Okay, I’m just going to come right out and say it … I’m a scaredy cat. Flat out, yellow bellied wuss of the nth degree. And yes, that includes horror movies and ghost stories. But that’s not the fear I’m chatting about today.
I’m talking about the fear of failure.
Now don’t get me wrong … I love a new challenge. I’ll try most things at least once. (Multiple times if it’s fun 😉 ) What I’m afraid of is my manuscript. Yep, I said it. The thought of opening that puppy and staring down at the blinking cursor raises my blood pressure and starts my heart a-fluttering (and not in a good way). It didn’t used to be that way. I used to be able to sit down at the computer and happily pound out scene after scene in ignorant bliss. Not so much anymore.
I’ve learned enough about the correct way to craft a story that I worry I’m not doing it quite right. (Not that there aren’t lots of nuances of “correct”, but that’s a blog for another day.)
I love my stories and I’m really proud of them. I have fallen in love with the characters even as they have fallen in love with each other. But now I worry. Will this story be as good as the first (or second) in the series? Will the readers relate to the characters and love them as much as I do? Will they cry during this scene? What if …
Yeah, there it is … WHAT IF I can’t do it again? (See? My knees went a little weak there?) I know … it’s so dumb. Because if I’d just open that document and start typing the words will flow (well, as much as they do for me) and all would be right with my world. (And my editor. *g*) I know the more I’m away from it, the harder it will be to return. Like every other muscle, my brain needs exercise. And just like how easy it is NOT to go to the gym, I can fritter away the whole day without adding one sentence to my manuscript.
Bad. Bad Me!
Okay, so this is it, me kicking myself in my arse and opening my manuscript and working on it. That cursor isn’t going to intimidate me today. It can blink like Rudolph’s shiny nose and I’m not going to run from it. Because in reality … no publisher ever published an unwritten book! LOL!
How about you, what scares you the most and how do you overcome it?
(And don’t forget to comment on the post BELOW for your chance to win a basket of anniversary gifts)
This project is a little easier as it’s a story about characters that already exist. Characters I created and came to know through the process of writing about them already. That makes that tiny piece of the story process easier. But … and here’s the biggie … it means finding out more about them. Delving deeper into their relationship. Pushing them harder. Throwing them into new situations that will test their bonds and ultimately their commitments to one another.
I’ll share with you that’s it’s one of my menage stories that’s begging for another chapter. So far all of my menages have been m/f/m, meaning there is no sexual interaction between the guys. But I know readers are seeking out menages where there is also a relationship between the men. And I’m wondering if my guys want to go there. Do they want to take their brotherly bond to the next level?
I’ve been querying authors. (Because authors are amazing, giving people and always willing to help out.) With very few exceptions their response has been “let your characters lead the way”. And I get that. Truly I do. But anyone who reads this blog on a fairly regular basis knows that my characters rarely, if ever, “talk” to me. They don’t wake me in the night screaming that they aren’t getting page time. Lord knows, I wish they would. I’d be happy to trascribe for them. But that doesn’t happen to be the way it works for me.
Now don’t get me wrong, my characters are very real to me. Just the way the worlds I build become real. But here’s the cold, hard truth. Their mine. They follow my rules. They behave and think and love the way I want them to. For me (Please read that again “For ME”) they become, do, say, react the way I think they should. That doesn’t mean I don’t wrestle with every scene to be sure it fits that character I’m molding, but their reactions to situations and other people in the story are up to me.
If I really want my guys to do more than fall in love with a woman, if I want them to want more from each other, then I will work them towards that end. I will throw them into situations that strain their relationship. Cause conflict if you will. It’s all about believability. It’s about bringing my readers along so that when the big moment happens, when characters, whether male or female, declare their love and devotion to one another everyone–characters and readers–sigh with the satisfaction that all the troubles and hurts and hard work brings the ultimate satisfaction.
Every writer is different. We all approach a new project differently. Our writing processes don’t come from instruction manuals with easy to follow illustrations. A seamless, believable, well written story is hard work. But work that is rewarding beyond even this writer’s description, especially if readers absolutely fall in love with your story.
So here it is … Nina’s insatiable curiousity … do you think two guys who have done nothing more than share women in the past can now take their relationship to the next level and admit thier love for one another? And would you want to see that in a story?
