There truly is something magical about being a romance writer. We get to create worlds, make people fall in love, make them fall out of love, and generally create the kind of imaginary chaos only fictional emotions can explain.
Yep. It's a great gig.
Most of the time.
But I'm finding lately, the closer I get to seeing these books sitting on the shelf (meaning the more nitpick work like revisions, and chapter word count, etc), the more stressed I become. Which makes for some difficulty fine tuning the points in the book that still need some help.
I don't want to write all lovey-dovey, everybody-is-going-to-live-happily-ever-after-garbage, when my cars acting up, the daughter has a cold, the husband has left his laundry scattered around the house one time too many, and I've got a headache the size of the gallon of ice cream I wish I could eat. Truthfully, if I had my way right about now, all of my characters would die in a horrible, totally unforeseen fire and would never again live to torment my poor, tired mind with their antics.
But nobody wants to buy romances like that. (Except maybe the Nicholas Sparks fans. Ouch. And yes, I did just say that).
So, as a writer, and a romance one in particular, I'm still trying to figure out how to leave worn, grumpy, sleepy Mandy at the door when I come to write.
But if I don't accomplish that, don't be surprised if the heroine dies in chapter 12. I'm just sayin.
No comments:
Post a Comment