wanted!

I jumped up and did a happy dance right there in the middle of my office. I wasn’t just happy, I was delirious. It wasn’t Wednesday, it was Someday.

I get to be an author again.

“There is no expiration date on your dreams.”

Okay, yes, I’ve been away from the publishing industry for a while, but I could have started connecting the dots in 2008. That was the year I joined a fledgling website called Ravelry.com, a free social networking hub for knitters.

What does knitting have to do with book publishing? Plenty. Keep reading.

Ravelry started with a couple of stitchers from New England — and exploded almost overnight into an international phenomenon. The site has brought together more than 1 million yarn enthusiasts (we call ourselves “yarnistas” or “Ravelers”) from around the world. We post photos of projects, share tips and ideas, talk about favorite yarns…and buy the latest patterns directly from designers.

Before Ravelry, pattern designers had to go through an arduous process to reach their knitting audience. First, they had to submit patterns to an editor or creative director at a knitting magazine, book publisher, or yarn company. Then they had to wait for a response. And wait and wait. After months or years of rejections, they might finally get a design published — but they received only a flat fee, or sometimes a modest royalty, while the publisher pocketed most of the profits. It took years for a designer to make a name for herself, never mind make a living.

Then Ravelry came along and changed everything. Knitting designers have gone “indie.” No more begging for scraps from the magazines, book publishers, or yarn companies. Designers post their patterns on Ravelry as secure PDFs, set their own prices, and sell directly to knitters. Ravelry handles the electronic transactions with the help of Paypal and collects a small fee per download.

Now an industry once dominated by a handful of “star” designers is an equal playing field. Knitting-scene newbies are going from complete unknowns to international sensations in a matter of months, not years. And as for making a living? With pattern prices around $5 each, a designer can earn a decent salary, even if only a fraction of Ravelry’s 1,319,311 registered users buys her stuff.

It’s much more fun to go indie.

So you’d think maybe a light bulb might have appeared over my head, right? Nope. I didn’t see any connection between those indie designers and their patterns and me and my books. Clue #1 sailed right past me.

Clue #2 came my way in 2010. I get together with a group of local knitters at a cafe every week. (Um, why yes, now that you mention it, I have been knitting quite a bit the past few years, why do you ask?) Anyway, the cafe where we meet is a popular neighborhood gathering spot. While we Ravelers stitch the evening away, there are usually at least one or two reading groups meeting at the same time. Last fall, I started noticing something disappearing from these book clubs.

The books.

Reading-group women who used to walk in hauling a hardcover or trade paperback were suddenly breezing in empty handed. They would sit down, open their purses — and whip out e-readers.

And these were not tech-happy twenty-somethings. These were women in the 50+ age bracket. Settled, suburban, mid-life moms. Not your typical adopters of the latest electronic gadget. Yet here they were, spending half their book-club time showing each other the features on their new e-readers and debating the merits of Kindle vs. Nook.

Wow, I thought, looks like e-readers are catching on with the Baby Boomers in a big way. Guess we can’t call it a fad anymore.

Hello? Big giant clue, anyone? Light bulb? Anyone, anyone? Nope. I still didn’t get it. It didn’t occur to me that those reading groups and their e-readers might have anything to do with me and my books.

Sheesh.

At Christmas, clue #3 arrived. This should have been the kicker. I always pick up the “Year in Review” issue of People magazine, and the 2010 edition had a headline that shouted E-BOOKS GAINING GROUND in big capital letters. Right next to a big color photo of a romance novel on an e-reader.

To give myself a little credit, I did clip out the article and save it. I mean, how could any romance writer not, with statistics like these:

• In 2010, for the first time ever, digital books outsold hardbacks on Amazon
• Romance novels are now the fastest growing segment of the e-reader market

Of course romance is popular, I thought, remembering all those women in the cafe with their e-readers. Most book-buyers are women, and women buy more romance novels than any other kind of fiction. It’s a $1.36 billion industry. More than a quarter of all books sold in the U.S. are romance novels. One quarter. It’s only natural for that to translate to the e-book world.

