I’ve been reading a lot of interesting bits recently, of course about writing. My Samhain editor, Angie, has an interesting post about rejection (from an editor’s POV, obviously). And on Romance Divas, there was a discussion thread about “how hot to write to get better sales.” Got me thinking. What am I doing wrong? Am I doing anything wrong?
I feel like a square peg right now, and romance publishing is all round holes. (Excuse the suggestive metaphor; it actually fits the topic.) I’ve chatted with writer friends before along these lines: “You could heat it up and send it to…”; “You could put in a menage, and then it might be right for…”
My most recent shopping expedition (and the stats on romance sales) pretty much verified what we all know: sex sells. But I also had one of those “aha” moments as I read a novella chock full of sex scenes. BORING. The story lacked heart. Big time. I didn’t care how “hot” these two were for each other. It was like watching Paris Hilton pose for a camera–stick a pin in it, and it would pop into thin air.
I’ve been lost lately. Directionless. And I think I’ve figured out what put me here. I’ve been caught up in the “I should write hot stuff to get an agent, get published…” whirlwind. It works for everyone else, why shouldn’t it work for me? Because it’s not me. I lost touch with myself. I stopped falling in love with my heroes, too concerned about making them have hot sex. And in one case, I even became a little embarrassed about a submission, because it was outside my comfort zone. Didn’t want my name on it.
Shame on me! I know better. Motto for today: To thine own self be true.