So October was actually a wash as far as writing anything new. I did manage two submissions and haven’t heard anything, but anxiously open my emails every day hopeful that a couple of contracts will be there waiting. So far … nothing. But I’m still hopeful.
You see, it’s not just that I’m in a writing funk, but Mr. Nina lost his job in mid August. We spent the next several weeks job hunting and though unemployment continues to hover around 9%, Mr. Nina found a new job less that six weeks after finishing his last. Yes, we are very lucky. We know this. Sadly, it meant moving out-of-state.
Again, I don’t mind. I grew up in Maine. It’s a beautiful state. But it’s also HUGE! I’ve lived 5 hours from my family for over 20 years. So this move to Rhode Island actually gets me closer to family.
That is … when I can move.
We spent the better part of October fixing up our current house for selling and packing Mr. Nina. We moved him into his new apartment last week. It’s in this cool renovated mill and he’s got some really wonderful neighbors. It’s just missing one thing … ME! I’m holding down the fort in northern Maine until a buyer falls in love with our house.
So now the two of us are in different states. Too far apart to even visit on the weekends.
You never know how much time you spend with someone until they’re no longer hanging around you driving you crazy. LOL! I feel like I lost a funky little appendage I didn’t even know was so important to me. *sigh* Mr. Nina and I have slipped into that really comfortable phase where we’re hanging in the same room, but don’t even need to talk to communicate. Hopefully this won’t last long and our house will sell and I’ll be down there asking if we REALLY need to watch another football game.
With all this time on my hands I have decided to buckle down and get writing another story. I’ve got the vague outline in my head (which is all I really can start with) and I plan to get a jump on it this weekend. I’m not really ready to chat about it, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to run a contest around getting some help with the title so stay tuned.
On the review front Judith at the BOOK BINGE reviewed “A Touch of Lilly” and had this to say …
“This is an erotic love story set in the universe of the future. It is about terror and hate, prejudice and murder, and lots of other stuff that make up a good action story. But at the core is the relationship between Dallas and his law enforcement partner as they focus on Lilly, learn more about her, begin to break down the animosity that existed initially between the three. It is not a story that is easy to figure out–lots of clues but no easy answers. The reader must persevere and read to the end. But, I think, in this case it is worth it.”
Here’s an excerpt from Chapter One of “A Touch of Lilly“:
Lilly D’Angelo could have been walking into any of the seedier establishments lining Forty-fifth and Wester on Chicago’s south side. Except for the clientele, the tavern’s owner had managed to replicate nearly every detail right down to the blue haze and the soft crooning of a jazz band on the corner stage. The acrid stench and gruff hum of a Friday night crowd tripped Lilly down memory lane—a place she had no desire to travel at the moment.
Lilly pushed the sour thoughts of home out of her mind and focused her energy on the patrons at the bar. Morphing her features into her sexiest vixen pout, she moved gracefully toward the long bar on the other side of the room. Her voluptuous breasts, spilling temptingly from her silk blouse, led the way. The eyes watching her ass sashay around the battered tables were clustered on various life forms—none of them human.
Yeah, definitely not Chicago. Shit, this wasn’t even Earth for chrissake.
“Regent’s ale, straight up, hold the brenic.” She spoke English, hoping the two-headed Xerick behind the bar had a cochlear translator in one of those eight holes that passed for ears. Satisfied when one head nodded, she settled on a stool, making sure her fur jacket and blouse parted enough to offer a seductive view of her cleavage. Lilly shifted just enough to let the black leather skirt ride up her thigh and expose a little more silky real estate. Surreptitiously checking her image in the mirrored glass behind the liquor bottles, she was pleased she looked every bit the part. She wasn’t trying to attract anyone in particular, perhaps something on the less offensive side that could offer her a bit of entertainment to help fritter away the next couple of hours.
Lilly wasn’t a xenophobic bigot by any stretch of the imagination. But six months in deep space, working these kinds of joints, wasn’t really long enough to become accustomed to the scenery. The Nebulae Galaxy’s spaceports overflowed with aliens of all sizes and genders. Only that wasn’t really a fair term here in deep space.
