In a conversation with my mother last night, she rather plaintively (yes, that's an adverb, and I don't care. Love 'em!) asked why I don't just write a book with lots of violence and sex and sell it for lots of money. After I remarked that I am eschewing the propagation of violence as much as possible (except for the occasional imagining of nasty ends coming to those I don't like...heh heh heh), I also said that sex & love are fine by me, and I am writing one containing just that...very, very slowly. Especially since I still have not manifested my laptop, although I'm working on that.
Say, anyone out there want to gift me a brand-new laptop? Preferably a good Dell? Just checking. Feel free, at any time. I will happily provide you with an address to which to send it! What a way to pay it forward, gain good karma, help out a struggling writer....
Anyway. Sex & violence does sell in our culture, indeed. I recognize that, and for quite some time I thought I might write mysteries set in southern Utah's red rock country. I still might---a "cozy" mystery, at least.
But I digress. Part of me agrees with my mother, that I certainly have the capability to write such a thing and get it sold--especially when I regard, horrified, all the dreck published in this country. So then I have to look at basic procrastination, that old bogeyman that has chuckled at me all my life. Well, much of it. Especially those parts related to me, rather than to others (i.e., working for others). And then I have to look at available time, and the frustration of working all the time, and trying to make time to write. A dear friend of mine said, in an attempt to kick-start me, that she has a friend who gets up at 5:30a.m. every day to write. Yes, those people do exist. However, I am not happily one of them! I'd be more likely to get up at 6 or 7...do my morning routine...then write...then go to work at about 10a.m.--sounds great to me! However, there aren't that many jobs that begin that late in the day that would actually support one and not be so draining and time-consuming that one still had energy left over to be creative.
My other writer friends, weigh in here. Am I alone in this viewpoint? Dan? Jenna? Anyone?
Okay, well, as I write in here, I do not write my romance. (Which, come to think of it, does contain death and a bit of mayhem. Hmm.) So. Off through the sleet & rain & snow (no, I'm not joking) to the coffeehouse in town I like, to sip tea and write long-hand in my journal--how bizarre, still, a bit, to write long-hand. And how is everyone out there doing on their own creative projects?