I was happy for my former colleagues, thinking they must be cleaning up as their publishers released their books in electronic format. (I had no idea how wrong I was about the “cleaning up” part.) I assumed that the only way to become a successful e-pubbed author was to be e-pubbed by your publisher. My books have been out of print for years, so I figured I had missed the boat.

So nope, even clue #3 didn’t spur me to take any kind of action.

I was still thinking of the e-book phenomenon in terms of the traditional publishing system. To me, “publishing” still meant bricks and mortar and huge corporations and lots of dead trees. I was part of that system for ten years. Traditional publishing had been firmly imprinted on my psyche. I just couldn’t imagine the industry operating in any other way.

Then one month ago, on March 9, my husband came home from work carrying a copy of the St. Paul Pioneer Press. Splashed across the front page was an article about some local author I’d never heard of.

An author named Amanda Hocking.

“Happily ever after can only be lived one day at a time.”

For those who wonder where the heck I’ve been lately, that quote pretty much sums it up. Like a lot of midlist authors, I got sidelined by the shrinking historical romance market in the early 2000’s. After ten years, nine books, two publishers, two lead titles, more than 1 million copies in print, and lots of lovely awards and reviews, I was offered a contract that I could only call…oh, let’s be kind and say “crummy.” The advance was so low, I could easily earn more at McDonald’s. Or just about anywhere else. (Fellow Dell author Marsha Canham has a detailed and colorful description of those days on her blog.)

It was painful — devastating, to be honest — but I walked away. Kissed New York publishing goodbye. The heyday of historical romance seemed to be ending. There wasn’t room anymore in the market for the kinds of books I loved to write. Editors wanted light, funny contemporary romances — not action-packed historicals with dark heroes and “risky” (i.e. not Scotland) settings.

I hoped the market might shift back, someday. I hoped publishers might be willing to take a chance on “risky” books again…someday.

Meanwhile, a girl’s gotta earn a living. Luckily for me, the economy was roaring full steam in those days, and even someone who had been out of the corporate world for 10 years could land a job. I went back to work in the PR/marketing biz.

I liked my boss. I had nice colleagues. I even got an office with a window. I counted my blessings…and did my best to ignore the book ideas, scenes and characters dancing around in my head.

Why write those books when there was no place for them in the publishing industry?

In 2001, my husband was offered a promotion and his company moved us from Michigan to Minnesota. (Remember when companies used to do that kind of thing?) Instead of looking for a new corporate job, I switched to freelance writing for magazines, because I had another dream I wanted to chase. One that required a lot of time, money and attention.

A dream that had proved even more elusive than getting a book published.

In 2003, that dream finally came true. Specialists had told us we had less than a 15% chance of ever having a child, but against all odds, our years of heartbreak ended with a miracle. On a moonlit autumn night, after 12 hours of labor and lots of laughter and tears, we held our newborn daughter in our arms for the first time.

My name changed that night, to Mommy, the sweetest noun in the English language.

After such a long wait, I wanted to savor every minute of motherhood, so I cut back on my freelancing. Our days were filled with playgroups and lullabies and blowing bubbles at the park. It was everything I had ever wanted, and so much more. Being a mom is the most enjoyable, surprising, emotional adventure and I love it more than words can express.

Two years later, I gave my husband the surprise of a lifetime when I walked into the kitchen one morning and showed him a little lavender-colored stick with a single word glowing in the digital window: PREGNANT. To the amazement of absolutely everyone — including us — we were expecting our second little miracle.

So that’s what’s been keeping me busy since I jumped off the New York publishing roller-coaster. I have a 7-year-old, a 4-year old, a minivan, and a calendar packed with playdates, swim lessons, gymnastics, and school volunteering. We’ve been living happily ever after, one day at a time.

But just when I thought I had left publishing behind forever, my life turned upside down in the most wonderful way.

Because on March 9, 2011, someday finally arrived.

More about that next time.