Alien inferred the life forms didn’t belong. On the contrary, it was humans who were invading their territory. The treaties of 2253, signed well over forty years ago, had guaranteed the safe travel of humans in deep space. After the snafu of ’34, which saw the first major space disaster since light travel had been discovered, humans had insisted on protection for their species. They’d formed some bullshit board of security, guaranteeing humans could run roughshod over the universe like everywhere else. Though most people referred to them as the QAL, Lilly nicknamed them the alphabet mafia. At one point she’d actually considered working for them until they’d discovered who she was—or more specifically what she was. It didn’t matter. They could all go fuck themselves if they didn’t appreciate her gifts. Lilly had found a way to use her talents and still bring down the bad guys.
Of course in deep space, bad was a relative term.
There was the kind of bad that got a person lost on the ice caps of Dallas Eight without a backup plan. Or the bad that forced someone to stow away in the engine room of a Drikspa alien tanker bound for unknown destinations, praying not to get caught. Or the bad that got a human female imprisoned as a sex slave on the mining colonies of Krystallos Three, hidden from even the long arm of the QAL. Lilly shivered at that one. Even her talents wouldn’t free her from that kind of torture.
She was just happy to be here on Garalon Five where bad meant nothing more than crossing paths with every brand of space pirate, ex-con or fugitive looking for a new start. As one of the more recent colonizations in the Nebulae Galaxy, the G-5 government turned their collective back on past offenses on other planets and allowed anyone to start a legitimate business. It’s what had brought her here.
I just got home from the New England Chapter’s conference in Framingham, MA. This is the third year I’ve gone. I always meet up with old friends and get to put faces to authors I’ve only met on the internet. In the grand scheme of things … it’s a wonderful weekend.
It was a weekend filled with speakers and workshops, free books and socializing. I had fun. Really, I did. But the one thing these things always do, which they shouldn’t … is depress me. I know. I know. I’m supposed to leave re-energized and ready to tackle new writing projects. But writing conventions always seem to have the opposite effect on me.
It’s so hard for me to pick up books by the keynote speakers. Books that are in print by major NY publishers and for which, the author got a real advance. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for the authors. I am. But at the same time … I’m envious. Yes, these women have worked very hard. They have toiled at their computers creating amazing characters with wonderfully compelling stories to tell. I don’t begrudge them their success. It’s just that … I want it.
I have been blessed with many things in my life, patience just isn’t one of them. I wanted to sit at my computer five years ago, pound out my first manuscript and become an overnight success. Yeeeeeah, well that didn’t quite happen. Not even close. I’m still working to build my readership and therefore increase my sales so that my writing makes me a decent living. (I was a teacher before this … so really, I’m not asking much. *g*)
I know when I go to conventions that seeing the success of others will set me back a couple of days. Never mind that it took some of these authors 10, 12 and in some cases, 20 years to reach the point where they’re at. Every new multi-book contract celebrated, every contest win, every print book signed just digs at me a little tiny bit and ratchets up my frustration. Then I have to come home and settle myself and remind myself that very little in the publishing industry happens quickly.
So you’re asking yourself why I go. Why do I put myself through all of that? The answer is … the authors. Authors are about the most generous, giving people I know. They commiserate with you over your heartaches and celebrate your triumphs. They share their journeys without reservation and help smooth the road for those that follow. There aren’t many professions that can boast the same. Besides … what’s not to enjoy about hanging with everyone in the bar? Oh, yeah, that’s another definite plus, enjoying the easy camaraderie of the profession.
I have no doubt I’ll go again next year. I just know that when I return I’ll need to set aside a couple of days to recouperate and get back on track. Unless of course I have my own six figure three book deal in the works. Hey … a gal can dream!
If you talk to any author … and it doesn’t matter if it’s a top seller at a NY publisher or a newly pubbed e-author … I think they’re all going to say one of the hardest things about the publishing industry is marketing.
Every author wants to find the one thing that gets their book information out to the readers. I know, I keep talking about this because it’s such a difficult tight rope to walk. Especially when it comes to spending hard earned royalty dollars. Everything from maintaining a website to gifts to give away in contests. It costs.
Now there are those free things an author can do. Like chatting on live chats or now doing blog-talk radio (er … which I know nothing about), posting excerpts on Yahoo loops through to having a blog. And there it is, my new four letter evil word … B-L-O-G.
You know, this week is the second anniversary of Around the Writer’s Block. I’m very proud of the fun I’ve had hanging out here chatting with everyone. I’ve celebrated accomplishments and shared my setbacks and disappointments. And I’ve really enjoyed having this space of the web to chat about anything and everything. As an extrovert, my blog gave me the opportunity to reach out beyond my little world that is my office and “be” with people.
