So, after years of reading magazines for serious writers and reading many books and more books and reading other magazines and majoring in English Literature and studying Shakespeare and learning Latin and Greek and Babylonian, yes, I have read the Code of Hammurabi in the original, and going to writing workshops, all in preparation for writing THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL, I discovered this past weekend that my true calling is writing trashy romance novels with Victorian-like erotica and pirates.
It was Friday night. I had worked all day. The boys were in Vermont and the girl was out with friends. It was me, the computer and a glass of wine. I had slogged away for two weeks writing everyday on my WORK IN PROGRESS for #novelpi on Twitter, a fun challenge to write a certain number of words each day and report in. My goal was 250, I know, pretty low, but I had never written EVERYDAY so set the bar low and the writing was going well. I was making quota and a bit more.
It was then, alone on Friday in the empty house, that I realized out of nowhere that I could write ANYTHING I WANTED. I picked a scene for my WORK IN PROGRESS that I had thought would end with some significant eye contact. And I wrote it out. O.M.G. I had never written a sex scene, ever, but, after this I felt I had to take a shower, but I figured while I was in the mood I’d try the pirate scene. O.M.G. Then I did take a shower.
On Saturday more pirates, though not more sex. But the damage was done, it’s been TRY TO STOP ME ever since. I have found my niche. I thought it would be horror. I really, really like horror. Or, maybe mystery. I really, really like mysteries. Or just a literary novel that would receive critical acclaim, but would not sell well. But, no – romance, sex and pirates. That’s what I seem to write well in abundance.
I spent Sunday coming to terms with my new found talent. After writing a scene about pirates and whips (it’s not as kinky as it sounds), I walked around encouraging myself – say it loud, say it proud – “I write trashy romance novels.” I’m going to a writing workshop in a week and, in preparation to “what are you working on?” I practiced, “a well-written trashy romance novel” but that sounds like I’m embarrassed about the subject, and have to justify it by adding well-written. So just, “trashy romance novel” will have to do. Now I could say just “romance novel,” but there are many out there without sex and I don’t want to be confused with those, because this novel seems destined to have a lot of sex – with a plot; and not a pizza delivery boy kind of plot either, but a real plot where no one has sex for pages and pages. More like a combination of Daphne DuMaurier, Treasure Island and Anonymous. I can deal with that.