Okay, so today two things happened. My best friend called me to tell me she'd finished reading All I Ever Wanted and she loved it. She went into great detail and I'm so relieved and happy that she liked it. It's really all I ever wanted (har har). But seriously. She's kind of my target market. When I first started in this genre, I knew I could count on her to be honest because she's a romance expert. It's her favorite genre. Today I heard that I passed that test and I was elated. Seriously. I mean there are very few people in my life who even know about my secret career as a romance author. My friend's review meant the world to me and I was on cloud nine.
Then...
I got the harshest rejection letter ever. It wasn't just a standard 'no thanks, not for us' that publishers so often have to send out. I'm over those. No biggie. This was a two page essay about why my book was horrendous. And, yes, you guessed it, this was no romance. This was a "serious" novel. In fact I'd spent a few years on it. Granted, the editor had a number of valid points, and part of me expected that there were plenty of aspects that still needed work, but man. What a burn! I'd quote specifics but I don't want to scare any writers out there off submitting.
So all this has me in deep contemplation about my two "careers". When I write romance, I'm always in a great mood (even if I was irritable before sitting down to write). I love my characters. The plots are fun and always surprising. The sex is great - and inspiring in my real life. There are so many good aspects to it. Plus, I can actually finish a book. In my more 'serious' attempts at fiction, I find myself endlessly rewriting scenes I'm never really happy with. I'm insecure about how my work will be received and I'm forever obsessing over every detail. It doesn't make me happy. It never really has.
Today that really clicked. I was walking home from work in the rain and it was cold out and I was thinking about how challenging it is for the many homeless folks who live near me when the seasons change. Poverty is a terrible thing. My community is severely affected by it, not just the folks outside in the streets, but my artist/writer friends who can barely make rent. It really got me wondering.
If the path of 'serious' writing is paved with rejection and poverty (at least for most writers), and it doesn't make me happy, what the hell am I doing it for?
Then there's my love of writing romance. Super fun. Makes me happy. Potentially quite profitable. I know a number of authors who live on it. Put a ring on it, I say. I am ready to declare that this is my genre. I'm committing.
If this was a choice between two lovers, let's say, the first one sounds like a deadbeat drunkard who'll never change. He'll just keep on pissing me off forever. The second one is suave and promising. He makes me feel good about myself.
I know I don't have to choose. In the wise words of my bud, "It isn't either/or. It's both and more." I don't have to choose one type of writing over another. I can keep on writing whatever I'm inspired to write, but these days that is romance. I just want to be perfectly clear about how much I adore erotic romance.
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