But things have changed.
Now there’s twitter and facebook. These venues also give me an opportunity to jump up and down and share the wonderful things that happen or pull out my soap box and express an opinion. It’s not like I’ve run out of things to say … it’s just that I don’t think I have ENOUGH interesting opinions and events in my life to entertain so many people in so many different places. And of course, since there’s cross over, it’s not like I can duplicate the same amusing anecdote all over the internet without driving a few people insane with the repetition.
What does this mean? It means I’m sitting on the fence trying to decide if I really want to hold onto this corner of the web. Do I really want to continue blogging? *sigh* I just don’t know. I love having a place to display all my book covers. I like being able to put up my links to great reviews. But then I wonder if the information in my sidebar isn’t just to stroke my own ego.
I just don’t know. I’m not even sure how a blog slips into a cyber graveyard. Am I supposed to hold services and final blessings? or do I just let it quietly slip away into the darkness? I haven’t figured that out yet either.
Anyway, I just thought I’d mention that I’m wrestling with this. There aren’t a whole lot of people popping over to read my musings. And for those of you who do … you have no idea how much it means to me. Anyway, I’m just trying to figure it all out and decide where best to spend my time visiting and marketing on the internet. Obviously I haven’t made any decisions, but I’ll let you know when I do.
When someone finds out I’m a writer it’s often the first question I’m asked “Where do you get your story ideas?” The answer is … everywhere. Sometimes a line a song will begin the story. Other times it’s watching people in the mall and trying to figure out their life stories from the way they interact. (Actually, until recently I thought everyone made up stories about people in cars they pass on the highway or couples hanging out in the park.)
I’ve noticed my science oriented brain has moved from cataloguing the world around me to now wondering “What if ABC happened?” and from there a story is born. Anything can trigger an idea which often times triggers another until I finally have something I can work with.
I’m currently working on what I think would be considered a space opera. It takes place in a galaxy in deep space. Since I’m not a plotter I started with a very loose idea and it’s growing. I had intended for it to be a short story, but it’s moving forward without an end in sight. I’m having fun meeting these new sexy characters and learning about their faults and foibles. It appears my heroine has some very special talents that cause nothing but problem for my hero. And of course I keep throwing them into situations where the chemistry between them just explodes. Oh, yeah! My favorite kind of conflict!
In other news I’ve recently signed a contract with Ellora’s Cave and as soon as the story heads into edits I’ll share a little more. Suffice it to say … I’m really excited about this project. I know, I say that about every story. But this one is near and dear to my heart and I’m looking forward to sharing with everyone.
Also, if you don’t already know, I make book trailers. And here are two I recently made for other authors …
It’s Monday. I went downstate this past weekend to my RWA chapter meeting. (Since I live at the ends of the earth, this means a 4 hour drive one way … anyhoodles) I love those women (and one guy). We’re like extended family. Most of us hadn’t seen each other since the last regular meeting in June and we had a whooooole bunch of catching up to do. It’s so much fun (and totally motivational) to be with these writers.
So I spent yesterday cleaning out my inbox and catching up on laundry and sleep. I thought about working on my writing, but just couldn’t seem to bring myself to open up my WIP and get cranking. Which is dumb, since I really love the characters and the story. Okay, let’s be honest, it’s hard because I have to THINK. I don’t mean I’m not always thinking it’s just that I’ve now got to figure out the backstory on a couple of shifters that I let slide in the last book. Well no more missy. Now I need to step up to the plate and actually mine through their personal history and figure out what is making them tick.
To top it off. I’m reading Stephen King’s book On Writing. I’m about half way through. The beginning was about him as a writer and the history that formed him and created the inspiring writer he is today. What’s this have to do with me? I’m getting to that. I’m now at the point in the book where Mr. King says writing is hard. It’s work. It takes effort to dredge up those words to form paragraphs (he skips the sentence part of writing) and pages which eventually turn into a complete story.
And part of me sometimes wants to sit in the corner and feel bad for herself. I mean, sometimes I’d rather be teaching. But I can’t. What I can do is write. And I have to remember how lucky I am to be gifted with that.
The last couple of weeks I was working on rewriting an earlier piece of work. I remember writing it. I sat down each day with eager anticipation having no idea where my characters would take me, but knowing full well, they’d wind their way into some trouble and maybe a couple of heart wrenching escapades.
But I’ve lost that.
Now I worry, even in writing my first draft that perhaps the readers won’t like this new character or they’ve figured out the twist to the plot that was supposed to be a surprise. I just worry about every word finding it’s way to the page. Writing has lost it’s spontaneity and joy. And I’ve been feeling kind of bummed about it.
But I decided this week to put it aside. So what–I don’t know what motivates a character and it may take me a couple of chapters to figure it out. The key is to get down that first draft, THEN iron out the details in the rewrite. So I’m telling my muse to BUCK UP, get ready to get down and dirty and do some writing. Stop worrying so much and start having fun again. I don’t know if this’ll work, but I’m giving it a try.
Wish me luck. I’m going in …
So last week I focused on my family. With Little Boy Blue’s graduation we had family stay with us, parties, and project grad and all the busy-ness that comes with a graduation celebration. I chose to set aside writing to enjoy my family. But now it’s time to step up to the plate and get that daily word count up where it should be. Get that first draft down on paper, revise, and submit to my editor.
I’m headed out next week to visit with Jen, my CP. Yay! We have two blissful days of brainstorming planned. You might laugh because most writers have a critique group close to them that they meet with a few times a month, but we’re 3 hours from each other! Maine is very big state! This is the second time we’ve done this. It’s awesome. I hope to walk away with at least three books ready to go.
In addition, this month I’m trying something new. I’m taking a plotting class. Man, for a “pantser” this is a challenge! Which is why I’m taking it. I’ve never plotted a book on paper. In my head of course, (I couldn’t write suspense without having some idea of where I’m going.) but never on paper. I got close with my last couple of stories by writing out a synopsis, but that’s the most I’ve done.
So this is new.
What’s exciting is that I can take all this new information and share it with Jen. It may keep us even more focused than the last time we did this. Yay!
The problem is that this makes me feel unproductive. It’s not. I get that. But writing character outlines and setting description isn’t putting a story on paper … ya know? But it is pushing me to look at my story ahead of time. There are lots of people who are plotters and lots of people who are pantsers. I’m not sure if plotting is going to work for me, but if I don’t try I’ll never know.
In the end it won’t matter how I got to the final product. Just that it’s the best story it can be. But I am curious … how do you get from the nugget of an idea to the end of the first draft?
No really, I need major bandaids and chocolate right now. Why? Because one of my books got totally slaughtered by a reviewer. Not just a little 3 star, “not up to par” review. But a full on assault about not only the story line, but my writing style as well. It has left me battered and bruised.
I know. I shouldn’t care. I should shake it off and keep on going. It’s only one reviewer’s opinion. But … that’s a happy world where rose colored glasses blur the harsh words of critiques and warm fuzzies soften all the spikey edges of negative opinions. Unfortunately, my glasses happen to be in the shop for repair this week and the fuzzy blanket is dripping wet in the wash.
Writing is a difficult profession. Harder than I would have ever imagined. After the euphoria of finishing that first book there is the gut-wrenching step of sending your “baby” out into the world for others to see. You want them to love it and find it as beautiful as you do. But of course they don’t. Writers lovingly call these rejection letters. They come at us from editors and agents. Some with personal notes, but mostly form rejections that go out to the masses. It’s a little hit to your ego, but hey, it’s not like it was unexpected for the first time around, so you go back to the keyboard, do some revisions and send it out again.
In the meantime, you enter a few writing contests, hoping to final and you start your next book. Your writing group/critique partners encourage you and tell you to keep going which you do. Then you get a couple more rejections and the contest entry not only didn’t final, one of the judges scored it so low you wonder if your third grader couldn’t have done a better job.
But you persevere. Because writing is often not something we choose to do, but something we MUST do.
Eventually the contract comes through! Yay! Celebrations, tears and a little champagne all the way around. Few people wade through the muck to get to this point, you know it and you’re very proud of yourself (as you should be). Happy! Happy! Euphoria surrounds you like a warm cloud.
Then the first set of edits come in. The motivation is unclear for your hero and the heroine is really wimpy in this scene and your villain … well does he have to do THAT in chapter 4? Deep breath. No one has died through the editing process. So you push up this mountain and realize when the final edits are complete that your editor is completely awesome and how much better your book is because you slogged through all the sagging scenes and amped up the conflict.
And then release day comes around! I love release day. All the happy tingling feelings of an orgasm without the mess … oh, total TMI! LOL! Anyway, I shout from the rooftops and dance happily around doing my errands, leaving pens with the bank tellers, handing out bookcover flats to strangers in the grocery store and proclaiming what a special day it is!
Then the reviews roll in. There are some really good ones, middle of the road … and then there are the “sucker punch to the gut” devastating reviews that seem to yell so much louder than those other wonderful reviews. It’s like they elbow their way to the front of your brain when you sit down to write, reminding you that perhaps you’re not really as talented as you thought you were. Erroding your self confidence.
Writing is a relationship. And just like all other relationships it has its peaks and valleys. Would I like to be at the top of the mountain every day? You betcha. Writing when I’m looking out at that view is eeeeaaasy. But when I’m in the valleys after a rejection or a bad review, I have to dig deep to write the story. And when I’m in those low points, the satisfaction of writing one more scene, one more chapter, one more book is so much sweeter.
So yeah, I hit a bump, but a few pieces of chocolate and a WHOLE LOT of ice cream should soothe the ache. In reality I guess I don’t have time to dwell on anything negative, I’ve got some impatient characters clamoring to have their story told. They keep reminding me that wallowing in self-pity doesn’t get them to their “happy-ever-after”… and all that it implies! *wink*
I’ve been writing for nearly four years. I can’t even begin to list all the things I’ve learned about the publishing industry in that short period of time. This world rotates with its own set of rules and expectations. It’s a wild ride that continues to throw me for loops and twists with every turn.
My latest battle has to do with the genre of my writing.
The first book I wrote was a simple romance with flawed characters that wanted to fall in love and get to a “happy-ever-after” ending, but had too many obstacles thrown at them. I mean … isn’t that the equation of all romances? (The answer is an emphatic NO! but that’s a blog for another time.) If we ignore the horrible writing errors that are so common in first time writers like point of view problems and dangling modifiers, the whole premise was an unstable house of cards that crumbled with one comment from another writer. I’ll probably never be able to salvage it to make it marketable, but I had fun writing it.
Then I jumped into a romantic suspense (that I’m still looking to sell). It’s a very convoluted plot with a cast of characters that rivals a broadway musical. But I love it. It was a challenge to write. I got up every day and looked forward to the next scene, the next chapter. But then I tried to sell the book. What I’ve found out is that publishers and agents don’t usually represent mid-list romantic suspense. It doesn’t make them money. *sigh*. I was now a year into my writing journey and getting very frustrated.
But I had learned a lot. Mostly what was selling and what wasn’t … namely that the erotic market was wide open with sales at some publishers that were off the charts. I’ve always enjoyed the red hot pages of love stories. It just added to the romance and in turn, the enjoyment of the book for me. Making the leap from romantic suspense to erotic suspense seemed simple. The next four books I wrote became The Healer’s Garden (Liquid Silver Books Dec 2007), Blind Love, Love’s Bounty, and Arranging Love (LSB Spring 2008). I loved writing those books. They flowed from my fingers and nearly wrote themselves. I was a little smug about writing for the “market” rather than the stories in my “heart”.
Some will say that good writing can’t happen when an author is working on stories trying to ride the wave. Mostly because it’s thought that by the time you sell the book the crest of the wave has passed you by. For a year I worked to prove them wrong. And for awhile, it worked for me. Erotic suspense was a thrill ride and my books were picked up one after another.
But now I’m stalled.
Opening my story is hard. My bored muse takes leisurely baths, long walks on the beach and more recently–hasn’t bothered to show up at my computer for days at a time. Which leaves me sitting at the keyboard staring at a cursor that blinks tauntingly, daring me to try putting crappy words on the page. It’s frustrating! I’m not getting any writing done. My writing friends are celebrating finishing scenes, chapters, and books. And I’m happy for them (and just a tad jealous). I can’t even finish a flippin’ sentence! Urrrr …
So now I’m wondering if writing a story I believed would sell rather than a story that would be fun is truly what’s tripping up my muse and me. Perhaps writing for the market is a bad direction. And now I’m curious .. what do you think? Have you ever changed your story in a direction you knew was more marketable? or perhaps completely changed genres?
I’d love to hear what you think.